#how far must he be pushed to finally give in to purgatory

[tubchunk]

woudln't it be so fucked up that the only reason q!tubbo is invited with almost this respect, this urging to continue to play, because he was the only one to tackle the cursed team in a way that intrigued the eye?

q!tubbo refused to try and let a team get eliminated, going against his own team to try and tie the scores. he was the only one to figure out the cursed team and try and talk to everyone, even if it meant getting chased down and killed. he kept his teammate on a leash. he was fair in hell.

he surprised the eye. finally, someone interesting to play with.

the eye, obsessed with finding the sinners. and q!tubbo, who refused to fall further and stuck to himself.

[alchemicaladarna]

So I just wanted to take a moment to highlight baghera's reaction to the letters today. I say letters not death, because she doesn't even know qBad died, and nobody really knows because even Pomme and Dapper thought he's still alive somewhere ;-;

BUT ANYWAYS, when q!Baghera first read the letter that was addressed to her, you can see how shocked and worried she is. Like there's this panic on her face that's just hard to describe. The letter doesn't give any information on qBad's fate, so all she knows is Dapper and Pomme must be taken care of for some reason.

QBad told her he's dying a week ago, but qBaghera probably thought they had more time to fix it. I mean, how could she have known how much worse it's truly gotten since she barely saw the development of the infection even before they were sent to Purgatory?

So she frantically warps to his house and tries to find any more information. This is the first time we get to see the Halo house after qBad's death. The long hallways are big, empty, and silent. And there's this sense of haunting uneasiness because qBaghera is basically in a ghost town. She is walking around the house, not knowing it's the last place qBad has been before he died at least 100 blocks further away into the flower fields. But she continues her search anyways.

Where is he? What did that idiot do? Did he exile himself? He spoke like an old cat going away before his death.

And then she read the letter qBad wrote for Pomme and Dapper, and the dread sinks in further because of how final it sounds. But it can't be true, right? He's not dead, he just exiled himself far away. There's still a chance to save and find him right? But there was nothing qBaghera could do at the moment, because she barely has the information to piece together a conclusion from everything that's been occuring for the past half of a year.

There's still a chance to save him, she just needs more information from Pomme. You can see how she reassures herself and pushes down the dreaded possibility that he's dead. She can't afford to think about qBad, one of her closest friends, dying/dead because there will be nothing she can do at that point.

If qBaghera assumes the worst, it would mean it was already too late- she just came back from Purgatory, but if qbad really did die, what else can she do but despair?

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 30

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 30: gone

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I woke the next morning to an empty bed. Alastor's presence wasn't near but the bed still felt warm where he had been. He must've left in a hurry but for what? Normally I would've just went back to sleep and asked him about it later.

But something was off about this, something wasn't right.

I quickly jumped out of bed, falling harshly on my knees from my still lack of energy, and went to my room. I changed as quickly as I was able and went into the haven. The morning sun was coming over the treetops and the first few set of workers were already up and about. I made a beeline for Angel's hut where I know Husker should be. I felt his presence and pushed on it, at the same time knocking on the door. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long as he came padding quickly to the door.

"What is--"

"Alastor's gone."

His tiredness faded. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"I mean he's gone. Our connection it's...it's like before. I don't really...feel it." I was struggling with ways to describe it.

"Where have you checked for him so far?" he asked next.

"Just the house and down here. I'm going to check with Rosie but maybe you can ask Charlie? I have a really bad feeling about this."

He let out a sigh and fixed the strap that had fallen off his shoulders. "Alright. I'll go over and ask. He's probably fine."

"Why does everyone keep discounting what I'm saying?" I half mumbled as I spun away. I melted with Alcine and ran up to the back of the house. I stood over the symbol and teleported myself into Hell, right outside Rosie's store.

Her store was closed but I did the exact same thing I did with Husker, impatiently waiting at the back door. When I explained everything to her, a look of worry finally came across someone's face.

For the next several days, I looked for him. His radio broadcast remained ever silent and our connection remained thin. It was impossible for me to reach him like I had before with Blackwater. He wasn't anywhere in Hell or on the surface. He was just...

Gone.

My panic over Alastor possibly being in the hands of any Angels was somewhat soothed by a conversation with Lucifer. He told me that Angels didn't have power to hold souls in purgatory - that was essentially his job in a way. He also revealed a conversation he had with Heaven. Well, with Adam.

Apparently, Heaven has been upset with how rampant Demons have been on the surface, a place where they naturally didn't belong. They've been arguing for years but nothing was ever done about it. Angel refused to let people know they existed because only their high father could control such events.

It didn't make sense to me.

Regardless, Alastor wasn't in danger with the Angels. That meant he must be somewhere else. Yet there were only two realms. So where was he?

Husker told me that it wasn't uncommon for Alastor to go missing every once in awhile. Apparently he did this right before he helped Charlie with her hotel. The only issue with him disappearing for some time was that he didn't tell me. Considering how we had been the night before he vanished, I had thought he would tell me he would do such a thing, or at least leave a note of some kind.

Perhaps I was wrong.

For the first year, I kept radios in every room tuned to his channel and a single one tuned to random channels. Maybe he would give me a sign through them. Maybe this was something he couldn't tell me for safety reasons. Surely he would want to give me a sign of some sort, a sign that told me I wasn't being abandoned. The only clarity I had of the situation was that he was alive since I was still alive.

The second year I turned some of the radios off and left one on for each floor. I still slept in his bed, wishing and dreaming that he would magically be there when I woke up the next day. Each morning was a disappointment. It was around this time that the hallucinations of him began.

By the third year, everyone had known that the great scary Radio Demon had disappeared. Our location had been leaked by one of Blackwater's men so Humankind and Demonkind alike came after our haven. While the remaining surface Overlords, or anyone wanting new territory up here, tried to attack and disband Blackwater's empire, I was focused on keeping the haven safe. At first it wasn't hard since it was relatively small groups that bit off more than they could chew, however, as time went on, people started bringing in huge groups and powerful Demons.

By the fourth year, I had truely pieced myself back together as a new woman and established myself as the guardian of the haven. I killed enemies, struck deals with new allies, and taught newcomers a thing or two about fighting. The hallucinations came to a near stop.

By the fifth year, the haven had expanded even more. Arleen, who was our lovely architecture and seamstress, was never seen resting. She had gorgeous red wings that mimicked a butterfly's and her personality was as sweet as nectar. She designed a new layout for the rest of the town—though, now it could really be considered a small city. We had multiple teachers, Vivian remaining as the head of them all, several healer apprentices for Althea, a few seamstress assistants for Arleen, an open pasture for cattle, plenty of fishers, many more guards, and so much more.

With the haven expanding and having new things, I also wanted to change my own living place. I painted the outside of the house a more vibrant maroon and fixed the shingles so they didn't look so tattered. I knew the house had belonged to Alastor's mother so I didn't want to change it too much should he return at some point. Reagan and Lucas occupied Husker's old room since Husker and Angel moved to their own secluded apartment in the haven.

My old room was now occupied by two siblings: Nym and Thatcher. They were a rambunctious pair with a thirst for adventure. Nym was six and Thatcher was five when they first came to the haven. They were also children of the ring fights and found it increasingly difficult to make the transition from the ring to the schoolroom. I began working closely with the pair since all other resources had been exhausted, and soon found myself feeling attached like I was with Reagan. Vivian and the others insisted I adopt them, mostly in an attempt to fill the empty house and gaping hole in my heart. So I did.

By the sixth year, I had completely forgotten about Alastor. I would go weeks without thinking of him. I had so much I was focusing on, so much I was keeping myself busy with, that I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Occasionally I would think of him and it would hit me hard. When that happened, I tried not to be around anyone for the whole day. It left me annoyed and snappy at everyone, even Husker and Reagan. Fortunately, Nym and Thatcher were now able to attend school without attempting murder on any of the children, leaving me with more time on my hands.

By the seventh year, things had fallen into a routine. I was still the sole protector of the haven and mother to now three children. As things became mundane, I decided to assist the other Overlords in banishing the lasting traces of Blackwater. There was still one large factory hidden somewhere and I would be the one to find it. My reputation had shifted around in the past few years but this would solidify it for good.

I had grown a lot. It was time to show everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

END OF ACT TWO!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

[leviathans-watching]

rivals au w/ solomon

includes: solomon x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .5k | rated t | m.list | pt 2

a/n: glad i had this drafted so i could post it today lololol

warnings: mentions of violence, depictions of blood, cursing

please reblog!

“this,” you say, when solomon opens the door to find you standing on the step of purgatory hall, only half-visible due to the crappy porch lighting. “does not mean i’ve given up. however, temporary truce?”

solomon smirks. “well, well, well, if it isn’t mc. here to give up and finally admit i’m the smarter and cooler sorcerer?”

“were you not listening?” you push past him, not waiting to be let in. “i literally said that’s not what i’m here to do. dumbass.”

you shed your soaked jacket and drop it on the floor, uncaring of the fact that solomon’s the one who has to pick it up, wringing as much water as you can out of your hair. it had been pouring all day, and it looks like you’d been caught in the storm.

“i tend to tune you out when you talk,” solomon replies helpfully, and you bare your teeth at him in a facsimile of a smile.

“funny. real funny, solomon.”

it’s only when he flicks on the overhead light that he sees your split lip and bruised cheek. idly, you scratch at your jaw and he sees your knuckles are raw and red, some still bleeding.

“what the hell happened to you?” solomon asks, something unfamiliar thrumming in his chest. who dared to put his hands on you? everyone knew you were off-limits.

so that he could fully beat you and put you in your place himself. only because of that. everyone knew how much the two of you hate one another- diavolo rules the devildom, the sun never rises in the east, and solomon and mc hate one another.

you roll your eyes. “don’t get your panties in a twist, but some witches tried to start shit. i, obviously, put an end to it. but i can’t go back to the house of lamentation, because, well, you know the boys and i just do not have the energy to deal with them right now.”

“so you came here?”

something in his tone must have clued you into his disbelief because you fix him with a stare. “not as my first choice. but the library is closed, i can’t go outside because of the rain, and the restaurant i was at kicked me out because i-” you form air quotes “-was scaring the other customers and making them loose business.”

“huh,” solomon says. “i didn’t know restaurants in the devildom would do that sort of thing?”

“i know right?” you agree, throwing your hands in the air. “they literally serve live sacrifices but this is too far?”

your sneer causes your lip to begin to bleed again, and you curse, staunching the flow on your sleeve.

“disgusting,” solomon mutters, fetching you a kleenex from the box literally right by your arm. “here, use this.”

you don’t bother to thank him, not that he expected anything different.

“you should probably disinfect all of that,” solomon eventually says, gesturing generally to your injuries. “there’s first aide in the bathroom under the sink.”

“what,” you say mockingly, “not going to offer to bandage me up yourself?”

he scowls. “not unless you want me to be generous with the peroxide.”

you chuckle then, and he smiles, before catching himself. what’s he doing, joking around with you? you two are rivals. rivals! not friends, or anything else like it.

you disappear into the bathroom, but leave the door open.

“wait,” solomon says, “how’d you know where the bathroom is?”

you fix him with a dry look. “i’ve been here before.”

“what? why?”

“to snoop through your room and steal all of your secrets, obviously. no, dipshit, simeon invited me over.”

“that bastard,” he hisses, and you smirk.

“what? mad that your friend likes me more than you?”

“in your dreams,” he scoffs back, and you stick out your tongue. the effect is somewhat ghoulish due to the bruises and blood and everything, but his gut still fills with something warm. almost endeared.

get a grip, he thinks furiously, looking away and hoping you don’t see his blush. his angry blush, because he hates you. really, really hates you.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[onyourowndaisymae]

Hi again!! Could I request some obey me hcs about Simeon's Fem!S/O preparing him a relaxing bath because she notices Simeon is stressed trying to adapt to the human life?? Not really like nsfw (I mean if you want...) but instead a cute scenario where they are just bathing together with candels and stuff? I tried to follow your rules as clear as possible, hope it's not too cringy,, have a great day!! 💌

running a bath for a stressed out simeon

thank you so much for the cute request! hopefully this did it justice. i adore writing tender relationship fluff and this was the perfect opportunity. the mc did turn out to be gender neutral, since it never really came up-- i hope that's okay! apologies as well for the odd formatting with the dialogue. apparently tumblr has a character block limit and counts all the bullet points together in one block, so i had to improvise.

content warnings: nudity, brief suggestive mentions but nothing nsfw

{established relationship, simeon x reader}

being a human is hard. nobody really gives you enough credit for surviving thus far. your human body is not built for the stress of the devildom, nor holding your own against demons, angels, and sorcerers alike. so of course you're stressed to find that your lovely partner simeon is now a fragile human like you.

even as a human, he has this angelic grace about him. he's all gentle smiles and kindness, soft looks of affection given in quiet moments. he's an angel to the core, even without his powers.

but you know him. you can see the subtle bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders droop just a little when you're alone. he brushes your concerns away with a smile, but you know. you always know.

as his partner, you've taken it upon yourself to pamper him. you cycle through a few ideas-- dinner, a nice date, a night at home-- and settle on something more low-stress, made specifically to melt the weariness from his muscles and the furrow from his brow: a warm, relaxing bath.

living with asmo has drilled the importance of a good bath into you. this man is always talking about his baths. he goes into heavy detail about the salts, the oils, the whole setup. you've heard it all. today, you're thanking him internally for all those lectures, because you're finally putting that knowledge to good use.

you're pretty proud of your work. the lights are off, unnecessary when the room is illuminated by a slew of pleasant-smelling candles. the bath is warm and full of salts and bubbles in preparation for simeon's arrival. upon asmo's suggestion, there's a few rose petals drifting across the surface of the water.

you wonder, quietly, if the rose petals were a little much. but you're not left alone long enough to dwell on it-- the sound of someone entering purgatory hall catches your attention. you peak around the corner and spot simeon putting his things away as he enters. he notices you there after a moment or so and smiles, warm and kind.

"hello there, dove. i didn't see you there. what are you doing here at this hour?"

you explain that solomon let you in, and that you've got a surprise waiting for him. you reach a hand out toward him and watch him smile, confused but content all the same, and cross the room to take your hand. you lead him to the bathroom and push the door open to reveal the bath you so lovingly prepared.

his eyes widen in surprise for a moment before a dopey grin splits his face. simeon doesn't hesitate to pull you into his chest and chuckle. what a nice surprise, mc. he gently coos something about how generous you are, but it's lost as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

"what's all this for?"

you tell him that you've noticed how tired he's been lately. you leave out all the parts where you've worried yourself sick about how stressed out he must be. that'd defeat the whole purpose of a relaxing bath, now wouldn't it?

his sweet kisses are more than an adequate thank-you. after coaxing him out of your arms so he can, y'know, enjoy the bath you worked so hard to set up, he strips himself of the day's clothes and sinks into the warm water with a content sigh.

you smile and make some last-minute adjustments to the candles on the counter. then you tell him to enjoy as you make your way to the door and give him some space to relax.

his hand catches your arm the moment you grab the doorknob.

"wait, you're not staying?"

there's a mischievous glimmer in his eyes-- it reminds you simeon is not an angel. that borderline smirk is human, impish yet lovely all the same.

you ask if he wants you to stay. he looks away and sighs heavily (leave it to simeon to bring in the dramatics), then laments to no one in particular about how this bath is just so big and spacious and how he worries he might actually be too tired to wash himself. if only he had a doting partner around to help...

alright, alright. you get it.

you feel his eyes on you when you begin to peel off your clothes to join him. your eyes meet his. that's not very former-angel of you, simeon. he laughs and looks away with his hands up in defeat.

stripped and ready to bathe, you urge simeon to scoot forward. when he complies, you slip in to the bath behind him. your fingers gently graze his back, his shoulders, his neck, all the way until they find his hair. you don't neglect to notice the way he shivers in anticipation under your touch. but that's not the kind of bath you had in mind today-- you're more worried about making sure simeon finally gets some peace and quiet.

he thoroughly wets his hair as you lather up some shampoo in your hands. then they find his scalp, massaging in slow, gentle movements. he sighs, content, and you're almost certain his eyes are closed as he leans back into your touch. you're careful to treat every inch with the same amount of love. your nails work through his hair to make sure every strand is clean and soapy before you sit back and ask him to rinse.

the same process begins as you run conditioner-covered fingers through his soft brown locks. he's humming quietly now, his voice being the only sound joining your breathing and the sounds of water shifting around you in the tranquil air. every so often, one of his hands will linger on the surface of the water to play with a clump of bubbles. gone is the previous tension from his face, replaced now with an angelic serenity you're happy to see again.

finished, you let the conditioner set as you grab a wash cloth and some soap. a gentle tap tap on his back prompts him to sit back up. his shoulders are broad and proud-- for a moment, you imagine his wings emerging from between those toned shoulder blades. they'd definitely make a mess of everything you'd worked so hard to prepare. you smile fondly as your fingers rub across the muscles on his back.

it's been a strange adjustment to think of simeon not as an angel but a human now. there's no wings to spring forth, no blessing to use in times of crisis. he's human, like you. there's a sense of camaraderie there, for a brief moment, but you can't help but wonder how hard the transition must be for him. being a human is hard; being a well-adjusted human in the devildom is near impossible.

you press a kiss to the nape of his neck. he shivers, a loose giggle slipping up from his throat, and you begin to rub the area with a soapy rag. you repeat the same steps across other parts of his back-- each of his shoulders, the top of his spine, anywhere you can press a soft kiss against his flawless brown skin-- each stroke meant to cleanse him of his troubles.

he means the world to you. watching simeon struggle has been a unique sort of punishment. even with how well he hides the stress, you know his feelings about the matter must be just as tangled as yours.

you decide to let him in. your soapy arms wrap around his waist as you press a cheek to the flat of his back. then you tell him the truth: you've been worried about him. you've seen how stressed he is trying to adapt to his newfound humanity. the bath was your way of saying you care, of saying that you want to help him in any way you can.

he's quiet for a moment. then, he laughs.

if you could see his face, you'd see his watery eyes and the big grin on his face so tight and pleased that it's making his cheeks hurt. he doesn't quite know whether to laugh again or cry. he's touched. you care. you've once again slipped past any wall he's put up and noticed things he wouldn't even admit to himself. he's so lucky to have you, to be able to spend evenings like this with you, to have someone as caring as you take care of him.

his hands find your own, intertwining your fingers and he leans his head back on yours. yes, he admits, he's been a little stressed. simeon apologizes for making you worry and admits he never realized how stressful being a human actually was. nobody around here gives you enough credit for that. human bodies are fragile, y'know. never in his life has his back hurt so much, it's-- what's that? you're teasing him for being an old man? well he was flattered, but on second thought--

the once-serene bath is now lively with laughter and taunts. maybe you can't give him his wings back. but you've given him a blessing all the same: you. your smile, your kind words, your presence beside him day in and day out.

to him, that's the best gift he could've ever received.

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Since Asagiri refuses to give BEAST Dazai any closure im going to do it myself. Here is a short story I wrote, I'm actually really proud of this one even though it was painful to write.

Dazai was lying face down on hard asphalt. The fall had been a long one, long enough for him to reflect on most of what he’d done to get there. It was a miserable life, but in the end, it hadn’t been his to live in the first place. He had made peace with it as he hit the ground.

So why was he conscious?

After laying there for God knows how long, hoping his mind would stop thinking and he would slip into the oblivion he had wanted for so long, Dazai opened his eyes. He was face down on a pavement somewhere, strangely he did not see any blood on the ground beneath him. Confused he raised his head a little to see more of where he was. He was on the edge of a small road, opposite him trumpet vines grew along a hedge, rustling in a quite breeze. Dazai sat bolt upright. none of this was right, he shouldn’t be anywhere near here, he had jumped from the mafia headquarters. He should be dead.

As his sense’s returned to him, he realised his skin felt strange, looking down he saw that Mori’s scarf was gone. But that was soon overshadowed when he noticed his arms. His bandages were gone and his forearms were smooth and free of scars. Reaching up Dazai felt his face. Sure enough, the bandages that always covered his eye were gone too. Something was really wrong.

Finally, Dazai looked around, hoping for some kind of indication about how he got here, but there wasn’t any. He avoided turning around for as long as possible, but in the end, his burning curiosity overwhelmed his fear and he looked to the house next to him.

It was exactly how it had been the first time, the unassuming little house, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was shabby, cramped and unassuming as well as the place Dazai had wanted to see more then anywhere else in the world for the past six years.

He got up, his body moving on its own, as it carried him towards the front door. He was briefly distracted by the toys he could see left in the grass, those had defiantly not been their last time, but he pushed it aside for now. Opening the door, he braced himself. He’s not here, he moved out years ago. Nevertheless, he still made his way inside, stumbling a little as fought the aching in his chest. It was almost exactly the same as in his memories. The kitchenet where Oda had cooked for him, the side room with the bed he had been strapped too, even the bookshelf with the book Oda always tried to read too him lying flat on the top. Dazai stood there for a second, drinking the room in. This must be purgatory, he thought as he fought back tears. He would be forced to confront everything he had turned away as punishment for everything he did. It was a far crueller punishment then any he had ever used, but he still felt it would be worth it, just knowing he had helped one version of Odasaku find happiness. He would gladly suffer for that.

He was surprised when a loud whistle came from the kitchen. Whipping around, he saw that the old iron kettle Oda always used was boiling away. He only had a moment to ponder this before he heard foot steps coming down the hall. Every atom in his body wanted to run away, to hide from who he knew was coming, but something held him there, frozen as the figure emerged into the corridor.

“Oh…”

Dazai’s expression broke, he looked like all the years of pain he had hidden so carefully were about to come bursting out of his skull. Infront of him stood someone he wanted to see more then anyone else in the world, and who he had sworn to never let himself see again.

Odasaku stood there, the same blank expression he always had, mixed with a look of surprise. He looked at Dazai for a few seconds, before he began to walk towards him a gentle concern growing on his face.

“Odasaku…” Dazai spoke for the first time since waking up here, his voice was hoarse and wavered as searched for something to say.

“Odasaku I’m s-” But he was cut off by Oda pulling him into a tight hug.

“Dazai, I’m sorry I left you alone, I was selfish and because of that, you went through so much more suffering.”

Dazai was shaking badly, he tried to argue with him, tried to tell him he had nothing to apologise for, that he was the one who chose to do all the awful things he did. But no words came out, instead for the first time he could remember, Dazai Osamu wept.

He cried and cried, years of isolation, fear and guilt pouring out of him like water from a burst damn, Oda held him tight the whole time not saying anything. They stood there for a very long time, maybe hours, maybe years, neither of them letting go of each other. Until Dazai felt he had no more tears left in him.

After they broke apart, Oda led Dazai to the bed he had once spent so long in, then he went to the kitchen and brought out two cups of tea. They drank in silence for some time, neither sure what to say to the other. In the end Dazai spoke first.

“Where are we?” He asked, although the answer didn’t seem to matter much too him.

“I don’t know.” Oda replied simply. “I woke up here at some point, and I stayed to look after the children.”

“Children?” Dazai asked, as he remembered to toys, he had seen outside.

“They were all here when I woke up, I tried to apologise for everything, but they wouldn’t listen to a word I said, I guess not much changed there. I stayed with them until they were ready to go, although it has been very lonely without them. I thought the quiet would give me more time to write, but I think it was more distracting than anything else.”

“If they all left then why are you still here.” Dazai asked confused.

“I needed to wait for someone, someone who I hope will not come here for a very long time.”

Dazai looked down, a deep sadness returning to his eye’s “I’m not the person you’re waiting for.”

“No. you’re not…” Oda agreed

Dazai said nothing.

“But I still can’t let you leave until your wounds have fully recovered.”

Dazai looked up at him, not daring to hope he meant what Dazai thought he did.

“I hope I won’t need to tie you up this time.” Oda said plainly.

Dazai snorted “Don’t worry, I think ill stick around this time, I can’t leave, I still need to make you that super hard tofu I promised.”

Oda nodded “I’ll look forward to it.”

The two of them talked for a long time after that. The wounds Dazai now carried were deep, far deeper than any he had before, and they would take a very long time to heal. But that just left both of them more time together; Dazai told Oda stories about his life in the Agency and eventually told him the whole story of how he had ended up here in the first place. Oda told Dazai about his past, and how he gave up killing. He even let Dazai read the novel he had been working on. Time was strange in that place. They talked for as long as they needed, and when it was time for Dazai to leave, he did so knowing that Oda would follow him at some point. But until then Oda waited in that house, for a person he hoped would not come for a long, long time.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

An Offer

Warnings: coercion, threats, slightly blackmail-ish, intimidation, entrapment, implied noncon

This is dark!(lumberjack/nomad) Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve makes you an offer you can’t refuse.

Based on this drabble request:

Nomad Steve Rogers + “You'll never find anyone better than me.” + Lumberjack AU + Smashed and broken dreams of a good career forces reader back home. With a degree in her hand but no real chance of finding a good job reader has to accept any job she finds and Steve isn’t making it easy cause he wants her so he sabotages any job opportunity to make her depended on him. This really hits home 😭. Sorry 😭.

When you sat in your college lectures, you never expected to end up there. Never expected to be carrying armfuls of wood to a large stack, splinters catching in your gloves as each piece clacked between the noise of the logs being split. You didn’t expect to be working for pennies, busting your ass for hours, just to pay for the room above the liquor store in your hometown.

You didn’t expect any of it. It was a surreal nightmare. It was as if that purgatory could never let you go. The small town’s always claimed what was theirs. Blood grown of that soil could not venture far before the roots dragged them back, a constricting coil around the throat.

Another log split, almost exploding as the two halves fell on either side of the stump. Steve took one and chopped it again, then the other. Perfect quarters for you to pile in your arms and add to the mounting stack. Your sweat soaked the flannel coat, the same kind your father wore when you were a child, the same that everyone in town seemed to have somewhere in their closets.

Steve rested the head of the axe on the stump and leaned on it as he watched you.

“Think that’ll do,” he said as you heard him scratch his beard, “supposed to be a mild winter.”

“Mild? Around here? You know that just means the snow stops at the knee, right?”

You carried the last of the wood to the pile and laid it out in the niches perfectly. It was like a Tetris game, every piece had its place. You clapped off your gloves and looked back at Steve as he shook out his jacket and pulled it back on. Even as his work left him sweaty, you didn’t know how he could stand to take it off and bear the bitter winds in only a tee.

“My knees are higher than yours,” he said, “think I’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh,” you put your hands on your hips and looked out at the trees, the sun setting behind them in an amber haze.

“Hey,” he interrupted your sightseeing, “how about you stay for dinner? I finally tried that chili recipe…”

“You? Cooking?” you shook your head, “so that’s why I’m out here lugging wood.”

“Is that yes?”

“Do you have pepto?” you joked, “sure, guess I could. Save me the trouble of opening a can at home.”

You followed him inside as he held the door for you. You shoved your gloves in your flannel pocket and hung it as you wiggled out of your boots. Usually you tidied and did the household chores as Steve worked outside. It wasn’t much of a job but there was nothing to be had in the lifeless town. Still, even with the work you found in the city, you couldn’t afford even a closet to live in.

The house was nice, big. The country land was cheap and as Steve told it, he built the entire thing himself. It was a wooden castle with better amenities than most of the antique houses in town. He bragged about how he chose every countertop and cut down every leg of every chair and sanded and polished the thick table over a willowy fall.

But you wondered how he ended up there. He wasn’t from the town and his accent was not of the nearby metropolis. He must be from far away. You could see it was an escape from the life he didn’t talk about.

You sat at the table as he clinked around in the kitchen. He came out with two red bowls and set one before you as he sat at the corner near you. He handed you a spoon with a wooden handle and you twirled it as you watched the chili steam.

“Did you make these too?” you asked.

“Ha,” he said dryly and stirred his bowl.

“Well…” you shrugged and looked around.

He smiled at you and leaned his head back until his neck cracked. He let his spoon rest and rubbed his jaw. It twitched and he looked out the big bay windows of the dining room, the ridged bark and overgrown grass staring back.

“I…” he shifted and leaned on the arm of the chair, “I slipped your pay in your jacket.”

“Oh, thanks,” you were embarrassed to talk about money. He knew how little you made even if he did pay you generously for the work you did.

“But… I did want to talk about it, er, about…” he sighed and rested his chin in his hand as he traced his lower lip in thought. He sat up and cleared his throat, “we get along, don’t we?”

“Sure,” you blew on a spoonful and tasted the chili. It was spicy but not bad.

“I know how hard it’s been, Maggie, Lester, Jeff… tough break.”

You swallowed and sat back. You frowned. “How did you…” your resume had been turned down by almost every business owner and manager in town.

“It’s a small place, like that box you’re living in.”

“Steve--”

“I’m not saying it to embarrass you but… because I… want to…” he gripped his spoon, thought about having a bite, then let it go again, “I want to make you an offer.”

“You pay me more than you should for doing your chores,” you left your spoon in the bowl and ran your nails up and down your jeans, picking at the little metal snap by the pocket.

“That’s not--” he squared his shoulders and all humour left his face. He bit down and the vein in his head surged, “you could live here. The place is more than big enough… lonely.”

“I can’t--”

“Please, just listen,” he raised his palms, “I’m lonely and you’re in a bind. We could help each other.”

You squinted and shook your head. He took a breath and leaned forward. He reached under the table and touched your knee. He slid his hand up your thigh until it met yours and you stopped him.

“What--”

“You don’t even have to keep on cleaning or any of that,” he said quietly, “just be mine. You’ll be comfortable here. All you have to do is… be here… with me.”

“Steve,” you held onto his thick fingers, “maybe you don’t mean it that way but I’m not… not a prostitute.”

“It wouldn’t be that,” his throat constricted, “it would be convenient; practical.”

“I should go,” you shoved his hand off of you and stood, “you did a good job with the chili.”

The chair scraped behind you as you stepped out from between it and the table. Steve was fast and caught your shoulder before you could evade him.

“Go where? Do what exactly?” his voice was stern and stolid, “huh? No one in town’s gonna hire you, we both know that. And you can’t make it in the city.”

“That’s mean, Steve, I want to go,” you pouted, “let me go.”

“Why can’t you see I’m helping you?”

“You have helped me but what you’re… offering is insulting, don’t you understand?”

“It’s generous is what I’d say,” he grabbed your other arm and pulled you close as he snarled down at you, “I can give you everything you need and want, all you have to do is give me…” his eyes crawled down your body, “a little sweetness.”

“Steve--”

“You’re proud, I get it, you don’t want to admit you have no choice but what happens when Fletcher needs that room for storage or he rents it out to a higher bidder? Where do you go then? Huh, you keep handing out that resume and what has that degree got you but sorrys and no thank yous?”

“Get off--” you pushed on his chest as he squeezed your arms painfully.

“Let me tell you I will be the only yes you ever get,” he growled, “I made sure of it.”

“Wha-- I--”

“I’m not driving you back to town,” he released you, “so if you really wanna go, if your pride is worth all that, you can walk and see if you beat the wolves. Or you can stay and earn that extra bill I put in your pocket.”

“Steve, what the hell?”

“Your call,” his fingers stretched around the waist of his jeans as he flexed his chest, “reception’s shit so good luck getting a ride.”

“You can’t--”

“Let me make this easy for you. Walk and see if you make it home, stay and you’re already home.”

You searched his face. You’d never seen this side of him. You blinked and spun on your heel. Fuck him. You’d drive yourself and he could tell the police you stole his truck. You ran to the front door and snatched his keys from the hook. You bent to grab your boots but his hand on the back of your neck stopped you. 

He wrenched you back and tossed you against the wall. The keys tumbled to the floor and he kicked them away, “no cheating,” he said, “you wanna go then?”

Before you could answer the high whine of a coyote cut through the air and the glass slats of the front door dimmed. You faced him and your heart beat wildly.

“Why?”

“You going?” he asked again.

“Steve--”

“Well?”

“You can’t do this,” you pleaded, “keep your money then. Just take me home.”

“No,” he marched towards you and pinned you by your neck against the wall. His hand threatened to stifle your breath as he leaned in, “go or stay?”

You batted away tears with your lashes. You turned your head as far as you could whimpered as the sky continued to darken through the marbled glass, “Steve.”

“Go or stay?” he rasped as his breath tickled your cheek.

You trembled and touched his wrist. He squeezed just a little and you gasped, “and if I get lost? If I die out there?”

His lips curved and he chuckled lightly, “you willing to take that risk?”

You watched him, looking for any crack in his veneer, looking for an ounce of the man who’d been your godsend in that desolate town. He wasn’t there. It had all been an act, a trick. He had you in his snare like any good hunter.

“What choice do I have?” you whispered.

He pressed his forehead to yours and his large nose brushed against the tip of yours, “I’m not that bad,” his other hand crept along your stomach, “you’ll see that,” he played with the ribbed cotton, “you'll never find anyone better than me.”

🪓🪓🪓

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[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH60

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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-----

Chapter 60: Purgatory Reunion (XII)

It was getting late at night, so reason told Qi Leren that it was time to rest, but the warm night wind was rare in the Underground Ant City, and the person sitting beside him was the lover he had met after a long separation. Qi Leren felt no drowsiness at all, as if he could talk to Ning Zhou all night.

They did talk for a long time, and even Ning Zhou, who has always been taciturn, said many things about the past.

"Winter swimming in Neverland? That’s too cold!" Qi Leren was stunned by Ning Zhou's hobby, and his teeth chattered with cold when he listened.

"...Fortunately, it wasn’t as cold as when we were ashore." Ning Zhou said and added seriously, "Really."

Qi Leren was skeptical. Even though he had been baptized by Maria's power and had a strong resistance to low temperature, Leviathan had left a psychological shadow on him in their fight underground. Under that terrible temperature, it seemed that the human soul would be frozen and crack. Neverland was in the polar regions, and the temperature of the polar night was also terrible. Even the polar days weren’t much better.

Enjoying swimming in the winter in Neverland... It was really a hardcore hobby.

"It must be very cold once you come out. After going under? You must freeze as soon as the wind blows, right?" Qi Leren is getting colder and colder.

"If you wipe your body with ice and snow first, it will soon heat up," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren was really shaking now, rubbing his hands and saying, "I feel cold now!"

Ning Zhou immediately reached over and wrapped his rubbing hands: "Is it still cold?"

Qi Leren froze, and the body temperature of another person was warm against his hand, which made him really shiver. The two people were motionless together, holding hands together for a long time without separating.

Ning Zhou's eagle flew in from outside, and landed on the railing of the terrace. It walked from one end of the railing to the other with his head held high, and then turned and walked back in a different posture. However, no matter how coquettish and enchanting it was, these two people ignored it. It was so angry that it began to tell the time: "Two o'clock, two o'clock, staying up late to die suddenly, endangering health!"

It really spoiled the mood, and Qi Leren glared at it gloomily: "It's late, we should go back to sleep."

"Hmm."

Actually, both of them didn't want to sleep. But considering each other's health, they left the terrace tacitly, crossed the living room, and came to the two bedrooms that were side by side.

Two bedrooms separated by only one wall.

"Goodnight," Qi Leren said with difficulty.

"Well, good night," Ning Zhou also said.

I said good night and should go back to my room to sleep, but a feeling of reluctance overwhelmed him. Qi Leren looked at his toes and said, "Sweet dreams."

"...You too."

It was really time to go this time, but after a few hours, they could sit together for breakfast again. Compared with the long separation before, such short hours were just a blink of an eye.

But they were still loath to give them up.

"What do you... what do you want to eat tomorrow?" Qi Leren asked.

"Anything's fine," Ning Zhou said.

The evening breeze blew all the way from the open door of the terrace to them, and the first light from far away projected the gauze curtain on the clean marble floor. The soft mood was like a lingering love song playing continuously, while they were like people sitting aimlessly on the bus in the afternoon, listening to the little love song drowsily in the warm sunshine, half dreaming and half waking, only thinking about this song. Don't wake up from this dream. Don't wait for the bus to reach its station.

"Then... then I’ll go to sleep." At this moment, Qi Leren restrained many impulses, such as telling him he was afraid to have nightmares, admitting that he still wanted to talk, and kissing Ning Zhou's beautiful blue eyes.

He tried to treat this relationship in a mature way, and he also tried to make himself behave properly enough. Therefore, he held this treasure carefully, and only wanted to hold it firmly in his arms, but he was afraid that he would break it if he tried too hard.

"Well, then goodnight," Ning Zhou whispered.

Qi Leren had already rested his hand on the doorknob and pushed open the bedroom door. The imaginary gentle love song finally ended when the bus stopped, so he said softly, "Goodnight."

Ning Zhou also opened the door of the other bedroom. He said, "Goodnight."

This long farewell was finally over. Qi Leren, who closed the door, put his head on the door panel, cleared his mind, and pressed the weight of his body against the upper half of the door.

Qi Leren had the illusion that he had thought a lot, but felt that he hadn't thought anything. He wanted to recall the farewell with Ning Zhou just now, trying to find some inappropriate action, but as soon as he recalled it, he was knocked down by shy emotions.

It was probably that talking with Ning Zhou had relieved the mental stress he had been feeling. Now, Qi Leren really was a little sleepy. He dragged his tired feet and fell on the bed, slowly moving towards the side against the wall until he reached the innermost part of the bed.

He had seen the layout of Ning Zhou's bedroom before, and the bed was on the side against the wall. That is to say, at this time, they were only separated by one wall. If you spoke while in a dream, maybe the other person would hear it.

Thinking this, Qi Leren couldn't help laughing.

A brain washed by love always made the people who had fallen in love do some strange things, and Qi Leren was no exception. He slept in the bed on this side against the wall, reached out, and quietly drew a heart on the cold wall.

When he realized what he was doing, he flung up the quilt and covered his face.

What the hell was he doing? Qi Leren let out a cry in his heart, half ashamed and half collapsed, and spontaneously formed two debate teams with an abnormal split in his mind to start quarreling about the topic of love.

Qi Leren felt obliged to be more mature, especially when it came to falling in love. He was four years older than Ning Zhou! Ning Zhou, who was only twenty-one this year, should still be a boy in college in the real world, and he had already entered the workforce. In terms of experience in love, both of them were tragically equal at zero, but Qi Leren had lived in the 21st century with modern information and open communication. His theoretical level beat Ning Zhou, who was almost equal to the man living in the medieval Vatican. Moreover, when studying, Qi Leren had still had many experiences of being chased by girls.

Even Qi Leren himself felt very strange. When boys the same age as him had been affected by hormones and began to desperately want to fall in love, he had not been attracted to the lovely young girls, and of course, he was not attracted to the same sex. Although sometimes he had seen friends showing love, he had had a feeling of "love is really good", but he had never started a relationship with someone he didn’t like purely to seek this feeling.

Maybe, before he realized it, he had been waiting for someone who was destined to appear, but the world was too big, and there were too few people one could meet in his life. How lucky would he be to find the right one?

But he had met him. This romantic miracle had consumed his whole life's luck—so that there was something wrong with his beloved’s gender—but he still felt lucky.

He should cherish this luck and protect Ning Zhou.

Along the way, Ning Zhou had really suffered too much. I really hope to make him happy... Half-asleep, Qi Leren finally fell into a deep sleep with this thought.

He had a dream.

It was not an endless near-death experience, but a very relaxed and happy dream.

In his dream, he "flew" in the blue sky and rode on the back of a black dragon.

The black dragon carried him from the ground, blasted away the land and mountains that blocked them, passed through underground lakes and flowing red lava, and they broke free from the bondage of gravity and marched fearlessly toward the sky.

The world was bright, clear, peaceful, and beautiful.

The wind under the clear sky blew his hair, and Qi Leren pushed the unruly hair on his forehead to the top of his head, watching the vast world under the rising sun, breathing the air that had no bloody smell, and being as happy as a child.

Flying at such a high height, the world under his feet was like a large sandbox, and the river reflecting the light of the sunrise spread from one end of the earth to the other end, like a ribbon shining with silver and blue light. In the vast wilderness, the earth was like an emerald carpet, but when a gust of wind blew, the carpet turned into green waves, rushing forward one after another. The peak of the mountain near the horizon was covered with a thin layer of ice and snow, but the foot of the mountain was full of colourful wildflowers...

The dragon flew over this reborn land, casting a cloud-like shadow, and then the sun shone brightly.

They flew too fast. In the blink of an eye, they have already passed through deserts and plains, and were still flying farther to the east. They might even fly over the vast sea and the fog at the end of the world, or they might fly towards the place where the sun, the moon, and the stars were located.

Where on earth were they going? The Qi Leren in the dream didn't know. He only feels that they were like this world...

Becoming one.

-----

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[spencers-renaissance]

The Colour of Waiting is Purple

Summary: Spencer's just trying to get home as quickly as possible when a bad decision to take a shortcut down a back alley leaves him broken and bleeding into the night. // Hotch thinks it's a new case when his phone rings at 3 in the morning. It isn't.

Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, physical assault, major character injury, hospitals, dad hotch, hurt spencer, angst with a happy ending, eventual fluff

TW: graphic descriptions of violence // physical assault (no rape/non-con)

Pairing: Gen, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Disclaimer: I'm sure there are some medical inaccuracies here, everything I know comes from google, whump tumblr blogs, and my embarrassing obsession with medical dramas. I also have no knowledge of the US medical system aside from what I know from the aforementioned sources so excuse any issues there.

Spencer doesn’t think anything of it when he leaves work at his usual time, the clock pushing midnight and the offices deserted. He packs his few personal belongings up and turns off his lamp before nodding to the janitor, the only other person to be seen, and taking the elevator down to the ground floor where there’s a little more sign of human life at least. 

As soon as he steps out into the crisp winter air, he feels the exhaustion of working close to 18 hours straight on far too little sleep hit him. They haven’t even been working a case, he just gets so caught up in his reports and consults that he doesn’t notice the hours whizzing by until he looks up and the bullpen is deserted, dark except for his desk lamp. 

Inevitably when spending the day at the office dealing with banalities, he finds something that captures his interest. It tends to send him on a trawl through the internet — or, occasionally, to another part of the building — looking it up in every journal he buys a subscription to until that itch is scratched.

The others always gently touch his shoulder or call out to him as they leave, which he tends to hear about 50% of the time, and Hotch especially tries to make him leave at a more sensible time, but he can’t help the way his brain works. Once it latches onto something it’s not letting go until it’s satisfied.

His feet carry him to the Metro station while his brain absently thinks over his most recent fixation, and soon enough he’s at his stop and back in DC. The streets are slightly more lively in the city, and the noise and light snap him back to reality enough to remind him of his bone-deep fatigue. He usually walks down the main streets to get to his apartment building, occasionally catching a bus if he’s earlier than usual or a cab if he’s later, but tonight he’s just longing for a quick microwave meal, a shower, and his bed. So, he dips down an alleyway and takes the shortcut home. 

It’s stupid. 

He knows pretty much every statistic there is to know about his city, and at the forefront of his brain are those concerning crime. DC has one of the highest crime rates in America, and a person’s chances of being a victim is 1 in 18, and although it’s slightly lower in Adams Morgan which is one of the safest, violent crimes are still 36% higher than the national average. This is decidedly increased when you take stupid risks like walking through the backstreets in the dead of night when you’re on your own.

Sadly, this does not occur to Spencer before he’s deep in the back streets of the city, being slammed ruthlessly against a wall by two men he didn’t see coming. 

He’s winded immediately, and before his brain can catch up with what’s happening, a knife is being held dangerously close to his neck. All his self-defence training, all the moves Derek had spent hours teaching him when he’d first joined the BAU fly out the window and he can only breathe heavily with what he knows must be a terrified expression on his face.

“Well, well, well,” the man holding the knife leers, his arid breath hitting Spencer’s face, “look what we have here.”

The other man doesn’t speak. He’s stood slightly further back, arms crossed as he stares Spencer down. Although he’s physically the lesser threat right now, something about him has ice pooling in Spencer’s stomach.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, you fucking pansy,” he continues, pushing Spencer further into the wall, pain blossoming across his body, “you’re gonna let us look through your gay ass purse, and we’re gonna take whatever we want from it. And then, you’re gonna let Paulie here do whatever he wants to you. He’s had a real bad day, and a pathetic little queer like you is just the punching bag he needs, you hear me?”

It’s all Spencer can do to nod his head frantically. He wants to open his mouth, to negotiate, to talk them down, but this is nothing like when he’s faced with the FBI’s most wanted. He’s in control there, he’s on his turf, his playing field, it’s  his game and he knows every rule, every bylaw, every exception. 

Right now, he’s completely at these men’s mercy.

“Paulie, take his bag.” The man doesn’t take his eyes off Spencer’s face, scanning his expression and body language for any sign he’s about to bolt, for any reason to put his knife to work. 

He tries to calm himself down a little, enough to catch his breath at least. He’s taken countless beatings throughout his life, he knows how to survive, just… please, don’t let it be anything more. It’s all Spencer dares to hope for.

The other man steps forward and snatches his messenger bag, unceremoniously dumping the contents of his bag on the pavement. Spencer’s just grateful that he doesn’t have anything in there that hints towards his career. He knows this type: they’re intimidating but they’re easily scared. Right now, he’s a weak twenty-something on his way home, he’s not a threat to them, but who knows what they’d do to him if they realised he’s a fed?

They take his wallet and his phone before they rummage through his pockets to find some spare cash. His badge is tucked in an inner pocket in his blazer and his Quantico ID is still hanging around his neck, hidden under his scarf, blazer, and thin overcoat; he’s so glad he never took it off. 

An icy tear drips down his face as he stands there, pressed against the wall, awaiting his fate. All he wants right now is to be back at home. No, that’s not right. All he wants right now is  Hotch. As soon as the thought of his father-figure crosses his mind, the tears start flowing faster, desperate to feel safe again, knowing Hotch is the only person to really let him feel that way.

The man holding the knife has turned to watch Paulie sift through his bag and rummage through his pockets, but as soon as his steely grey eyes return to Spencer’s face, his face splits into a shit-eating grin. “Aw, are you crying?” he mocks, starting to laugh. “Are the big bad men making you feel scared? You gonna run home to Mommy?”

He knows that it’s exactly what the man wants, but he can’t stop the tears from devolving into full-blown sobs at his words. The whole terrifying experience, the implications, the realisations of what might be coming for him in the next few minutes start to catch up to him and he’s violently shaking as he cries uncontrollably. 

“You’re pathetic,” the man spits, releasing his grip on him slightly, letting Spencer’s shaky legs collapse under him and send him crashing towards the ground. “He’s all yours, Paulie. I’m gonna enjoy this.”

His position is quickly taken over by Paulie as the other man leans against a dumpster close by to watch the show, and Spencer looks up at the intimidating man with fear blazing in his eyes as he hangs in purgatory, knowing the hell that’s about to rain down on him. 

Paulie doesn’t take long to get started and he doesn’t hold back, his sturdy, black boots kicking him relentlessly in the stomach and his thighs before moving up to his chest, slamming the toe of his boots into each individual rib. Spencer can hear the other man laughing maniacally over the sound of his own bones breaking, over his own choked pleas for mercy, but it’s like Paulie doesn’t hear either of them. His face is blank as he gives Spencer the beating of his life, and it only makes him more terrifying. 

He quickly gets bored of kicking Spencer and bends down to yank him up by his scarf, only to land a hard, brutal punch on his jaw, then his cheek, then his nose before dropping him down again, this time so his back is vulnerable, at the mercy of Paulie’s cruel feet.

The torture continues for a few more minutes, and Spencer doesn’t know how no-one hears his desperate cries, but they’re left alone in the alley as he coughs up blood and feels his bones break under the tread of Paulie’s boots. He’s deprived of air as his chest is stood on, as his windpipe is crushed, but finally,  finally it’s over.

“I’m bored,” Paulie grunts, giving Spencer one last brutal kick to the base of his back before walking over to the other man. They both saunter off down the alleyway, not casting a single look back at Spencer lying curled up on the ground, surrounded by his own blood. 

Soon, the men have left, and he’s alone with only his ragged, painful breaths for company. He can hear the hoots of a bachelor party just a street over, but no-one’s coming to save him. No-one else is stupid enough to venture down the backstreets of DC. Not with crime rates like those of their city. Not in the small hours of the morning. Not alone.

He doesn’t even have his phone to call for help. 

⭐️

Hotch expects it to be work when he picks up the phone at 3am. By the time he’s sat up in bed and sliding the bar on his phone to answer it, he’s already half in work-mode, ready to call Jessica and drive Jack over before racing into work to beat the others on the team. He can already taste his first coffee of the day. 

“Hello, is this Aaron Hotchner?” 

It isn’t work.

“Uh, yes,” he says hesitantly, shifting upright a little further, sleep-addled mind trying to guess who the caller could possibly be, “speaking.”

“Hi, my name is Mary Kutner, I’m calling from George Washington University Hospital. I have you down as Spencer Reid’s emergency contact, is that correct?”

Hotch’s heart plummets, and he leaps out of bed immediately, ready to get dressed as the shock wakes him up. “That’s correct. What’s happened?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge much information over the phone, sir, but we’ll need you to come to the hospital urgently.” 

He isn’t usually an emotional person, but he can feel tears springing to his eyes already. Spencer is a surrogate son to him, and knowing he’s hurt without knowing what he can actually do about it is an atrocious feeling.  Please don’t let me watch another member of my family die, is all he can think as he tries to gain enough composure to reply to the nurse on the other end of the line.

“Can you tell me his condition?” he asks, somehow managing to get the words past the lump in his throat. 

“He’s currently in theatre, sir,” Mary replies as gently as one can in such a professional tone. “If you come down to the hospital and report to the ER a doctor will be able to tell you more. I’ll need you to bring identification with you, please.”

“Okay,” he breathes, trying to keep as calm as possible, “okay. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be right there.”

He throws the phone on the bed as he finishes throwing his clothes on. He packs two bags: one for him (mostly filled with things Spencer might need) and one for Jack, pulls on his coat and shoes before creeping into his son’s room and lifting him out of bed gently, carrying him down to the car. 

Jack is a heavy sleeper — he frequently wakes up the next morning tucked in his room at Jessica’s, sometimes in the car on the way — and he’s endlessly thankful for that now. Explaining why he’s dashing out of the flat with a panicked look on his face to a seven-year-old is a conversation he’s glad to avoid.

He rings Jessica on the way who, used to his early morning calls waking her up, has no problem with looking after Jack.

Somehow, he manages to make it to the hospital only forty-five minutes later, and he didn’t even have to park illegally. Thank God the hospital is at least a little quieter in the dead of night.

“Hi, I’m Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid’s emergency contact,” he explains shakily to the woman at the front desk, laying down his FBI identification bag down as ID. He could use his driving licence, sure, but… if knowing they’re FBI agents will make any difference to Spencer’s care then he doesn’t give a damn if this could be construed in some way as abuse of his position. He’d rather lose his job than lose his son.

“Oh, hi Agent Hotchner,” the woman says with a tone of recognition, glancing at his ID before typing something into her computer, “I’m Mary Kutner, I spoke to you on the phone. Dr Reid is still in surgery but I’ll go and find a doctor who can explain the situation to you.”

He nods absently, face stern and pinched as furious anxiety toils inside him. He feels like the last forty-five minutes have been a daze, and now the bright lights and noisy machines and bustling action of the Emergency Department at a major trauma centre are slowly snapping him out of it, the implications of ‘urgent’ and ‘surgery’ and it being the middle of the damn night finally catching up to him. 

Some number of minutes pass by — he’s too anxious and caught in his head to keep track of the linear passage of time right now — before he’s approached by a young doctor, wearing a mask carefully constructed of confident professionalism and reassuring compassion. 

“Agent Hotchner?” She’s clarifying uselessly, she knows it’s him. He knows she probably has to confirm for some stupid HIPAA rule, but he just wants to know what happened goddamnit. 

“Yes,” he replies shortly, “what’s happened to Spencer?”

He doesn’t miss her almost perfectly concealed wince, and he feels his stomach sink further. “He was involved in an assault on his way home from work. A passer-by found him in a back road not far from the hospital and called for an ambulance. Luckily we got him into surgery quickly. Upon admission’s initial assessment, he had a ruptured spleen, a collapsed lung, a double kidney contusion, and he suffered a pelvic fracture along with multiple broken ribs, a fractured jaw and cheekbone, and several severe breaks in his left forearm, wrist, and hand.”

Hotch stares at the doctor in disbelief as she lists Spencer’s injuries: he feels like he’s going into shock. How could anyone want to hurt the sweetest person he’s ever met? How could anyone be so brutal? He’s worked with serial killers for nearly two decades and still, nothing could prepare him for this. He sits down in the seat behind him as the world spins, his brain trying to piece everything together. 

“Are you alright, sir?” the doctor asks, sitting down in the seat next to him. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“What?” He turns to look at her before her words sink in and he realises what she asked. “Oh. No, I’m fine… I— is he going to be okay?” As soon as the first tear spills down his cheek, he can’t stop them from falling one after another, dripping down his face in his most public display of emotion since Haley died.

“He’s going to need a lot of care,” she reasons, “he’ll need to stay in hospital for at least a week depending on the outcome of the surgery, but we have every reason to believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

“What’s— what’s the surgery for?” He feels like he’s having an out of body experience.

“They’ll address the internal bleeding first by either fixing or removing the spleen and making sure we didn’t miss anything else on the scans. The surgeon will also assess the damage to Spencer’s kidneys and make sure they aren’t contributing to the internal bleeding. They’ll address the pelvic fractures and the collapsed lung as well. You need to understand that Spencer may need further surgery and he’ll definitely need very close monitoring over the coming weeks and months.”

“What about his broken bones?” Hotch asks. “How bad is it?”

She sighs. “They’re bad,” she admits. “The pelvic fractures are likely going to have a big impact on his mobility, and he won’t have the use of his left arm for a long time. We’re looking at a long recovery, Agent Hotchner. But we have every reason to believe that he  will eventually recover.”

She pats him comfortingly on the hand before getting up. “Someone will fetch you as soon as he’s out of surgery.” 

It’s not until she’s halfway across the waiting room that he realises she never even told him her name. 

 It’s close to 8am by the time a surgeon walks over to him, still dressed in scrubs. There’s a smudge of blood on his shirt and Hotch winces at the knowledge that it’s Spencer’s. 

“How is he?” he asks, leaping up. He doesn't want any screwing around. He just wants to know if Spencer’s going to be okay. 

“He’s stable. The surgery went well. Unfortunately, we had to conduct a full splenectomy to stop his internal bleed which does put him at risk for serious infections, but otherwise, it’s good news. His kidneys will need support but should heal in a timely manner, and we were able to set the rib that punctured his lung and reinflate it, although we’re going to keep him on oxygen to be safe. His pelvis was severely fractured but we managed to reposition the displaced bone fragments and inserted a screw and metal plate to hold them together.”

“Oh, thank God,” Hotch sighs with relief. The worst, immediate threats have been dealt with, and it settles a small part of the anxiety he’s feeling. 

“He’s in room 338 if you’d like to go and see him. He should be waking up shortly.”

⭐️

Wasting no time, he races up to Spencer’s floor where a nurse lets him onto the ward and leads him down to 338. He pushes the door open apprehensively, swallowing his emotion at the sight of the man he considers a son lying in a hospital bed. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s been rushed to the hospital, but it’s never been like this. It’s always after a case: Spencer knows the risks of the job, they all do, and he puts himself deliberately in harm's way for the sake of others.

This time, though… this time he was just walking home from work. This time he had no say in the matter.

His left arm is in a cast and his face is bruised and swollen, chestnut hair matted and tangled. Opening the bag he packed, he pulls out a comb and gently teases out the tangles until he can comb through the curls completely unobstructed. There are undoubtedly more knots at the back of his head, but those can wait until he’s woken up at least. It just makes him feel like he’s doing something. 

It’s only when he sits down in the chair by his bed that he realises it’s Thursday morning now; he’s supposed to be at work today, they both are. No-one except Jessica knows what’s happened. 

The first thing, he supposes, is to ring Strauss. 

Once that’s out of the way and she knows that neither he nor Spencer will be in today and he’ll inform her of the latest updates as soon as possible, he messages Rossi. He’s the only one who will be able to remain objective enough to inform everyone, and he’s enough of a dad to the team to help manage everyone’s emotional responses. 

Just as he hits send on the message, his head snaps up at Spencer’s quiet whimpering as he comes around.

“Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says as soothingly as possible, “it’s okay, I’m here. You’re in the hospital. Are you in pain?”

Spencer blinks his eyes open blearily, wearing such a pained and vulnerable expression that it goes right to Hotch’s gut. He nods in response to his question, his good hand reaching to hold Hotch’s. 

“Okay, there’s a PCA pump right here, I’ll turn it up a little. Is that better?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, tears springing to his eyes. Now he’s not in as much physical pain, Hotch knows this is pure emotion, and he thinks that’s somehow worse. Spencer’s been through a horrifying physical ordeal, but the emotional recovery is going to be just as gruelling and last years. If there’s one word he’d use to describe Spencer, though, it’s resilient. 

He shushes him gently, bringing a hand to his hair and caressing it lightly. “I’m here,” he repeats. “You’re safe. I won’t leave you, okay?”

Spencer nods and relaxes into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he calms down a little. 

“You rest now,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Everything’s going to be okay.”

They’ll deal with the fall-out later. They’ll deal with the team coming to visit, with the paperwork for his sick leave and the frustration of government bureaucracy. They’ll manage their way through processing the trauma of what happened to him, the physical, mental, and occupational implications of the assault. They’ll stay glued at the hip while Spencer’s interviewed by the police, while doctors explain to him just how serious his injuries are. 

Right now, though, Spencer will sleep and Hotch will sit by his bedside watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to every steady beep on the heart rate monitor, searing the living breathing proof that Spencer is alive into his mind. Spencer will sleep and Hotch will cry silently over the cruelty of the world, he’ll grieve for the man he said good-bye to 12 hours earlier, knowing he’ll never quite be the same again. 

Spencer will sleep and Hotch will be there, holding his hand, waiting for him to wake up again.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith

[koolkat9]

14 (kiss meme) for RomeChu if its still okay to request? (Feel free to ignore this if it isn't <3)

Don’t worry, you’re good! I saw this and immediately went “NO!” because angst and then realized I brought this on myself with the last RomeChu fic. Also the ship itself is really angsty. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Prompt:  A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other

Pairing: RomeChu

After centuries of being a part, thinking he was dead and he would never see him again, Romulus, by some miracle, had turned up at his door. He looked just as he was the last time Yao had seen him, tunic and all.

“Amor,” Romulus murmured, a timid smile spreading across his face.

It couldn’t be. He had to be dreaming. There was no way he was here, right now, after all these years. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

“It's no joke. I’m here. I’m real. God, I missed you so much.” The man closed in for a hug, only to be pushed away by Yao. This was sudden, his emotions were everywhere, a million questions were forming, he couldn’t deal with all this. 

“J-Just...come inside,” Yao finally said, taking hold of Romulus’ arm and pulling him in. He guided him to the living room, sitting the former empire on the couch before heading to the kitchen to make some tea and collect his thoughts.

It had taken him a lifetime to get over the heartbreak that he was left with when Rome fell and Romulus disappeared. He had never experienced such events, at least not personally, and was left in confusion for a decade or so following. Eventually, he came to accept the fact Romulus was dead and move on with his life. It was difficult, but he focused on his job, his family, and friends and was able to get through it. All that work came crashing down now that Romulus was back. Sure he was happy to have him back, but at the same time, he was confused by what exactly happened and angry that it took this long for his return and just when he actually thought he was over what had happened.

By the time the tea was ready, Yao still wasn’t. Nevertheless, he grabbed two mugs and brought them out to the living room. “So…” Yao began, taking a seat beside Romulus, “where have you been for the last thousand or so years?”

“Well...not sure. Something like heaven I suppose, or maybe it's closer to a purgatory thing? I guess the afterlife is the best way to put it.”

So he did die, but how was he here now? “How did you-”

“That’s the thing. We can come back to the land of the living every so often if we choose to. I’ve done it a few times to see my grandsons and now for you too!” Anger bubbled in Yao’s chest. All this time when he thought he was dead (though his thoughts seemed to be true), Romulus had been coming back and not once came to see him or even give him an inkling of what had happened and what was going on. At the same time, if he was in the same situation, family would take priority too. Taking a breath, he said, “That’s amazing...I’m sorry...I’m just… I thought I’d never see you again and...emotions are just high.”

Romulus gave him a wide smile, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer. God, he missed this, but at the same time, he couldn’t shake this hesitancy of picking up where they left off a thousand years ago. All the same, he leaned against him. 

“How much time do you have?” Yao asked, though he feared the answer.

“A couple of hours at most.”

He wanted to run and he did try, only to be kept in place by Romulus’ grasp. The universe must have hated him to play such a cruel trick. Just when his heart was healed, the universe dropped his long-lost lover back into his lap, only to take him away once more. “Why...Y-You shouldn’t have...I can’t…” Yao’s works came out jumbled as he tried to prevent his emotions from spilling over. But before any of that could happen, his blabbering was silenced with a pair of lips meeting his own as two strong arms pulled him into Romulus’ lap. Yao wanted to pull away, to get as far away from Romulus as he could and forget all this had ever happened, but as those soft, familiar lips moved against his own, he couldn’t help but melt into the man’s embrace.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until Romulus’ hand grazed his cheek which spread the now falling tears. So much for staying strong and keeping his distance. He was practically sobbing into the kiss as he desperately gripped onto his lover’s clothing and pulled him closer with his legs. Romulus himself seemed to have swallowed his pride, holding onto him just as tightly.  

He missed him so much and even if Romulus would be ripped away once more, he knew he might as well make the most of it. They kissed until their lungs burned and their mouths became soar, forcing them to part. When he pulled away he could see Romulus’ eyes brimming with tears. Reaching out, he began wiping them away as Romulus placed light kisses on his palms. He could not recall a time where they had both been so open and affectionate. Too bad it had to come at the worst of times. 

“I have to go,” Romulus whispered moments later.

Yao felt his throat tightened. “You’ll be back right?”

“I’m the greatest empire in the world. Of course, I’ll be back.”

“Debatable,” Yao chuckled, though it came out strained, “but I’ll hold you to it.” 

With one more quick parting kiss, Romulus faded, leaving Yao alone, but hopeful, knowing he would see him again.

[fruityutas]

strike to the heart

taglist ~ @puppywritings , @xiaojours , @svchengss , @prettyjaems​

part of @du0tine​ ‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab

unstable!yangyang x psychologist!reader

not proofread

wc ~ 5k

genre ~ angst, ttiiinnnyyy fluff, thriller

warnings ~ the following writing is FICTION and has very heavy and unsettling themes like murder, suicide, and toxic relationships. if these themes are triggering or otherwise uncomfortable to you, do NOT read this story. there are also themes of religion.

synopsis ~ you were the best of the best, no one could bring an end to your golden career until he came along

note ~ i based yangyang’s personality in this off of his turn back time persona, making him very obviously mentally unstable. the plotline is based loosely off of harley quinn’s origin story, except of course, the reader dies. i also used the concept of purgatory in this story.

i realize that purgatory is apart of various religions, and i hope i made use of it in this story in the way it is intended to be portrayed as. i am not familiar with the subject, as i am non religious and have been for many years, so if i wrote anything that was disrespectful, please let me know and i will educate myself more on the topic. please note that if i do write something disrespectful, i will not be changing the writing in any way, unless necessary, because i feel that changing/erasing the mistake prevents anyone from seeing my growth as a person. 

here is the link to the website i used to read up on purgatory -> https://historylists.org/art/9-levels-of-purgatory-dantes-purgatorio.html

your parents always told you to aim for first. probably why you’re here now. you sit in the chair, watching your life play on what seems to be a screen. you can’t tell either way, everything is stark white and blends into one. the scenes are the only thing providing color to your eyes. are you dreaming? no, no that can’t be. the last thing you remember is…pain. and betrayal. how could he do this?

he was a fucking criminal. he had no true love for you, you were his final act. how could you have been so naive? every thought came too fast, it made your head hurt. a noise brought you out of your thoughts. a tall man stood off to the side of the screen. his features were sharp, and he looked angelic. “you must be y/n. you must also be wondering where you are.” you struggle to find your voice, so you nod at the man. he gives a sympathetic smile and strolls over to you. 

“you’re in purgatory. well, this is the judgment room. here your memories are played and the most influential ones are used to go to their corresponding terraces.”

“do i pick them out?” he shakes his head. 

“no, the council does that. you just sit and watch.” you shift in your chair, the hard material uncomfortable against your skin. “don’t worry, i’ll be here while it happens. you can call me sicheng.” his voice was hypnotizing, calming your mind. you turned back to the screen, and what you assumed to be the first memory started to play.

a burst of yelling snaps you from your thoughts. looks like we have a new patient. it was like this everytime a new patient arrived. yelling, taunting, sometimes as far as physical assault. it was like the right of passage for ‘newbies’ as the currents like to call them. you leave your office to peek downstairs. this one is surrounded by four guards. that’s unusual. two guards was standard, why does this patient need four? a danger to himself and others i assume. i should ask joy if i can take him. you hadn’t had a new patient in months, and all your others were making such progress they moved to a new unit. one of your patients, named chittaphon, had been released back into society. you were one of the best, even at such a young age. 

“joy! have you assigned the new patient to anyone yet? i’d like to have him.” you plopped yourself onto the couch in her office. her soft laugh brought you comfort. 

“of course you can have him, i was probably going to ask you anyway. you haven’t been busy with any others lately. yukhei is moving to a new unit next week you know. you did good with him, he asked me to tell you thank you.” your heart aches at the thought of yukhei missing you, the boy had become important to you. you would sit and let him talk about his family, his friends, and even his - what he called - soulmate. he would always gush about them and their relationship. you never suspected he could have killed them in such the way he did, or that his ill brain would rewire itself into thinking they were waiting for him to get better and be released from the hospital. the day he found that out was burned in your memory, chairs being thrown and yelling from the entire floor. it broke your heart to see him in such a state, even more when they had to lock him in isolation for a week.

but things change and he got better, and now he’s moving up a unit. more yelling snaps you out of your little thinking session. you and joy peek out her office door to see the new inmate arguing with the guards. you sigh and head down the stairs, as much as joy protests it. one of the guards notices you and tells you to stay back, and that this inmate is dangerous. you shake your head at him and push through to get closer. the inmate didn’t look much older than you, albeit a bit taller than you. he was still yelling at the guards when you came up to him and cleared your throat. he rolls his eyes and turns to you to start yelling, but you shut him down with a stern look at a shake of your head. 

“now, now, you don’t want to come in and be the hardass on the first day do you?” he says nothing, but the lack of arguing from him tells you he is agreeing. you tell one of the guards to follow you to his cell. it comes to no one’s surprise that his cell is in the lower level, it’s where all the worst patients stay. the guard that accompanied you stood directly outside the door of the cell, ready for any assistance. the inmate sat down on the cot provided but faced away from you. “are you going to speak to me?” he spares you a small glance, unwavering in intimidation, but it didn’t phase you. his face was young, yet it somehow seemed to be worn and exhausted. you wanted to open him up and see what his troubles came from, to fix him into a model member of society.

“wouldn’t you want me too huh?” his tone was annoyed and sarcastic. you stay collected and just nod at him. “why don’t we start with your name?” he stays silent. “if you don’t want to cooperate that’s perfectly fine but just know i’m the only one you can talk to if you want out of here.” you stand up and leave the cell, knowing that even though it didn’t look like it, progress was made. your last statement would sit with him until the next time you visit him, and he would talk eventually.

the screen fades away and into a new image. the only thing on the screen is the word ‘stubborn.’ you are confused as to what it means. sicheng makes his way over to you, his long legs making the distance short. “it corresponds to the first level of purgatory, stubbornness. although it wasn’t you who was being the most stubborn, it seems.” he snaps his fingers and a seat appears for him to sit. the screen lights up again and another memory begins to play.

“what do you mean he wants to see me? i just spoke to him this morning and he refused to say anything?” joy shrugs her shoulders exasperatedly. you sigh and make your way towards the lower level. the guard at the security door greets you with a nod of the head before letting you in. the inmate’s cell was at the end of the hall, dimly lit and dingey, with a slight smell of mildew. the underground location made for cold air and small windows, so there was never enough light in the place. as you made your way to your patient’s cell, a few of the other inmates down there whistled at you. they whooped and hollered to your dismay, bringing unwanted attention. you recognized one of them, guanheng was his name. he had been a patient of joy’s before she was promoted to her managerial position. no one else wanted to take him on, so they sent him down here to rot. you had expressed the idea of taking him, but joy wouldn’t have it. she simply said he was too unstable for anyone, and deserved to be down there. you disagree with her to this day, but she is still your superior and you can’t just go breaking rules just for your liking.

you knocked on the door to the cell, and a gruff “come in” came from the other side. entering the cell, you saw everything in disarray. “now, why is the cell in this condition?” he huffs and crosses his arms, almost in a cute way. you shake your head and continue in, shutting the door behind you. “are you going to tell me your name? i think it would help me connect better with you.” he looks at you with a blank stare. you don’t change your facial expression, remaining stoney faced. he sighs and starts muttering to himself, as if he was arguing with someone, before looking back up at you and finally speaking. “yangyang. at least thats what i’ve been told.” you hum lightly before asking him a few more questions.

“is it alright if i call you yangyang?” “yes” “alrightly then, do you remember anything from yesterday?” he ponders for a moment, his face going through a group of different expressions before he looks back to you. “i only know that i woke up and felt like hurting someone. but i can’t remember who or why. do you have any pens?” the last question catches you off guard. you hand him an extra pen from your coat pocket. he takes it eagerly and looks to your clipboard with expectant eyes. you tear a blank piece of paper from the back and hand it over. he immediately draws nonsense doodles, the paper quickly being filled. when he fills it, he flips it over to do the other side. “you can keep asking me things, you know. i like to draw, though i don’t know what. the other voice tells me to just make lines and things.” you’re jotting down notes when all of a sudden he throws the pen at you. it hits you square in the head, and you look up at him in surprise. he starts giggling and throws the crumpled paper at you. you remain calm as this can be a common occurrence among patients. his giggles become… unsettling very quickly, the tone and manner of them turning to a deeper octave. you slowly reach into your pocket to grab the help button, but you don’t press it just yet. yangyang stops his giggling and it becomes muttering. his words are difficult to make out, but you pick out a few, ‘kill’, ‘why’, and ‘forget’. you jot them down along with a note stating he was mumbling them in sentences that were not understood. “yangyang, are you hearing anything? do you know the other voice’s name if they have one?” he peeks out of his arms at you nodding. “they tell me that i shouldn’t have forgotten why i killed her.” you had notes on him that his previous institution gave to you, but you wanted to earn his trust by asking various questions. “who did you kill?” you knew he killed his mother, left her body hanging from the porch for everyone to see. the question cause him to tear up a bit. “i, i killed my mother. she just wouldn’t shut up, always nagging me about the house and bills, as if i could help it. she was a bitch.” “mmm, yes. but you loved her still, no?” he nods shakily as if he was unsure. “and did you forget why you killed her that morning?” another nod is sent to you. you keep taking notes on his behaviors.

you end the session on a positive note, telling yangyang that he did good today and that you’d be back tomorrow, but if he needed you to ask.

the screen once again went dark before the word ‘repentance’ appears. sicheng whips a pen-like object from nothing, grabbing your arm harshly to turn you towards him. “now, you might not like this next part but it has to be done. i have to carve five p’s into you somewhere. they aren’t permanent but it still hurts.” you panic slightly, trying to get away from his grasp.

“why?!” his face is stoic and cold, the seriousness setting in. you continue to struggle until he grips your face with vigor, causing you to stop moving. “stop. moving. it has to be done. now, where do you want me to do it?” you just point to your arm and look away as he does it. the pain is searing but bearable. “what is this for?” he makes the pen disappear before clearing his throat to speak. “for each of the sins that lead to your death, there is a ‘p’. the council shows a memory that corresponds to a sin, and you must figure out which one. if you get it right, you move one to the next one until the end, where you are allowed into heaven. if you get them wrong, you have another chance with a different memory. you only get two chances for each sin, though, and if you lose both of them a ‘p’ stays and it’s harder to get the next one correct. if you get more than two sins wrong, you spend 100 years here and then you are banished to hell. so please, be careful and choose wisely.” and with that he turns his attention back to the screen, as do you.

your appointments with yangyang were productive and you got to know him a lot better within the past few days. he hated dogs, they were too noisy and energetic for him. he really wanted to paint and draw all the time, so you gave him a few paint markers to decorate his cell with. when you had your next appointment, the walls were pretty full. he liked the texture of orange peels, he hated the taste. a lot of the things you learned intrigued you, why was his brain wired this way? you needed to dig deeper, and you knew you could. you had many awards and praises from seniors, your ego was swollen from it all. you took pride in your work, and you weren’t exactly humble about it. you would always brag to others about your accomplishments, and sometimes you made it a competition between you and your coworkers. joy was the only one that didn’t pay attention to it, she always let you go on rants about how you accomplished so many things this young.

the door to yangyang’s cell was the same grey color as usual, though on the inside, the room was filled with markings and random drawings the boy did. “yangie? what’s up?” he excitedly jumps from his spot on the bed over to the corner that the sessions took place in. two small chairs and a table were tucked in it, but it was cozy to you. a warm smile took place on your face as you sat in front of him. “well, today i really tried my best to not get angry with anyone like you said, and it worked! all i did was think about what you said to me and it helped so much. no one messed with me either.” there it is, the rush of pride in yourself. your ego is boosted, refilled for the day. you knew he could do it, with your help of course. you were the best in the field. “that is really good to hear, yangyang. i’m glad you remembered what i told you so you could control your emotions.” his hair bounced with each energized nod he gave you. you opened your clipboard and handed him a small stack of blank paper. “this is for you. now you have something clean to draw on again.” he took the papers excitedly. 

the rest of the session was yangyang rambling on about how you were the only one helping him and how he really liked seeing you. you observed him and from time to time you’d write notes down on his info sheet. every time he caught you staring, he’d blush and look back at his drawings. a smirk carved into your face, and a wink was all it took for him to turn into a stuttering mess. you left the session that day glowing in confidence and pride.

the screen fades away, and you feel a tingling on your arm where one of the Ps is. sicheng’s voice whispers into your ear, “figure out what sin you just witnessed.” it makes you jump a little, but you quickly regain your composure. all you could think about was yangyang. but deep inside your inner conscious, you knew the sin here wasn’t about him. it was about you. “i have my answer.” sicheng gives you a small nod and when you turn back around, a dark and windy figure stands in front of you. a voice not belonging to you enters your mind. “which sin is it, y/n?” with a shaky voice, and sweating palms, you manage to garble out your answer. “it’s pride. i was prideful in my ways, never backing down from challenges that weren’t meant for me.” the dark figure nods before wisping away. the tingling returns to your arm, and as you look down at it a P swiftly disappears. sicheng’s footsteps bring you back up to the screen, which begins to play a new memory.

 the continuous sessions with yangyang proved to be well. his condition was getting better, and he seemed to be taking well to the exercises you gave him. you were on your way to an appointment when joy came up beside you. “have you met with the new doctor yet?” you shake your head. “no, what’s their name? where are they located?” she tries to hide a mischievous smirk, grabbing your arm to stop your walking. “he is absolutely gorgeous! his name is kunhang and he’s actually gonna be on your unit, which means you’re training him since you are the best.” you chuckle at her enthusiasm, she’d always been trying to hook you up with people. she winks at you and runs off, probably to her next appointment. she’d conveniently stopped you in front of yangyang’s cell. you walk inside and see him on his bed pouting.

“what is wrong with you?” his eyes look up at you and shine with the beginnings of tears, worrying you. had the guards or an inmate said something to him? while you’re lost in thought he jumps up and pulls you on the bed with him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you snap out of it and sit frozen in his arms. the feeling of butterflies in your stomach erupt and you know it’s because of the man in your arms. he lets you go and you stand up to fix your uniform. “what had gotten into you, yangs?” his pouting doesn’t go away and he speaks softly. “who is kunhang?” so that’s what he’s being clingy for. he’s jealous. “he’s a new psychiatrist here. i have to train him.” yangyang didn’t get rid of the pout on his face, and he didn’t let your hand go for the entire session. the jealousy he had even after you told him that nothing was going to happen between you and kunhang was noteworthy, though you didn’t specify why he was jealous on his chart. 

the surrounding air had become cold, and you shiver harshly. sicheng sits beside you, tapping impatiently on the table. the shadow figure returns, and before it can speak you do. “the sin was envy. but why did you show me a memory of someone else being envious? i thought this was about my sins.” the figure doesn’t move from its spot. sicheng sighs and throws a stick at the figure, causing it to grunt. “that was unnecessary, sicheng. you are the reason for this sin. you let yangyang get attached to you, causing him to become jealous and protective of you. you may not have committed this sin, but you had the first hand in causing it.” you nod in agreeance, you had let him get close with you. too close, in your opinion, because if you hadn’t you wouldn’t be in this whole situation. it’s a bit ironic, you always told your coworkers to be wary of patients, yet here you are, stuck in purgatory because of one.

in the days leading up to your death, yangyang requested to see you nonstop, and he would ask so many questions about the outside world. what was surrounding the building, how many people were in the city. in hindsight, you should have suspected him to be trying to escape, but your mind was apparently on other things.

the last day you were alive, yangyang requested you only once. it was around eight in the evening, and this was going to be your last trip to his cell, quite literally. “are you ok, yangyang?” he nods and makes his way over to you. he might be younger, but his height is not small. “i’m just fine. but i wanna ask you something.” you nod to let him continue. “i’m planning to leave, and i want you to come with me.” the words come out of him in a hurry, but you catch them. a pit forms in your chest after hearing them. what in the world was he thinking? your job was important, and he still needed the therapy sessions you were giving him. “no, absolutely not. yangyang you can’t leave without proper check out from me and my superior. you know this.” he sighs in annoyance, grabbing your hand and dragging you to sit. “that’s not the type of leaving i meant. i mean we sneak out and never look back. we leave here and head north to my good friend ten’s house. he has this bigass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and we can lie low there for a while before going somewhere else and starting new!” you can’t bring yourself to say anything, the shock of how much he’d thought out this plan sitting heavy on your shoulders. the courage to say something before he thinks you’re agreeing with him bubbles up. “yangyang, under all circumstances, you and i cannot do that. do you know how many force tasks they’d send out for us? how much trouble we’d be in when they caught us? plus, you still need these sessions that i’m doing. the real world is harsh, and doesn’t take kindly to you. i wouldn’t want you or anyone else getting hurt.” his face contorts into sadness at your statement. he pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, not letting go. “but i thought you loved me, don’t you want us to be happy together?” your blood runs cold at his confession. love was never on the table, the flirting you’d been doing was just to open him up to make it easier to talk. you knew you were taking a risk doing that, but never had you anticipated him to fall in love with you and think it was mutual. you separate yourself from him and walk to the door. “yangyang, are you being serious? you- you don’t actually think i’m in love with you, right?” his face falls, going completely straight. no movement comes from either of you for a good minute, the situation at hand causing hesitance. “you’re not? i just thought… you were.” you scoff at the boy sitting in front of you. “y/n, i don’t think you realize that i’ve already planned for this. we’re gonna have to leave.” you start to argue with him but a flurry of gunshots and screams ring out from all around you. you turn and pull the door open to see patients and guards frantically running about, a breach in the facility causing this. “jesus fucking- yangyang why in the hell would you do this!?” you turn to see him getting up from the bed and gathering a few items. “yangyang!” he doesn’t respond, only grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. you’re too much in shock to resist the boy, and on top of that he’s definitely stronger than you. the run towards whatever exit he’s taking you to seems surreal. the amount of trouble you’re going to be in for this is astronomical. you can hear the words “you’re fired” repeating in your mind. outside the door is an alleyway that connects the facility to a power plant. it seemed like they’d had a breach too. yangyang really wasn’t lying when he said you’d have to leave to someplace far away. he drags you into the plant and heads for the large vats of chemicals. “yangyang where the hell are you taking us? what are you doing?” he glances over his shoulder at you, a deathly look on his face. “this wouldn’t have been in the plan if you had just done what i needed you to do. now you have to pay the price.” what in the fuck did he mean. 

the vats were in sight, glowing and hot from the chemicals in them. your surroundings loud from combat, you’d assumed from runaway patients attacking. yangyang stopped in front of the largest one, looking down in it and smirking. he turns to a very shaken you, giggling like a madman. “i think you know what’s in store for you my love. you betrayed me! you gave me all the signs, and carelessly flirted, acting like you liked me.” tears were pouring down both of your faces, but for different reasons. the end of your life was staring at you, loud and proud, and you knew this. you had many goals in your life, and to see none of them get achieved hurt you. you take one last look at yangyang, who is inching closer. “i’m sorry for making you feel like that. i just hope that in the next life, you’ll be a normal person and get to experience life in a positive perspective.” he doesn’t seem to care, because as soon as he gets close enough to you, he grips your face and leans in. “and now, my love, you leave me with a kiss.” his lips lock with yours for a brief second before he shoves you hard, taking the breath out of you. you fall backwards into the vat, the acidic chemicals eating you. yangyang stares at you as you perish, the smile slowly dropping from his face.

one would think this whole tragedy could be easily resolved, but this was not a villain origin story, it was real life, and you were dead. yangyang knew what he had done was fatal, but make no mistake, you knew it was what he wanted. he did love you, but his brain was not the same as a normal person’s. the wiring was simply not supportive of any form of morals, no right or wrong could be detected. all he knew was that you were in the way of him getting out, and he needed you removed. so he did.

and as reality set in for him, yangyang realized that you were the only one who understood him. you were the one to listen to his problems and not look at him like he was crazy, to help him through the intrusive thoughts, and you did that all while loving him. 

he breaks down, dropping to his knees at the harsh reality that you were gone forever, and no longer able to make him happy. the salty tears running down his face provided a blunt sting to the cuts and scrapes adorning his face. his shoulders shook with sorrow and his sobs were melancholic. yangyang can’t even think straight, all his mind is screaming is you. your name, face, your soft hair, warm skin, and the way you laughed at all his stupid jokes. he wants an escape from the voices in his head. the grate walkways that line the perimeter of the vats are loud with yangyang’s manic running. all he wants is freedom from his personal hell, he’s had to deal with people looking down on him all his life, saying that he was never going to be able to be normal, berating him for all the fucked up things he’s done, but never helping him to be a better person, always leaving him to rot in different psych ward cells.

gun. there’s one somewhere.

the one voice in his head that wasn’t screaming made him worry no less than before, but he knew to heed his own advice. it was the only coherent thought at the moment so what’s the harm. yangyang finds himself lost, and begins to get angry until he sees a guard coming his way. attacking him, he easily finds a gun and wrings it from the man’s grip before shooting him dead. the body slumps over and yangyang decides that he’d rather not die next to it. he is far too lost to try and get back to where he pushed you to your timely death, so he just runs until he finds a room. unlocked and unoccupied, he slips in and locks the door behind him. 

the leather chair that he sits in is worn and comfortable. the desk has various papers scattered around, and the computer is off. yangyang takes one good look at himself in the reflection of the screen before pulling the trigger.

the judgement room is even colder than before. you sit in the uncomfortable chair, tears streaming down your face and sobs ripping through your chest. sicheng sits, unaffected by your pain. the shadowy figure appears in front of you, so close you can hear whispers of a large multitude floating out of it. “y/n, you must finish the trial. what was the last sin?” you try your damndest to compose yourself, wiping the tears and hiccuping. “i- he was…” “no, y/n. no excuses. what is the sin displayed here?” you didn’t need this figure up your ass about it, the answer was obvious. sighing, you look up at it, seeing it slightly resembles a man. “wrath.” the figure hums in response, moving over to show the screen again. in large font and bold letters, the word “repentance” is shown. “you have passed judgement, and you shall be going to heaven. are there any questions?” 

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Flights of Fancy

Chapter 6 (on AO3) by @dracusfyre

Now: Bucky

Walking into the ballroom felt like the moment when a battle starts, when the still and quiet of a day suddenly erupts into noise and chaos. The room was a hot, stuffy mass of loud talking and brightly colored clothing, the roar of conversation almost drowning out the musicians playing dutifully in the corner of the room. It was overwhelming and headache-inducing and if it wasn’t for the possibility of seeing Tony here, he would have turned around and walked back out into the dark, quiet street. After the majordomo announced them, Bucky pushed to the front of their group, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was looking through the crowd for a familiar face even as he heard his team teasing him for it.  As they first entered, there had been an empty space around them as people instinctively moved away to give them room, but after a minute or two the space filled up with people flocking towards them, cooing and fawning over their red coats. He ignored any attempt to speak to him and went up on his toes, craning his neck to see around all the people. He had taken a few steps forward to start searching the crowd on foot when he saw a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. All he saw was the back of a head and a pair of reddish brown wings draped in purple, but his heart knew that hair and those wings anywhere.

“Tony!” He called out before he could stop himself, and he saw the wings flinch.

Behind him, he heard Falsworth say, “Tony? You found him?" Then as Falsworth realized who Bucky was looking at he said, "Wait, your Tony is a duke?” just as Fury said “Who the hell is Tony?” But he didn't bother answering as he made his way through the crowd. His heart was in his throat as he drew closer, nerves making his knees weak. When Tony turned around and their eyes met, Bucky’s breath caught in his lungs and the rest of the world faded away, the noisy conversation of the ballroom turning into a dull murmur barely audible over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. After so many years of waiting, it hardly seemed real that Tony was standing there right in front of him.

But, he realized, this was a Tony he’d never seen before.  His Tony wore loose, linen clothes and had tousled hair and wings, face and hands often smudged with ink or grease from his many projects. This Tony was groomed and gleaming, wearing expensive silks and satins with nary a feather out of place. Bucky had spent hours making sure his uniform was spotless and that his wings were well groomed and oiled, but in the face of this finery Bucky felt grubby and underdressed. “Tony, I-”

“Lieutenant Barnes, was it?” Tony asked. His blank, polite smile almost a grimace on his face, eyes unreadable, and he was holding his hands and wings tightly behind his back with all signs of being acutely discomfited. “It’s a pleasure. Thank you for your bravery in the fight against Napoleon, your service is greatly appreciated, I'm sure.”

At the bland, empty words, Bucky felt his face fall and his heart sink. Did Tony really not remember him? Had it been that long, had he changed that much? He had opened his mouth to remind Tony who he was when he saw Tony’s eyes dart to the crowd around them. His back stiffened as he realized that it wasn’t that Tony didn’t remember him, but rather that he was worried Bucky would  embarrass  him. His jaw went tight and he raised his chin. He may not be polished but he knew enough etiquette not to embarrass himself or others. “Lord Stark,” he said, bowing his head and wings with sharp military precision. “I apologize if I startled you. I was surprised to see you after these many years and I’m afraid I spoke out of turn.”

“No apology necessary,” Tony said, still looking horribly awkward. “It’s always a pleasure to run across a childhood friend,” he added.

Friend.  Bucky’s wings wanted to slump from dismay; this wasn’t going at all like Bucky had hoped, and if his team wasn’t watching him avidly he might have left this excruciating exchange. It didn’t help that he suddenly realized that the people around them were doing a poor job of pretending not to be watching them. “Would you like to dance?” he asked, desperate to get away from all the staring eyes.

“That sounds lovely,” Tony said, and when Bucky saw the relief in his eyes he realized that Tony had been feeling the weight of the eyes as well. People may still watch them on the dance floor, but at least they could speak without someone overhearing every word.

As they squared up for the dance, Bucky belatedly put two and two together, eyes dropping to the purple cape draped over Tony’s wings. “You’re the duke now,” he said, feeling stupid. “When did-”

“Two years ago,” Tony said, looking down at the purple like he still wasn’t used to seeing it. "It was a riding accident."

“Two years? And you didn’t-” Bucky bit off those words as the music started and they started to move. “I mean, I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.” There was a twist to Tony’s mouth that Bucky remembered well, and he knew what Tony was thinking as clear as if he’d said it aloud - no great loss.  He searched around for something to say and ended up with, “I trust that you have been doing well?”

“As well as could be expected, I suppose,” Tony said in a tone that spoke volumes. Bucky’s eyebrows drew together and he studied Tony, looking past the finery to see the lines of strain around his mouth and the smudges of tiredness under his eyes. "The years have been somewhat trying, I must confess."

“You look good,” Bucky said softly, and Tony’s gaze flew up to his.

“So do you. The red suits you,” he said, eyes skimming down Bucky’s body as they stepped into a turn. Bucky was relieved that his feet remembered the steps, practiced around the campfire when they had the rare evenings off. He’d endured the teasing of his team so that he could have this moment right now, Tony in his arms as they moved gracefully around the dance floor. “Have you been...well? Happy?” Tony asked after a moment. His eyes were over Bucky’s shoulder, but he saw Tony swallow thickly and felt how tight his hand was gripping Bucky’s.

Bucky took a deep breath and felt hope kindle in his chest again. “The best I can say is that I haven’t always been unhappy,” Bucky said, keeping his eyes on the side of Tony's face, heedless of the fact that he might steer them into another couple. “Purgatory might be a step up from hell, but it seems hellish when you’re there because you’ve been cast out of heaven." He moved his hand in a brief, illicit caress on Tony's back, hiding the movement by spinning them in a quick circle.

Tony’s eyes darted to the side to meet his again, and Bucky’s heart twisted at the anguish he saw there before Tony looked away again. “Bucky,” Tony said, voice shaky. “I have missed you so much. I looked for you, for years. When I couldn't find you, I thought...”

The need to wrap Tony in his arms and wings and kiss him was physically painful. Bucky’s throat tightened and it took another full circle around the floor before he could speak again. “I missed you so much, but I couldn’t come back to you,” Bucky finally managed with difficulty. “The army...”

“I know,” Tony said. “I know what Howard did, and I’m sorry. It was all my fault.”

“No. Tony, no, don’t say that,” Bucky said, almost missing a step in the dance as he tried to get Tony to look at him. “None of it was your fault, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.” His hand tightened on Tony's as he willed him to believe him. "Howard tried to tell me that you changed your mind, but I didn't believe him, not for a second."

“You-” Tony started, but the music ended before he could finish. Bucky released him reluctantly, and everyone bowed to their partners before they left the dance floor to make room for the quadrille that was starting next. He offered Tony his hand and was searching for a quiet place for them to talk when a female voice spoke up beside them.

“Lord Stark, what a splendid dance,” the lady said. “I was just telling my friend that you two make such a lovely - oh!” When the lady looked up at Bucky her eyes grew round. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were dancing with your fiance.”

Bucky didn’t have to ask if it was true - the way Tony’s face went white said it all. Bucky felt himself go cold all over, and time seemed to slow as he stared at Tony's stricken expression. As if from a distance he heard himself say, “I didn’t realize I owed you some congratulations, Lord Stark. Thank you for the dance, but I shan’t keep you from your fiance any longer. Please excuse me.”

As he tried to extricate himself from Tony's grip, Tony’s hand tightened on his as if to keep him from leaving, and his eyes were pleading. But Bucky just stared back stonily, and Tony’s hand dropped away instead of making a scene. He bowed perfunctorily and turned away, heading for the nearest exit before he lost control. It turned out the closest door led out onto a colonnade that circled a central garden, making a fine walking path for people needing peace and quiet. There were lamps hung around the garden for people to walk and take the air, but just Bucky made his way to a bench far from the door and sat down, putting his head in his hands and staring down at the gravel. His black boots, polished until they shone, reflected in the light of a nearby lamp and reminded Bucky of how stupid he had been, to hope and dream and wait all this time. He’d been so proud to get his commission, to know that an officer rank would open doors that could one day lead him back to Tony. The future that had seemed so bright and shining just a few minutes ago had turned to dust, and suddenly Bucky needed to move, to get as far away from the shattered remnants of the stupid dream as he could.

As he got to his feet again, he heard footsteps behind him and knew who it was without looking. “So you looked for me but didn’t wait for me,” Bucky said before he could stop himself. "Why bother? Curiosity? To assuage your unnecessary feelings of guilt?"

“Bucky, please, let me explain,” Tony said, and Bucky closed his eyes against the pleading tone in his voice.

“Are you, or are you not, engaged?” He asked coldly.

“I am, but-”

“There’s no but! ” Bucky managed to keep his voice down with a force of effort, aware that they weren’t the only ones outside. All that this situation needed to make it worse was an audience; having Tony witness his heart breaking was painful enough. He turned around but couldn’t bring himself to look at Tony, staring over his shoulder at the light streaming out from the windows. “What else is there to say? All these years I thought we were promised to one another, but clearly I was wrong because now I see that you are promised to someone else.”

“It wasn’t my doing!” Tony took a step closer, hands outstretched, but Bucky took a step back out of his reach. “The engagement was Howard’s work,” Tony said, wrapping his arms around himself instead. “He-”

“Howard’s work?” Bucky echoed with disbelief. “The man’s been dead for two years!”

“You’re not letting me explain!” Tony shouted, wings half opening with frustration. Bucky opened his mouth to respond but saw someone approach from over Tony’s shoulder.

“Tony?” The new person said. As he came closer, Bucky could see that it was a younger man, dressed in the latest fashion with his hair sculpted to look artfully tousled. “Lady Sherrington said you were out here. Is everything alright?”

Tony’s face shuttered and his arms fell down to his sides, wings shifting with poorly concealed dismay. He turned to greet the newcomer. “Lord Sturmont,” he said, forcing a smile. “This is Lieutenant James Barnes. Lieutenant Barnes, this is Daniel, Viscount of Sturmont...my fiance.”

Bucky stared at Tony, then at the young, handsome viscount who was studying Bucky with interest. “A pleasure,” he forced out.  Howard’s work indeed, he thought savagely, and when he met Tony’s eyes again he knew Tony could tell what he was thinking. Howard had died well before this man would have been old enough to get engaged, which meant that Tony had lied to him. Tony had the pleading look in his eyes again, but Bucky only felt his lip curl.

“Lieutenant Barnes,” Sturmont said slowly, as if trying to remember something. “Barnes.” He turned to Tony and said, “This is him, isn’t it? The one you’ve told me about. This is Bucky.”

Bucky didn’t think he could be surprised again, but the realization that Tony had talked about him to his fiance was like a slap to his face. Why? Had they been reminiscing about the past? Had Tony been hinting that he wasn’t quite as pure as a proper young noble should be? Or, it suddenly occurred to him, had it been pity?  Had Tony told this proper young viscount about the foolish laborer who had thought he might marry a duke’s son?  His Tony wouldn’t have done that, but Bucky was starting to wonder if perhaps his Tony didn’t exist anymore, that he had only been kept alive by Bucky's wishful thinking. “I must go,” he said abruptly, and turned on his heel and started walking.

“Bucky!” He heard Tony cry out from behind him, but he didn’t stop, didn't turn around, didn't slow down. With a flap of his wings he vaulted over the garden wall and fled.

[finaledenialist]

Okay, your tags on The Empty Post have showed up in my notes and I have to ask. Tell me more. Tell me it all. All of the feelings and thoughts about that scene because what I’ve seen so far? Absolute perfection and I agree wholeheartedly.

Thank you! Okay I basically unloaded most of my thoughts in my tags here but let’s go through this one more time. I may add: this was already said a thousand times by better meta writers than me 3 years ago when season 13 was actually airing. And I will ramble a little about Purgatory, too. Now with that out of the way: 

The Empty. Canonically it is a being, a living immortal being that rules the place or an ‘anti-place’ where angels and demons go are sent to when they die to dream of their regrets forever (this sounds awful and like a punishment for dying despite being immortal, for getting themselves killed or something). Also: the Empty was there before Creation, the Nothingness before Darkness and before Light. 

Okay. But let’s see what other things the Empty represents: lack of anything. Complete nothingness that Cas got sucked into (by Lucifer but also by helping the Winchesters). Now we know that Cas‘I am afraid I might kill myself’tiel had his issues, right (I still can’t believe that we are praising 8x08 thee Hunteri Heroici for being a filler episode with Cas - which is awesome, don’t get me wrong - but we all keep forgetting what he actually did say to Dean there!!! Dean says: are you afraid the angels will kill you if you show up in Heaven? And Cas looks straight into his eyes and says: After all I’ve done, when I see Heaven, I am afraid I might kill myself).

Please remember that it’s not only Dean, Mr. ‘Purgatory was pure’. Cas, after all he did in season 6, after his death in s7, after coming back and being literally haunted by everything he’s done, must have felt that Purgatory was liberating, too. It was some kind of an Alternative Universe where he didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions. He was free of them. It was literally his escape AND additionally it was (well, according to good old christian lore, maybe not specifically spn lore) a place where you are supposed to atone for your sins so there must have been the feeling of atoning, of making things right without actually doing anything specific, where having to survive and not get eaten by the Leviathans was his main problem (= surviving was just enough, nothing was asked of him), which, compared to all he’s done, wasn’t that hard or difficult. He found himself running away from Leviathans which could mirror running away from consequences of his actions - but it was Purgatory, it was at the same time atoning for what he did. It was EASY.

Cas basically confirms that he officially stayed in Purgatory because he didn’t think he deserved to go back to Earth and that is true but what he doesn’t say is: ‘Purgatory was pure and easy and kill or be killed and no other worries than that, no thinking, no real responsibilities which actually was a nice escape from the real world after all I did and been through in the past 3 years’. He wanted out, he wanted an easy choice. Okay, maybe he wasn’t actively looking for an easy way out but when it presented itself - when they appeared in Purgatory - he took it like a gift. We’re talking about a character who spent all his life following orders, who finally broke free and found himself completely lost in the freedom of choices, directionless and maybe wanted an escape. He must have felt overwhelmed but all this freedom (which he basically confirms in 6x20 freedom is a length of rope and god wants you to hang yourself with it). I COMPLETELY understand that choice to escape. 

So in seasons 8-12 Cas has a lot of stuff going on in his head, he gets lobotomized for most of season 8, he is hurt and tortured and treated like shit for most of season 9 and 10 and he ultimately gives himself up to Lucifer in s11 and then he almost dies in 12x12 and he never really got to talk about all of this or work this things out with anyone because Sam or Dean are not really the most talkative guys and Dean in 10x09 basically tells Cas to ‘let it go and not think about it’ which is a shitty advice to someone who suffers from some mental issues if I am being honest (this is like. ur depressed? oh go for a run and smile and stop being sad!!! kind of advice if you ask me). So these issues only grow and grow and start eating him up and please remember that at the very same time Cas is falling in love. I said it previously but I think the moment he realizes what he really feels is 12x12 when he is dying. In that moment he is able to name this feeling but it’s of course covered by: ‘I love you. I love all of you’. 

Now in season 12 he finally gets a proper arc with Kelly (god bless her, honestly, she and Cas had one of the most healthy relationships ever portrayed on tv and it wasn’t even romantic, I could go off about this but it’s getting really long anyway). So he kind of is on his way to find a purpose again - Dean is saved (from hell, from Michael, from the Mark), so he focuses on Kelly and unborn Jack and maybe in his relationship with her he rediscovers love (not necessarily romantic but he sees how she loves Jack) and he does all he can to protect her from basically everyone including the Winchesters. And he promises he will take care of Jack and then. Then he is killed by Lucifer (shattered at the altar of Winchester because he gets involved in the Apocalypse World because of them while having built something for himself with Kelly and Jack BUT still not having properly processed all his previous trauma). 

Okay, so fast forward: Cas is woken up by Jack in the Empty. He is of course confused and stuff (we still don’t know what was he dreaming about all this time he spent there now that we know this is a place where angels and demons dream about their mistakes and regrets <- fanfiction gap #1). He wakes up, he is ‘greeted’ by the Empty and one of the first things he says is that he has to go back because Sam and Dean need him. 

This is his first, automatic thought - I (probably) don’t want to go back, but Sam and Dean need me so I have to, I don’t want to go back for myself because I never wanted to since Purgatory but I know I have to. He doesn’t even think about Jack in this moment. I... maybe it is a stretch but I sense a kind of fear in these words. It’s like he thinks: ‘if I had the chance to come back and chose not to come back from selfish reasons then if the Winchesters ever find out about this they will be angry at me’. But I might be reading too much into this, but on the other hand Jesus fucking Christ this is precisely what happened in Purgatory. He chose to stay although he had a chance to return and the effect was Dean being mad at him. Talk about trauma--

Then the Empty (who was in Cas’ mind) voices his biggest fears: 

'I know who you love, I know what you fear. There is nothing for you back there. Wouldn't you rather be a fond memory than a constant festering disappointment?'

There is a lot to unpack here because this is the Empty’s (who, as stated at the beginning can be read as a manifestation of not only death but also Cas’ depression and self-worth issues) reaction to Cas saying that Sam and Dean need him. She says: uh oh you’re wrong<3 I know who you love, what you fear, the is nothing there for you, sweetie. Essentially: they don’t need you. No one needs you or wants you there. They are better off without you. Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory (of actually being useful as in: saving Dean from hell, helping to stop the Apocalypse, helping to fight the Leviathans) than a disappointment (failing powers, makes mistake after a mistake, chooses to protect the unborn Antichrist rather than killing him before he’s born - and not to make this whole thing worse but this is what Dean has the audacity to say to Cas in 15x03: why if something goes wrong it always seem to be you).

I will now allow myself for some privacy, because I am a person who dealt with these kind of thoughts in my head for years, these are straight up suicidal thoughts: no one needs you, no one wants you, you are a disappointment and if you die you will be fondly remembered, everyone is better off without you. And we know Cas was suicidal because he literally tells us in 8x08 and we have no proof that he somehow got rid of these thoughts, ever. If anything, they were always there, present, if not growing. Thoughts like that don’t just disappear. Please remember one more time what was happening to Cas in seasons 8-11. He wasn’t healing. He was getting worse, while all this time managing to keep his head above water for someone else, while the guilt was rising and rising. 

If the Empty represents all his issues: depression, suicidal thoughts, guilt, self-hate, lack of self-worth, and what she offers is: eternal sleep. Maybe not entirely peaceful sleep, but sleep nevertheless, no consequences, no facing your fears, no dealing with anything, an escape, sleep - 

And she prompts him to stop fighting, to go back to sleep because there is nothing to fight for (now the symbolism of him being waken up by JACK who was his new found purpose just before he got killed), but she makes a mistake to confront his thoughts and fears with him. She makes a mistake of taking a ‘physical’ form, putting on his face and voice his fears. And Cas is a warrior and he kind of hates himself, so his instinct was to fight. Of course it was easier not to think about all of these stuff at all, to push it back, to try to forget. But once he was forced to face all of these? He fought back. AND HE WON!!!!! 

WHAT A MESSAGE TO SEND RIGHT?!!! You might have all these issues and not want to face them because you feel you will crush under them but look: when you are forced to face them it turns out you are somehow way stronger than them!!! The moment you choose to fight you already won, you are already saved!!! Because ultimately these are your thoughts and this is your mind and you control it, no one else! The moment you decide, you choose, to take control: you win. You are saved because you chose to save yourself because you decided you are worth saving. And the Empty (and everything she represents) immediately gets angry and lets him go, ultimately annoyed because he dared to defy her and she just can’t win with someone who decides he wants to be free. WHAT. 👏🏻  A.  👏🏻 WONDERFUL. 👏🏻  MESSAGE.  👏🏻

So... Having said all that. There is only one thing left: I have NO IDEA. NO IDEA. HOW HE FOUND THE STRENGTH. TO STAND UP AND SAY THIS:

I'm already saved. You can prance and you can preen and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow, I'm awake. And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane. I will fight you. Fight you and fight you for... ever. For eternity.

A FUCKING ICON. STRONGEST CHARACTER EVER. YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER--

[prettyboy-asmo]

Brothers (+Diavolo and Solomon) reaction to GN! MC fainting

A request from @bigg-crybaby  HC for how the brothers + Diavolo and Solomon react to the MC fainting because of a diet/ ED.

TW: Discussion of EDs, Diets, disordered eating, fainting.

Note: Disordered eating is something I’ve struggled with in the past, so I know that like most things in life it’s experienced very differently for each individual. I also want to make a note that My messages/ask box is always open to anyone who might need to talk for whatever reason. (I also put all the tags i could think of for tw but if I missed one please let me know so I can correct it.)

Lucifer:

It happens one day when you join him in his office to work on your homework for RAD, you just want to be able to work in peace and don’t have the energy to listen to the usual bickering.

you stand up to grab something you’d left in your room and suddenly the room is tilting and oh boy, you think, because you know how this goes. 

Lucifer catches you before you hit the floor and sits you in the armchair, unsure of what to do.

Lowkey panicking but trying very hard to keep a semblance of calm. 

you don’t appear to be in any immediate danger, so he messages his brothers and asks if they noticed anything strange with you lately. as his brothers respond the pieces finally put themselves together. 

Mammon replies first- They were sleepin late today and when I woke em up they insisted on skippin breakfast to be on time. then comes Satan’s reply, they didn’t eat at lunch, they said they’d gotten some snacks between Classes from Beel and went to study instead. And finally, Beel, I didn’t see them at all this morning.

When you’re aware, you’re greeted by Lucifer’s concerned gaze. “MC,When is the last time you ate?” for a moment you expect Lucifer to be angry, but his expression remains concerned. “Please talk to me, MC,” 

Eventually, you admit that you last ate at Dinner the night before, finally telling him that you’re struggling- it’s a habit, You tell him, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, Sometimes I can’t even stand the thought of a meal.

He’s angry with himself for not noticing before now, and he swallows his pride and Admits he doesn’t really know how to help- but that doesn’t mean he won’t learn.

He makes a point to sit with you at meals- if it’s too much for you, eating around so many people, He’ll start taking you to his study or his room to eat with him. 

Lucifer is gentle about the whole thing, but not patronizing or babying. He’ll ask you to take an extra bite, or sit you down and tell you to eat, but he still treats you as an adult, besides his extra vigilance of your eating habits, he treats you no different then before- he knows you are anything but Fragile (Or at least, no more so than the average human is fragile to a demon.) 

He tells you that you can deal with this together, and he means it. Good days and Bad days both, he’s right there with you. 

Mammon:

You’re walking back to the house from RAD with him when you’re suddenly aware you’re very light headed. You sway once, hand trying to grip Mammon for stability, then tip forward as black edges around your vision. 

Mammon Catches you and is instantly in Protective Panic mode

He doesn’t know what to do in the slightest- he spends a few seconds weighing his options before turning in the direction of Purgatory Hall- the only other Human must have an idea, right? 

He doesn’t make it very far by the time you’re already stirring in his hold, a little out of it as he slows his movements, afraid to jostle you, but he’s rambling- “Ya can’t die on me, Human, alright? I’m your first man and I’m supposed to protect ya!” 

You tell Mammon you’re not dying, urging him to just take you back to the House of Lamentation. 

He hesitates but relents when you promise to explain things. Refuses to let you walk back though, he doesn’t want a repeat performance. 

You explain that you’d saw this diet going around- how being surrounded by incredibly fit and attractive demons spurred you to try it so that maybe you could feel a little better about things- but you hadn’t had breakfast, or lunch, and dinner last night- he knows you didn’t eat enough to fill or keep your energy up.

He’s heartbroken. “MC, ya don’t need to try any of that bullshit, ya hear? You’re perfect. And ya gotta eat to work! Humans especially!” 

He’s constantly checking that you’ve eaten enough. Even if you insist on only eating specific things, he always makes sure they’re available to you. Even when he’s not on dinner Duty he’ll make a specific dish on the side if it makes you feel more comfortable and keeps you healthy. 

Mammon becomes much more open with giving compliments, no longer hidden behind jabs. 

He might go a little overboard with his protectiveness/ checking in sometimes, but if you tell him he’ll back off after making you promise to tell him if you need him for anything at all.

Still lowkey keeps track of things, just to make sure you actually are okay, just doesn’t vocalize it as much. 

Leviathan:

You and Levi are playing games in his room when it happens. You’re exchanging your usual banter, both of you focused on the screen of the game when Levi notices you go quiet. 

You blink a couple of times, the controller in your hands feels heavier all of a sudden, and you can’t quite remember the right button combinations to press- or even focus on the game.

It all happens within seconds, your vision goes black and you drop the controller, the noise of the game and Levi’s panicked voice seemingly coming through a long tunnel. 

Levi Panics. He abandons his own controller and game, “MC? MC!?” he shakes your shoulder slightly, breathing a sigh of relief as you stir. 

 Your head is throbbing and you can feel the slight shake in your limbs

“You fainted,” Levi said, his frantic worry still evident in his voice, the way his hand lingers on your shoulder despite how adverse he usually is to physical affection, “Are you Okay? Have you been feeling sick?” 

I’m not sick, you say quietly, “I’m sorry,” His genuine concern stirs something in you, and you’re crying before you even realize what’s happening, “I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

“Wha- no, No don’t apologize!” You want to shake your head, but the lingering dizziness prevents you from doing so. “Do you know what happened? S-Should we get you a doctor or-” 

“No doctors,” you say quickly, “I- Uh, I haven’t eaten today,”  His confused expression draws the admittance out of you, “I didn’t feel like I should.” Oh. Oh. 

He understands a little bit, his own self esteem isn’t the best and he’s had his share of self deprecating thoughts but to see something like that manifest in you...he can’t stand it. 

He’ll help you in any way he can. He’ll even leave his room for every meal and go to RAD to have lunch with you everyday if that’s what you need. 

Makes a habit about asking if you’ve eaten that day. He’d even started carrying around little packages of snacks that you enjoy in case you haven’t and insist you at least share one with him

His worry for you is obvious, but not really suffocating. He understands the need for space, so as long as you can assure him you are actually alright, and that you’ll at least eat a little and that if you start having issues you’ll come to him, he won’t have an issue stepping back for a bit. 

Will still attend meals to make sure that you are to, and subtly watches to make sure you actually eat things from your plate.

Offers his room to you anytime you need. Is it easier for you to eat while you have something else to distract you? Dinner time Anime sessions it is. 

Satan:

You finish the book Satan had given you, realizing the other book he’d recommended for you is on the couch next to him. You stand just a little too fast and you curse your mistake as the familiar feeling of falling takes over. 

Surprisingly calm. Catches you seconds after he notices what’s happening. 

You become more aware in Satan's hold. He’s maneuvering you to his now empty spot on the couch, setting you down and saying something, you’re still a little fuzzy, but when his eyes finally meet yours the look of concern on his face is painfully obvious. 

“MC, What’s goin on?” His tone is calm, but there’s an edge, “That isn’t normal,” he says when you remain silent

“Don’t be mad”, you say and a whole new wave of concern washes through him. Are you sick? Injured? “I used to- I’m having trouble with...food.” 

It takes him a minute to understand. He sits next to you on the couch, and gently begins to question you. “Can you tell me why? Can I help?” He doesn’t push you to explain, but he does ask that regardless of what you tell him you let him try to help you. 

While he does research things, he always asks you if you think something would help, rather than suggesting it. He leaves it up to you to decide what you’re comfortable with. 

Will let you eat in his room or join you in your room if you’d rather eat away from people. 

He reads about ‘safe foods’ and asks if you have any. If you do, he makes sure there’s always some in the house (Even if he has to go to great lengths to hide it from Beel.) 

Doesn’t try to hide his concern, makes sure you always eat something but he makes sure not to overwhelm you. As small of steps as you want- he’ll be there for you. 

Asmodeus:

Asmo had begged you to go shopping with him. You honestly didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

You are just entering the third store when you notice your vision blur and darken at the edges, all the sounds seeming far away. 

When you come to, you’re in Asmo’s room, tucked under the blankets. Asmo perks up from a chair pulled closer to the bed, handing you a glass of water. He waits for you to finish your drink before he speaks, “I asked Solomon to check on you.” And what did he tell you? “You know that you’re perfect, right? I’ll remind you as much as you need to hear it.” 

He’s so genuine when he says it, your resolve to remain distant about the topic begins to crumble. You’re all so beautiful and I just feel..I’m just- I thought that maybe if I could lose some weight-

He cuts off your rambling there, “You’re gorgeous, MC. Every part of you. You don’t need to change anything about yourself for anyone but yourself.” He pauses, his eyes searching your face for something before he continues, “And if you truly feel you must change, You can not endanger yourself to do so, do you understand?” 

He waits for your answer before saying anything else. He asks that you promise to come to him whenever you feel that way. 

He’s always been open with affection and compliments, but it intensifies- He’ll shower you in compliments while still being entirely genuine. 

If you seem in an off mood or you do come to him with concerns, he’ll offer a spa day or shopping trip. If you don’t want either that’s fine to- he wants to make you feel better so whatever it is you need, he’s got you. 

While he has full trust in you to come to him if you need him, he’s still keeping a close eye on you. He checks in often but it’s usually subtle enough that you don’t even think twice about it. Even when he’s more straightforward about it it never comes off as pushy or nosy or overwhelming, just genuine concern and curiosity. 

Assures you that he’s not going anywhere, through good days or bad, he wants to make sure you are healthy and happy. 

Beelzebub:

Knows something is up when you’re consistently offering him unfinished plates of food, but he doesn’t say anything because maybe he’s wrong? Humans don’t need as much food as he does, after all. 

But when you insist on joining him in running laps and after only one pass he sees you stop, eyes squeezed shut as you lean forward, trembling slightly- he’s by your side just in time to catch you before your legs give out. 

You regain focus in his arms, “MC.” He sounds confused and worried, brow furrowed as he speaks, “You haven’t been eating enough.” You can feel the flush on your face, unsure of what to say. “Are you ill?” 

Not physically, you say without thinking, and regret it when the furrow of his brow deepens, It happens sometimes. When I’m stressed. When I need to control something. When I feel… bad about myself. You try to explain. 

“I don’t completely understand.” he admits, “But I want to help you be safe. Can you help me understand?” So you explain it as well as you can to him, try to convey what it feels like for you. 

He gets a grasp on it eventually, and then his questions move on to how he can help. 

Offers you bites of his food more often, and no longer asks if you’re going to finish your plate. 

He won’t even take your offered plate if he thinks you’ve eaten too little of it, but he won’t outright press you to eat more. 

He’s always carried snacks around for himself but now he has all the snacks he knows you like to. He even manages not to eat them so he always has them for you. (He’s extremely proud of this, and you are rather touched when you find out from Belphie.) 

Even though he doesn’t fully understand he does everything he can to make things easier for you. 

Make sure you know that he wants you to be safe. He knows it’s not good for Humans to constantly skip meals or under eat, (He asks Solomon how much a human should be eating, just to make sure you are getting enough.)

If you tell him there’s certain food you feel better eating, he’ll avoid those during mealtimes until he’s certain you’ve had as much as you want. He’ll even avoid them during his late night snack runs that way you’ll always have the option to eat those if nothing else seems okay to eat. 

Belphegor:

He comes to your room pretty often looking for a nap buddy. It’s no different this time, except you’re at your desk, staring at your homework but not really doing anything. 

“MC,” you start a little, turning to Belphie, “You look like you could use a nap.” You think that sounds like a pretty good idea. You push your chair out and stand, but just a few steps towards your bed you wobble, stomach swooping and blinking rapidly to try and still the spinning room. 

Belphie steadies you, placing you on the bed gently as you finally seem to come back to yourself. “MC? Are you okay?” 

He doesn’t look outwardly panicked, but his heart is pounding and he’s trying to figure out what the hell that was. 

I need to eat, you admit, your hands are shaking in your lap, and you try to clench your fists to make it stop. I didn’t eat today. He knows you keep a stash of snacks in your room for Beel, so he grabs something out of that and hands it to you. 

He doesn’t really ask questions, he just sits next to you and waits to see if you say anything to him first. If you don’t tell him anything, then he will ask what’s going on. 

Whatever the reason, he doesn’t want to see you putting yourself through that. Makes you promise to talk to him if you need to. 

“Humans have to eat to stay healthy, MC. I don’t want something to happen to you.” 

Already used to carrying snacks around for Beel, just starts carrying more, in case you weren’t able to eat breakfast or can’t stomach a full meal. 

Subtle check ins. He’s not pushy but he can be slightly overwhelming sometimes. He wants to know that you’re okay and sometimes it’s almost like he’s looking for reassurance that you aren’t hiding something from him. If you tell him to step back a bit, though, he will. 

He asks you if you’ve eaten before you nap together. He loves naps and cuddles, but if you haven’t eaten they’ll have to wait until he makes sure you do. 

Solomon:

You and Solomon met at least once a week to study together. So that’s where you were, heading to Solomon’s room in purgatory hall. He’s just a couple steps behind you, and you’re telling him about the latest scheme Mammon tried to cook up when the stairs ahead of you tilt. 

Your hand latches onto the banister and you stop, waiting for the feeling to pass. But it doesn’t this time, instead you hear Solomon’s voice buried under the rush of blood in your ears and everything in your sight is blurry around the edges. . 

Solomon catches you, cursing to himself as he steadies you and then lifts you to carry you the rest of the way up the stairs. 

You wake up in Solomon’s bed, the Sorcerer sitting at the foot of it and simply watching you. 

“Is there something you’d like to talk about, MC?” His tone of voice tells you he already knows, and you decide there’s really no use in trying to hide anything from Solomon. 

It’s just a diet, you tell him, but he shuts that down quick, “Diets are not supposed to make you faint, MC. You’re smart enough to know that.” 

He’s not harsh, but he’s firm. It’s obvious he’s coming from a place of genuine concern and wants to make sure you aren’t endangering yourself. 

“You don’t need to diet, you know that, right MC?”

He starts messaging you to make sure you’ve eaten breakfast before you leave for RAD, and he eats his lunch with you more often- not that either of you mind. 

If he’s really concerned he might ask Asmo to check in with you, or make sure that you’re not skipping dinner. 

Will also invite you over to purgatory Hall for dinner or Lunch. (Made by Simeon, of course.) There might even be an increase in your study meetups. 

Despite all of this, he doesn’t feel suffocating. He listens to what you have to say, won’t make you eat anything you don’t want, just as long as you promise to eat something, even if it’s a little bit at a time. 

Diavolo: 

He invites you over to discuss the exchange program, and you see no reason to turn that down. Barbatos leads you to one of the sitting rooms where Diavolo is waiting, and when you enter he greets you in his usual cheerful manner. 

You can feel the beginning of an odd sensation in the back of your mind, and you’ve almost made it to the chair Diavolo offered you when grey edges in your vision and you sway- 

“MC.” You blink at the concern in Diavolo’s voice, taking a moment to recall what happened. The Lord of the Devildom is crouched in front of you, gaze searching your face, “MC,” he says again, “Barbatos said this would help.”  He holds out a glass of some sort of juice and waits for you to take it and drink a few sips before he continues. 

“Would it help if we brought more Human world food here?” he asks, and you feel bad that all you can really do is shrug. It’s a problem for me with human food, to. You admit under his gaze. It only prompts more questions but you answer them as best as you can. 

“MC, Please don’t think me unavailable if you need to talk to someone. I care about your health.” He continues to question you on if there is anything at all he can do to help. 

You run into him more at RAD, and he always seems to have something extra that Barbatos had made and insists you take it. “Even if you don’t want it now, you might want it later.” You appreciate it more than you can say, even if you don’t always eat whatever he gives you. 

Will also message you if he knows he doesn’t have time to see you in person that day. He doesn’t usually ask if you’ve eaten, but he’ll ask if you’re feeling okay. 

If you tell him that you’re having a hard time with things, whatever he had planned for that day will just have to wait. He’s more concerned with making sure you’re okay. 

He thinks about asking Lucifer to keep an eye on you, but he trusts you to come to him if you need help. 

He understands that he can’t fully understand what it is you feel, but does his best. If he’s concerned about something, or he thinks something might help he’ll bring it up to get your opinion. 

[deanscasanova]

die and rise the same

destiel, 1.3k, 15x18 coda

read on ao3

Shoutout, as usual, to @sharkfish​ for their help!

---

Dean knows how this goes.

They’ve lost Cas half a dozen times now, over the years. He knows the drill. He hurts, then he grieves, then he fights, and then - although sometimes in the middle here he gives up, accepts the enormity of what he’s trying to do, the impossibility of it all, but still always, always, always - he gets Cas back.  

Dean knows how this is supposed to go. He hurts and he cries and he screams, and then he gets back up again and keeps on fighting. But he doesn’t want to keep fighting. He doesn’t want to get back up. He doesn’t want anything, and he wants everything he can’t have, and it hurts, and it hurts, and it-

They’ve lost Cas half a dozen times now, over the years, but Dean can’t quite put his finger on how many times he’s lost Cas. On the moment it became a loss he didn’t quite share with Sam. Something different. Something personal. Something like lov-

Dean doesn’t know how this is supposed to go.

Cas flipped the script. He was always good at that, right from the start, and for a while there Dean thought he was used to it. But now here he is, collapsed on the floor with a bloody handprint on his shoulder and he can’t. He can’t get up, can’t keep on fighting, can’t go through this all again, again, when every time it feels like it’s going to tear him apart from the inside.

He’s done this half a dozen times before, yet every time feels like the first. He’s tried ignoring the pain, pushing it down and focusing on the hunt and pretending, pretending, until he almost manages to convince himself it’s not there. He’s tried drinking, beer and whiskey and then anything he could get his hands on, because a hangover hurts less than heartbreak, because an empty bottle is the kind of future he can handle. He’s tried just letting himself feel, telling himself that he needs to feel it before he can move on, that in time it’ll pass and it won’t hurt so much - but it never works. It consumes him until there’s nothing else but agony and anguish and still no angel by his side.

He’s tried denial and anger and acceptance and apathy, and none of it is enough to replace what he’s lost.

So instead he just sits there, collapsed on the floor with a bloody handprint on his shoulder, and he cries, and he remembers.

He remembers the days when a handprint on his shoulder was an embarrassment, a weight of a different kind. Burden rather than belonging. Something he hid and that Sam teased him about and that he’d have given anything to be rid of. He doesn’t remember when that changed, can’t remember a moment he liked having it there, but at the same time remembers that he was sad to see it gone. That it was just another loss, on top of so many unbearable losses, that left him kneeling in the dirt in a cemetery so close to home.

He remembers those early days, when there was nothing between them but duty, a civility that sometimes bordered on hostility. When it was the job, the job, demons to fight and monsters to hunt, and there was no room in the day for anything that wasn’t in service of stopping Lucifer. He thinks about how they failed, and they failed, and they kept fighting anyway. How Castiel fell, was corrupted day by day, by the shit and the Earth and Dean.

How slowly, so slowly that Dean barely even noticed, duty turned to loyalty. How loyalty led to loss. How one day loss was gone and left devotion in its place.

And he remembers that first betrayal, the day devotion died. A betrayal that left him bleeding, like nothing he’d ever known, that hurt more than he could ever have prepared for. He remembers a ring of holy fire, and the blasphemy it brought to light. He remembers a coat, fished from a river, soaking wet but still so bloody. The coat that Cas once wore, folded up into the trunk. Carried from car to car, from job to job, through those very darkest days. Because grief doesn’t care about betrayal; grief comes anyway, even when it shouldn’t, love with no place to go but the old coat cradled in his arms.

He remembers the Cas who didn’t remember. He remembers the Cas who did. He remembers when the darkest days got darker, and Cas was far too far away.

He remembers those days in purgatory, when all he wanted was Castiel. He remembers the days after purgatory, when all he wanted was Castiel. He remembers the days after, the years after, through every betrayal and every bereavement, when all he wanted was Castiel.

He remembers a bloody hand on his bloody cheek in the cold stone of a crypt. A sword stabbed into wood. Churches and forests and bedsides made holy only by his prayer. His back against the wall in an alley in the rain. Tears in newly-human eyes. Stolen glances, fleeting touches, and hugs that would never be tight enough. A hunter’s pyre and scorched wings and the condemning stillness of a lake. He thinks I’d rather have you, cursed or not, and I’m not leaving here without you. He thinks don’t ever change, and don’t make me lose you too, and I need you -

And about Cas, through it all. He thinks about Cas, by his side, about Cas, about Cas, about we’re making it up as we go, and I’ll come with you, and I lo-

He remembers the days when having Castiel by his side was enough. When the open road and an angel by his side was all he needed. All he wanted. A beer and a burger and jokes that didn’t hit, squinted eyes and a tilt of the head and -

He wonders when that stopped being enough. When he started to want more. Started to want the thing he could never have.

Things he maybe could’ve had. This whole time. If only he’d -

Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being, he said. Well Dean must be broken, because happiness couldn’t be further away without Castiel by his side. He’s spent too damn long without Castiel by his side.

And Castiel doesn’t always come home. After more than a decade, Dean has come to terms with that. Cas doesn’t always come home, but that’s okay - because as long as Dean’s around, there’ll be someone to bring him home.

So he’ll bring him home.

Dean stops crying. He picks himself up. He doesn’t grieve, because to grieve would be to accept that Castiel is gone, and he won’t accept it. He never will. Because if he taught Castiel to feel, then Castiel taught him faith. So he fights, and he fights and he fights, and -

And he brings Castiel home.

Dean doesn’t know how this is supposed to go, but he’s done being afraid. He’s done holding the truth at the back of his throat and choking through the days. He’s done hiding, he’s done pretending, and he’s done grieving for all the time they’ve lost to fear. Because there will never be a right time, but there will always be a now.

So he says it. He says it without elegance, without diminishing. He finally says it, lays it all out, lets it stand and speak for itself.

He says, broken and bleeding; “I love you too.”

And Castiel looks at him, with that fond look in his eyes, and says; “Hello, Dean.”

[sondepoch]

Part 3

Paramour (Diavolo x Reader)

You love Diavolo. And Diavolo loves you. But in the Devildom, relationships aren't as straightforward as that—and Diavolo being the future ruler of the Devildom certainly complicates things. So when you learn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, a human, you're overjoyed. Yet, there are still issues. Big issues. Diavolo wants you to be his paramour—whatever that means. But you want to be his wife. And with each passing moment, it's beginning to feel like even love can't bridge the gap between your worlds.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Diavolo thinks he's dreaming when he wakes up to the sensation of someone playing with his hair.

There's only one person in all the realms who would ever do that, but he knows that you're gone. Gone to the human world, gone from his life, gone because he released you, and never to return.

But as Diavolo continues to press his eyes shut, his mind only grows more alert, and the feeling of fingers dancing through his hair feels even more real—almost as if someone is actually there next to him.

The man keeps his eyes closed, savoring the feeling.

He's scared, terrified, that if he lets himself open his eyes and slides back into reality, whatever daydream he's in will slip away and he'll be left all alone again. But when he catches a faint sigh from above him, a sigh he doesn't just hear but one he feels, in the soft and warm breath that just barely rustles his dark red locks, he can't feign sleep any longer.

Diavolo opens his eyes.

And then he regrets not having opened them earlier.

"M-MC?" He chokes out, his voice hoarse from lack of use. His eyes widen at the sight of you: beautiful and loving and sincere as you smile a sad smile down at him.

"You're awake," He hears you whisper.

And part of him still thinks he's dreaming, because that's the only rational explanation for your presence in his bed, but Diavolo doesn't even care because he's missed you so damn much. He practically jumps up, moving muscles he hasn't bothered moving in days, enveloping your body into his as he hugs you tight, tighter than he's ever hugged you before.

"How?" Comes his broken question, and he buries his head in your neck, breathing in the sweet smell of you.

"Lucifer," He hears you respond breathlessly as you return the embrace, and the sensation of your sweet arms wrapping around his body proves to be too much for the demon. Diavolo holds you close, forcing your head atop of his shoulder so that you can't move. So that you can't see the tears of joy and relief pouring down his cheeks.

Lucifer, he thinks, suddenly recalling how he's practically ignored his best friend these past few days. God, he doesn't think he's ever loved the man as much as in this moment, now that you're in his arms because of the other demon's maneuverings.

"Please don't leave," He mumbles into your hair, feeling its softness in between his fingers. "Please don't leave me again."

Diavolo hears you hesitate, and for a moment, panic descends upon him. But then he hears the soft "okay" as you wrap your arms tighter around him, and Diavolo truly believes that he's never been happier.

It's not tangible, he knows.

It's not a promise to be his, and it definitely doesn't offset your reason for leaving for the first place.

But, still. It's a start. And if there's one thing that these past few weeks without you have taught him, it's that Diavolo truly needs you. Just like he needs food and the air and the sun, he needs your love.

Yet, at the same time...False lover, Diavolo remembers.

He never understood it. He still doesn't.

The day after you moved out of his castle and into Purgatory Hall, Diavolo had sent Barbatos to scour the libraries for what any useful information. He knew you hadn't been unfaithful and he knew your love to him was true, so what could it possibly have meant?

Alas, he never found out. Barbatos returned almost entirely empty-handed, carrying nothing but an ancient scripture (perhaps one of the only copies in the Devildom) that could break the sacred paramour contract. Fueled by resentment and pain, Diavolo had used it.

Only afterward did he realize the weight of his actions.

The mark of the paramour faded from both your bodies, not even a ghost of the symbols left to hint that they'd ever been there—and Diavolo realized that he had forsaken his claim to you. His contract with you. He feared that you would consider it him forsaking his love for you.

But you've returned, now, haven't you?

What does that mean for our relationship? Diavolo can't help but wonder as he continues to cradle your body. He allows his fingers to pinch a lock of your hair, long and beautiful as it flows from your scalp, and gives the (h/c) strands a kiss.

It doesn't matter, he decides.

You're here now, and that's all he needs.

***

Being in Diavolo's arms is bliss. True bliss.

You don't realize how much you've been missing this until you feel it, and once you do, you can't help but wonder how you ever willed yourself to leave.

Nothing else in all the realms has made you feel so secure. You lean into Diavolo's body, savoring the feeling of every muscle and outline of every ab as his larger body practically envelopes yours, every time Diavolo holds you tighter just another testimony to his ability to protect you.

Truly, in his arms, you feel safe.

For a long time, neither of you move. The prospect of ruining the moment is too terrifying, and frankly, you feel like you could spend an eternity like this, enjoying the warmth of a man who—no matter what he does—will always have a claim over your heart.

Diavolo presses soft kisses to your body, never straying anywhere intimate, but every contact of his lips to your skin carries a hidden meaning. You close your eyes as he trails from the inside of your wrist to the left side of your temple, from the back of your head down a strand of hair, from your eyelids, closed in bliss, to your nose.

"I've missed this," You hear him murmur. The words are quiet. Small. Almost low enough for you to have missed them. But you hear them, and they bloom a flower of hope inside your chest.

You press your forehead against Diavolo's, both of you closing your eyes in the oddly intimate gesture.

"We both have."

You two must spend nearly ten minutes like that, bodies pressed against each other, lovers finally united. And while nothing has actually happened, no lip-to-lip kisses and no profound declarations of love, you feel like things between you two have slightly returned to what they were before this whole mess with paramours and wives ruined your relationship.

Ah, yes, you think, remembering. Paramour.

The word leaves a dark shadow where it passes through your mind, and you push Diavolo away ever so slightly.

"MC?" Diavolo asks. It feels strange, hearing him call you by your name, but perhaps it would be stranger for him to call you 'darling' right now. You're still not sure what this intimate moment means for your relationship. You told Diavolo you wouldn't leave him, but that doesn't mean there aren't still issues that need to be sorted out.

"You should shower," You tell the man. He seems reluctant to leave, though, so you sweeten the offer. "I'll...I'll get your clothes ready."

A spark of optimism flashes across Diavolo's eyes, and he quickly crawls out of the bed to make way for the royal bathroom, leaving you in the room. It amuses you to see him so eager at your offer, but it's understandable.

Him, showering in the morning with you, picking out his clothes for the day, used to be a part of your normal routine for the two of you. And by choosing to partake in that routine, you're offering him a small slice of hope—that maybe things can go back to normal.

But your heart is heavy as you pick out the clothes.

Of the two of you, no one has yet to acknowledge the elephant in the room: the paramour situation.

You sigh, unfolding the man's clothes as you begin to make his bed. A call breaks you from your thoughts.

"It's been barely ten minutes, and you've already made my room look cleaner, darling," Diavolo cooes, leaning against the open doorframe with his arms crossed. His smile is amused and his eyes are soft with adoration as he stares at you, his previous pain only a light shadow covered by his newfound happiness.

That was a quick shower.

"Hush," You quip back, throwing the man a pair of boxers and his shirt. You're relieved he at least has the decency to keep a towel wrapped around his waist right now; on most mornings, he would come strolling out in the full nude. "Get dressed. I can tell that you've been neglecting your duties, and we're going to see Lucifer and Barbatos."

"We?" Diavolo asks, slipping the clothes on.

"We," You respond, before crossing your arms. "I'm still mad at you...but for now, it's we."

Diavolo smiles.

He doesn't push the limits of your supposed anger, keeping his usual touchy hands and flirtatious comments to himself as you exit his room. He doesn't even call you "Darling" again, opting to use your real name, but you'd have to be an utter fool not to notice the pep in his step as he greets the two demons that he's (apparently) spent weeks ignoring.

"Lucifer! Barbatos!" He exclaims, outstretching his arms in the manner you are used to. "How are you two?"

Both men freeze at the sound of the prince, jaws hanging open at the sight of him actually up and about.

"You..." Lucifer trails off, not knowing what to say.

It's Barbatos who escapes the confusion-induced stupor first.

"Welcome back, my lord." He smiles pleasantly, an unnerving grin that masks all his real emotions. "It's good to see you back to your usual self."

Right, you remember the sorry sight that you'd seen when you first came, and how entirely heartbroken and devastated Diavolo had looked as he slumbered. He's almost entirely back to his usual self now that you're by his side, but these two demons have grown far too accustomed to seeing the darker side of him.

"Indeed," Diavolo responds.

"Would you like some tea?" The butler asks, clearly realizing that the prince hasn't had food in far too long.

"Anything will suffice."

And then Lucifer finally recovers from the shock, practically bombarding his beloved friend with questions once he can bring himself to speak.

"Diavolo! Are you well? How is your hunger? You seem to have showered, are you feeling better now? Is there anything you require? Please don't hesitate to make any—"

Diavolo holds up a hand, silencing his friend. "Relax, Lucifer. I assure you, I have returned to my normal state. Can you tell me of any paperwork or requests that require my attention?"

Lucifer seems surprised to see Diavolo so ready to dive back into work, only then realizing that all his friend needed was the touch of love in his life. The black-haired demon glances at you, flashing a cryptic smile your way.

You fixed him, he seems to say.

You can only smile in response.

It takes barely a minute for the two men to launch into a full conversation about everything that needs to be done, and just a little bit more time for Barbatos to return with a pot of tea. He pours some for both you and Diavolo, handing you both the cups since there aren't any tables directly in front of you.

When he passes the cup to you, though, he flinches the second your fingers graze his.

A tingling warmth lingers where your hands touched.

Awkwardly, you manage to catch the cup, but not without every set of eyes in the room darting to the butler who practically jumped away from you the second his gloved hand came into contact with your fingers.

"D-did I hurt you?" You stutter out, never having seen the butler look so disconcerted. The mask of apathy that he always wears is gone, leaving you all to see the shocked look in his eyes—more shocked than even when he and Lucifer saw Diavolo.

"You've been blessed by angels," He mutters, bewildered.

And then all the eyes in the room are on you.

"You've been blessed?" Diavolo asks, placing a hand over yours, tentatively touching the skin. "By gods," He mutters, more to himself than you. "How did I not sense it before?"

From across the room, Lucifer, too, approaches you, gently touching your hand. His look is one of pure disbelief, but the moment he touches you, he flinches back.

"W-what's wrong?" You ask. "Does it...hurt for you to touch me?"

Worry clouds your eyes, and you immediately begin to regret ever accepting Simeon's offer. It was ridiculous, now that you think about it. You knew that you wanted to spend eternity with a demon, and yet, you accepted an angel's blessing. Wasn't that counterproductive?

"No, it doesn't hurt us," Diavolo interrupts, slow and cautious with his words. "It's just very...shocking. I'm certain you weren't blessed the last time we were together, MC. What...what happened?"

You swallow nervously as the three demons turn to you, each one desperate for an explanation. You can only think of one thing to say: "Simeon..."

Before you can continue, or even begin to explain that you were the one who agreed to Simeon's offer, Lucifer is chanting in a foreign language with a dark glow emanating from his body, painting the room purple.

You instinctively lean closer to Diavolo, but the spell lasts only a few seconds before the light fades, and in its wake stands..."Simeon."

"Lucifer," The angel says, blinking. He glances around, his confused gaze darting from face to face—settling particularly long on you, wondering why you're back in the Devildom—before he turns to the demon who teleported him here. "I know I told you to feel free to summon me if you ever wanted company, but I have a feeling you didn't call me here just to enjoy my conversation." Simeon flashes a kind smile at all of you, mild amusement settled in his emerald eyes as he tries to understand the situation.

"You blessed MC," Diavolo blurts.

"Ah, so that's what this is about. Yes, I gave her my blessing—Michael did, too. Is that a problem?" The angel seems to be asking a genuine question, which is understandable. You know that an angel blessing a demon is supposedly a big taboo, but Simeon told you that angels blessing humans is a rather common practice.

If anything, though, the demons in the room only further tense at Simeon's words.

"She's been blessed by Michael as well?" Diavolo's eyes are wide in disbelief. "MC, is this true?"

You nod your head. "I didn't realize that it was important..."

"It's..." Diavolo trails off, clearly troubled.

"It's complicated," Lucifer finishes for him, crossing his arms in masked disapproval.

"I'm sorry," You murmur. "I didn't think...I didn't realize it would be a big deal. I don't even think that Michael's Blessing had any impact, honestly, so maybe—"

"That's impossible." For the first time, Simeon cuts you off. "An angel's blessing will always manifest."

"Angel blessings are intangible," Diavolo murmurs, and you can feel the light tension between them: angel and demon, disputing over the nature of a blessing. "Michael's Blessing is famous across the realms...the blessing of eternal happiness, no? Happiness isn't always obvious, so it may not have taken effect in the way you think."

"Impossible." Simeon is adamant. "Our blessings are very tangible. They always manifest in the form of a physical change. Always. Even my blessing, which seems intangible: it's to bring people closer to their nature as an angel. But it has a clear manifestation: wings, to physically bring people closer to the Celestial Realm. Michael's Blessing is no different."

"If that is true, how did MC physically change after being granted his blessing?" Diavolo's eyes skirt over you, noting no real differences between now and the last time he saw you.

A momentary silence ensues, even Simeon absent for answers, when Barbatos speaks up.

"MC, would you please stand up?" He asks, approaching you. His usual mask of coolness is back on, but his actions are somewhat hesitant. Not wanting to heighten his discomfort, you comply with the request and stand awkwardly as Barbatos's palm ghosts over your stomach. Just like the last time he touched you, a warmth floods the area and you feel almost dizzy as his magical power literally seeps into you. "My lord, there's something you should see. Or feel, I suppose."

Barbatos steps back, gesturing for the prince to do as he did, and Diavolo keeps his movements slow, as if he almost doesn't want to know whatever it is that Barbatos is trying to show him. Only when his palm is placed flat against your abdomen does a flash of recognition cross through his eyes.

"Her stomach changed?" Simeon asks after neither demon says anything. It doesn't quite make sense, but, looking back, you do remember a flash of pain in your abdomen when Michael blessed you. The feeling subsided quickly enough, turning into a comfortable warmth somewhat similar to the magic pouring out of Barbatos's hands, but you'd dismissed it.

Clearly, it means something, though.

"She..." Diavolo trails off, swallowing. "Her organs are different. Her...reproductive organs."

Understanding dawns in Simeon's and Lucifer's eyes, but you're still confused. Your reproductive organs?

"What does that mean?" You ask, eyes round in confusion. You glance from male to male, hoping that one of them will answer you. In the end, it's Diavolo who speaks up.

"Your child-mothering parts, MC. They're different now."

But the confused look in your eyes doesn't fully fade. Why would Michael change your child-bearing organs? Isn't his blessing supposed to give you eternal happiness?

"It means you can bear a demon child." Diavolo pauses. "An heir to my kingdom."

***

It feels like Lucifer's been yelling at Diavolo an awful lot, as of late. And for some reason, Barbatos always seems to be on the demon's side—much to the demon prince's displeasure.

Diavolo pouts playfully as Lucifer continues to rant angrily.

"Wipe that look off your face!" Lucifer hisses, crossing his arms in a feeble attempt to mask the waves of wrath radiating off his body. Behind him, Barbatos looks somewhat amused at seeing the demon in such a state, but Diavolo can tell that he stands by the man's words. "Do you understand the nature of what it is you propose? And for you to tell Simeon to inform Michael and the other angels—have you no sense? Think what you're planning on doing through, Diavolo!"

"I am thinking it through," Diavolo retorts. Lucifer is always so on board with him when it comes to matters related to the RAD and the student council; why can't the two ever seem to agree on affairs of the heart? "This is the best possible course for my plan to reunite the three realms. I am a demon. MC is a human. And now that we know she is blessed by angels, even the Celestial Realm can't stay uninvolved!"

Lucifer scowls. "A king has never taken a paramour and a wife in one person, not for generations! The people of your kingdom will laugh! And it's not just them you need to worry about," Lucifer warns. "Your father won't be happy at all once he hears what you've planned."

"My father may not be happy, but MC will be happy." Diavolo thinks to himself, adding: "MC will be happy, and I will be happy."

"You're talking about uprooting thousands of years of demon tradition. Thousands of years of culture, all belittled in this human-esque marriage."

"For the three realms to come together, of course, some customs will change. If the Celestial Realm even sends envoys to our wedding as I instructed Simeon to request, that will be a compromise that uproots millennia of their tradition as well."

"Diavolo, you are talking about removing the divide between paramour and wife. Turning them into one in an insult to both!"

"Lucifer, must you always oppose my decisions related to MC? The last time I brought up the idea of marrying her, your only argument was that she couldn't give me a biological heir—and she now can! How can you continue to resist? An angel literally changed her body to remove that obstacle, and her eternal happiness lies with me."

"Angel blessings aren't supposed to be fulfilled by other people."

Diavolo groans, his eyebrows knitting together at Lucifer's resistance.

"Lucifer," He finally interrupts. "Let me ask you this: do you wish for me to be happy?"

"Of course." Truly my best friend, Diavolo thinks with a smile. There wasn't a moment of hesitation in that answer.

"I can only be happy if I am with MC. And for MC to be with me for eternity, this is the only course of action I can take." Diavolo pauses. "So, for the sake of our mutual happiness, please stop arguing this. My mind is made up."

Lucifer stares at Diavolo for a moment, a strange mix of emotion swirling around in his eyes before his expression clears. The demon sits down, eyes narrowed in the familiar focus that Diavolo is used to seeing. "It will be troublesome, trying to manage public opinion of this marriage." But with these words, Lucifer isn't trying to change Diavolo's decision anymore. Rather, they're words of warning. Lucifer has accepted what is to come and merely wishes that the prince understands what he's in for.

"That's why I have you by my side, Lucifer."

***

It didn't come as much of a surprise when Diavolo next proposed to you.

No, you'd sensed his desire to make you his kingdom's queen the moment he learned that you could produce him a biological heir. Once he formally broke off the engagement with the she-demon he had proposed to at the last party, you knew that he was just waiting for an opportunity to slip a ring on your finger.

What does surprise you is the speed at which the wedding has come.

"Do people usually hold weddings a week after becoming engaged, here in the Devildom?" You can't hold the question back any longer. You didn't want to ask Diavolo, for fear of seeming rude, or Lucifer, for fear of Diavolo finding out you asked, but Barbatos appears to be trustworthy enough. Well, trustworthy is a bad word. It's more like he doesn't seem to care about you enough to bother telling Diavolo about such a trivial matter.

"Lucifer advised my lord to make haste with the wedding for the sake of minimizing public response and backlash," Barbatos murmurs, draping the silk fabric of your dress over your shoulders, letting the expensive material hang loosely. You appreciate the gesture—it's awkward enough to have Barbatos dressing you for your special day, but standing like this, with your arms extended, without even underwear, does make you feel rather exposed without something to cover you. "But weddings can come as early as a week into the engagement, or as late as several hundred years. For that reason, they usually aren't taken very seriously."

You nod your head slightly at Barbatos's explanation, watching in the mirror as he begins to lace up the stunning red dress.

It's your wedding dress.

And it's your wedding day.

In truth, you've yet to see what the dress looks like on your figure. Diavolo insisted that you leave all the details of the wedding up to him and simply enjoy feeling like a princess on this special day. He doesn't want you to feel any stress or worry, though you can't help the tiny pit of anxiousness that bubbles in your stomach at the prospect of actually getting to spend the rest of your life with the man.

And this time, you know you're not accidentally agreeing to be his paramour or whatever.

Well, in a way, you sort of still are.

It's a technicality.

"You're my everything," Diavolo had murmured into your ear. "My paramour, my wife, my queen, my lover. You're the only one for me."

So, of course, yesterday, the two of you had reformed your paramour contract. The second time around, you didn't mind the hot sensation in your stomach as the new characters rebranded themselves into your skin, and only when Diavolo knelt down to kiss them did he say that they'd changed.

"They've changed?" You asked, confusion painted across your face. For a moment, you felt your heart tighten at the worry that the marks were calling you a bad lover or something of the sort, but Diavolo simply brought you over to the full-length mirror.

You were both already fully naked, so it was easy for your eyes to find the black markings.

"This one looks similar," You murmur, pointing to a strange symbol on the right half of the mark.

"That's the character for 'lover.' You had it before, as well." You watched as Diavolo wrapped his arms around yours, pressing your back into his chest while he stared at your markings fondly.

Seeing the pleasant expression on his face somewhat calmed your nerves, but the feeling of your lover slowly tracing the outlines of the marks was what truly relaxed you.

The sensation was blissful.

"This is the character for 'single,' or 'only,'" Diavolo murmured into your ear, biting it gently. His hand tapped the two characters. "Together: only lover. That's what your mark spells out."

"And what's this tiny thing?" You asked, pointing at a mysterious marking underneath the two. You would have assumed that it was an underline, but it was too detailed.

"Why that," Diavolo chuckled. "That's the symbol for eternity."

"So..." You trailed off, putting the pieces together. "I'm your only lover for all eternity?"

Diavolo nodded. You turned around in his arms, pleasantly surprised to see that the exact same symbols were etched into his skin, just above the V that divided his legs. You'd been mortified when you learned the meaning of your previous mark of the paramour, but these new symbols appealed to you.

"I want you," You murmured, hand running over his abs and over the mark that defined him as yours and even lower, causing a light groan to escape his lips.

"Eager, aren't you?" Diavolo lifted you easily, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, the motion all too familiar. "Well, consider this an early wedding gift."

You smile at the memory, recalling the tenderness of the moment. All throughout the night, Diavolo laid kisses across the markings on your stomach, practically worshipping the spot with his lips.

And, in truth, you love the marks just as much as he does.

My lover, for all eternity, you think, a giddy feeling spreading throughout your body. And our eternity starts today.

Even Barbatos had stared at the spot with a strangely satisfied look when you first entered this dressing room, stripping before him so that he could help you into the traditional Devildom garb.

You can't help but remember the last time he'd seen your mark of the paramour, and the words False Lover that had been etched into your skin. Back then, he'd been the reason why you'd left.

His words have never left you: "Then perhaps someone else is better suited for the role?"

Now, you know. Your mark of the paramour confirms it. No one else is better suited to be Diavolo's lover than you. Hell, you're more than his lover: he said it himself! You're his everything: wife, paramour, lover, and queen, all bundled up into one.

But shouldn't Barbatos, with his clairvoyant powers of perception, have known such a thing?

You frown to yourself as the man continues to lace up the back of your dress, pulling a bold, black ribbon through the gaps in the back of your dress smoothly as his gloved fingers work against your back. The more you think about it, the more you realize that there's only one logical reason for the butler's actions.

"Barbatos," You finally muster up the courage to say. "Do you hate me?"

For the first time, the man's hands falter. He quickly finds his pace again, continuing to work as he responds: "Not at all. Why would you think that?"

"You...told me before that it might be better for someone else to be Diavolo's paramour. That...that it shouldn't be me, by his side." It hurts to say the words aloud, as if your saying them makes them true, but you force yourself to do so anyway. You deserve to know this much, at the very least, right?

"Wrong," Is all Barbatos says as he delicately ties the ends of the black ribbon he'd been using to lace the back of the dress up, letting the ribbon wrap around your neck once—almost like a collar—into a dainty bow at the base of your nape. With your dress now held up entirely by this flimsy knot, he begins to work on your hair, styling it such that the knot peaks out from your (h/c) strands in an elaborate updo, apparently meant to taunt Diavolo throughout the wedding by tempting him with how easy it would be for him to undo the one thing keeping your dress together.

Barbatos seems entirely unbothered by the scowl on your face as he continues to work, ignoring your light huff until he finally sets to applying makeup. If anything, his expression colors amusement in those olive eyes, and you know he finds your reaction entertaining.

Finally, you can't hold back any longer.

"So what, then?" You ask. "If I'm wrong, what was it that you were trying to achieve by telling me that someone else would be better suited to be Diavolo's paramour?"

"What indeed, I wonder?" Barbatos muses out loud. You watch him as he adds color to your lips, making them a tad redder than usual. All the while, he wears that same unnerving smile that acts like a mask, preventing you from seeing his true feelings. "Though, perhaps I should tell you, given that it is your big day and whatnot."

Barbatos walks behind you, placing down the lipstick, and when he returns, he pulls your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes as they stare straight into you. He seems to hesitate for a second, and then the smile drops from his face, the mask of apathy with it. For the first time, you see a semblance of what might be Barbatos's true face underneath it all. No fake smiles, no sassy comments, just a soft look in his eyes with a cute crinkle in the corner. "All I did," He murmurs, picking a strand of hair into place as he fixes your elaborate updo. "Was play the role required."

And with that, he turns you around and continues fixing your hair, braiding the loose strands into a crown on your head. While he seems to have moved back onto the task at hand, though, you dwell on his words for a long time, turning them around your head even when Barbatos's signature smirk is back on his face—the mask present once more.

The role required, you think, all the way until you're completely dressed and all the demon brothers are fawning over how exquisite you look, donned in traditional demonwear. You look stunning, they tell you, and you know it. Your dress fans out beautifully, the entire gown a thick red silk that outlines your every curve, with black detailing at the bottoms and the back, where the ebony ribbon crawls all the way up to your neck, into a stunning bow that acts as the base for the elegant hairstyle Barbatos has worked your hair into. But your mind is far away, even as they shower you with compliments.

The role required, you think, when hour time finally comes and Lucifer is walking you toward the man you're about to spend the rest of your life with. The whole picture looks strange to you. As a human, you're used to weddings requiring suits and dresses, nothing but formalwear. And while you're certainly in a dress, every demon is proudly in their demon form, angels all glowing with their wings spread out, and each outfit has its own character, even though none of them can compare to how magnificent you and Diavolo look. But even then, as Lucifer presses a kiss to your temple when letting go of your hand, your thoughts are elsewhere.

The role required, you think, as you stand in front of the love of your life, only able to look at him despite the hundreds of thousands of gazes set on your stunning forms. Diavolo lets out a choked sound of surprise as he gazes down at you, his eyes drinking in the sight of you dressed like a demon, wearing one of the most traditional and one of the most exquisite dresses in all of the Devildom.

And only when Diavolo flashes you his usual quirky grin does something click in your brain.

The role required, you think. The role required to get me here. In front of Diavolo.

So many people played a part. Barbatos. Lucifer. Simeon. Michael. Not just people, but things, too. When Barbatos suggested that someone else was better suited to be Diavolo's paramour, it planted the seed in your mind that prompted you to move you out of Diavolo's castle. It drove you into Purgatory Hall, into Simeon's arms, and into Michael's Blessing, where you attained the body you needed, to be able to produce Diavolo an heir, enabling him to forsake all the demon traditions that were stopping him from marrying you.

It wasn't even just that, you think, beginning to understand just how much had gone into bringing you to this point.

The mark of the paramour. It drove you to devastation, but only because you couldn't understand it. When it called you a false lover—it wasn't calling your heart false, but rather the nature of your relationship with Diavolo. You could only be his true lover if you were his everything, and as long as he had another wife, you just weren't. To be his true lover, you had to be it all: not just his paramour, but his wife, his queen, his darling...his only lover.

You smile, beginning to understand that all the pain that has brought you to this moment has been absolutely worth it. From the burning in your abdomen as the mark of the paramour was first branded into your skin to the pain in your lips now as Diavolo teasingly bites them while his kingdom cheers at the sight of you two kissing, binding yourselves to each other in mind, body, and soul to each other for all eternity.

"I love you," You mumble into Diavolo's lips, your voice muffled by his tongue.

"I love you too," He responds, pressing a hand against the small of your back to pull your body closer to his as demons whoop in the background. You swear you can hear the angels attending—Simeon did an excellent job of gathering them—frowning at the sight of such open lust, but even they have to hold back their smiles as they see the swell of pure love blossoming before them.

The remainder of the wedding is unlike anything you've ever experienced at home. The sheer amount of partying and cheering and drinking (and you think you saw a couple of demons stripping?) is ungodly, but so incredibly fun.

The wedding celebrations are to last a fortnight, you know, and you almost wonder how these demons will be able to party this way tomorrow with the sheer rambunctiousness at which they're partying today, but that's a question for another day.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" Diavolo asks as he sits next to you. The two guests of honor at this celebration, you both sit on top of thrones while the celebrations ensue. Only on the second day are you allowed to join in, but today, it is all about savoring your newlywed status and speaking to others who intend to congratulate you both.

Thus far, you've spent nearly an hour in front of the demon brothers as they added gifts upon gifts to the growing pile between you and Diavolo, and another hour with Simeon and the angel friends he brought with him to the wedding, each one just as kind and handsome as the chocolate-skinned angel himself.

"I love it," You respond to your lover—now your husband—as you throw him a bashful smile. You can't help but wonder what the fifteenth day of celebrations will be like, once he is formally crowned King of the Devildom and you the Queen. You have to admit, the thought of Diavolo in a crown sends shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

Thankfully, you don't need to wait long before the sun sets, and the celebrations are forced to come to a close. Diavolo gives a speech, appreciating all those who came and hints (too obviously, according to Lucifer) about his desires for the three realms to reunite, before dismissing everyone with the single command to return tomorrow for even more joyous celebrations.

You stay close to Diavolo as the two of you return to his castle, somewhat surprised that none of the demon brothers have come over to speak to you after the celebrations.

"Darling, why would they come now?" Diavolo asks when you raise the question with him. "There's only one thing we demons do after a day of wedding celebrations, and no man is foolish enough to try to intervene with that."

Your lover throws you a flirtatious wink as he opens the door to your shared bedroom, gesturing for you to enter. In truth, you expect him to press you against the wall and take you the moment you're both inside, but Diavolo seems to be taking his time.

"You looked stunning today, my queen," He murmurs into your ear, hugging you from behind as he places sweet kisses along your neck. You flush at the word, loving the realization that that's what you're going to be now: a Queen. Compliments continue to roll off his lips until you're aching for him to hurry up and do something with his mouth other than talk.

"Stop teasing me," You pout, once you realize what he's doing. Your comment earns you a deep chuckle as the man slowly complies, turning your body around.

Diavolo places a hand on your cheek, kissing you long and passionately before pulling back to gaze at you. You watch, mesmerized as his hands trail, painfully slow, from your cheek to your collarbone to the black ribbon that is tied around your neck in a bow. He touches the knot, fingers trailing down the dark silk material until they're pinched around a strand instrumental to keeping the knot together.

You stare at Diavolo, the hunger in his eyes.

No doubt, the bow has done its job, taunting Diavolo the entire wedding with how easily he could undo it—even though he couldn't possibly do such a thing in public. Here, though, in private...

"You're breathtaking," He whispers, mesmerized.

He gives the edge of the ribbon between his fingers a sharp pull, and then the entire knot falls apart, the lacing that held your dress up widening and coming undone with the single gesture.

In seconds, the dress slips off your body, leaving you completely exposed before him.

"Absolutely breathtaking."

The night is everything you imagine it to be, beautiful and loving and passionate and hot.

You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, loud but steady, much like the man himself, now sworn to be a staple in your life for all eternity.

With only the moonlight illuminating the dark room, you steal a kiss from his lips before drifting off, savoring the feeling of his touch, already beginning to dream about the wedding celebrations for the next day.

At last, the beginning of your life with Diavolo has begun, and just as your blessing promises: it will be a life of eternal bliss, prosperity, and happiness.

Truly an eternity fit for a queen.

MASTERLIST 

Word count: 6.8k

Notes: Sorry this came out a bit later than I had planned :( I ended up writing the whole thing and not liking how it came out, so I redid it - ngl in my first draft i was getting HEAVY Barbatos x Reader vibes and I sort of tried to tone it down (but oh my GOD imagine a Barbatos x Reader spinoff of this where he loves MC i cant should i do it i cant AGHJSK)

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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.