#the goodness sinks its claws into you and sometimes you cannot help but be in awe

[comfortfrogblog]

“everyone is capable of experiencing goodness and joy. not me th-“ *EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER*

[dioriya]

love’s soulmate is sacrifice, shouto todoroki.

652. angst with feelings. loving someone is loving the bad as fiercely as the good, sometimes twice as hard.

silence stretches for eons. it hungers, lingering in the darkest corners of every room, and hangs heavy. waiting, like an animal hunched still with baited breath for prey to wander into its trap unknowingly. its crooked claws scratch slowly against the walls you’ve built to keep it out, previously sturdy, but with uncanny patience, it persisted.

tonight, it peeks over the cracked rubble and rears its ugly head.

that pain comes first, as it always does–never physical and beyond the call for natural or scientific remedy. this pain comes from festered and blissful ignorance, a sad tango for two that crushes your human heart in tune to a distorted melody. it bleeds into your consciousness and feeds on your despair the way liquid seeps into carpeting, and sinks deep into your state of mind no matter how many times you viciously scrub to get rid of it.

he has borne the brunt of the unspeakable days. the days where you scream and cry and shout things you know will hurt on purpose. the days where you succumb to his ever welcoming arms and cry, powering through stuttered gasps and hiccups that wrack through your entire body for as long as you need him. the silent days are the worst. he knows he cannot reach you then, for his words do not break through the unresponsive shell of what his lover used to be.

how could you love someone like me? you had asked once, throat still waterlogged thick with remnants of emotion. you were facing the wall, unable to look at him without being ashamed. his arms had remained around your middle in an attempt to console you anyway. that, you recall, had made you feel ten times worse. i feel broken. surely you must be tired of me. of this, of–

trying to piece me back together, every morning. every morning it hurts to get up. every morning it aches. you could be happy, be with someone normal.

it takes a moment for him to respond. you think he’s fallen to slumber, even, and you can’t help but chastise yourself. you’ve really done it now–

to love someone is to love all of them, isn't it?

so tonight, when he sees your carefully placed facade for the day crumble with each step you venture into your shared home, he understands. he’s there to meet you halfway when your strained smile slips right off of your lips, when your shoulders sag after holding them high for so long. that staggering weight of your burden sways your walk off footing–but he’s there to catch you, to lower you to the floor and into comforting arms.

how could you love someone like me? you ask through tears again, inconsolable from the kind of grief he knows isn’t tangible. a part of him chips away with despair each and every time you ask him such, unknowing of the way his soul trembles each time you look through instead of at him, defeated as your eyes glaze over tiredly. i don’t understand how or why you chose to stay. isn’t it tiring? aren’t you tired?

it is exhausting. but isn’t love’s soulmate sacrifice, and his heart’s, yours?

to love someone is to love all of them, isn’t it? it’s the same reply he always gives and always means without fail, in bed with your back to him or on the floor with your tears soaking through his shirt. to love someone is to love them wholly, to accept the good with their worst, and all the ghastly inbetweens.

he cradles your tear streaked face in his hands and stares your silence head-on. it wails in disbelief, slinking behind your with dead eyes, and assesses him carefully. it’ll be back, they both know, but he will be, too. next to you, for as long as you’ll ever need him to be.

you would do the same for me, too.

[doggirl08-moved]

sometimes i feel like i love people to much that's its suffocating my dad says i smother my dog i don't know what that means since I'm just hugging him i always wave and my hug my dad even when he hates it and wants to push me off but i am so scared for losing someone i am so scared they will never know how much i love them and this happened today i have a friend named Samantha she is dear to me and she will always be shes a light in my dark stormy night to lead me to a safe path we decided to call which i enjoy since i always laugh i look forward to it every few weeks or so even though we text everyday but i invited my online friend hoping it would just be for a few minutes i started to get antsy of course i was having fun but its not our usual and that's scary to do something new and unknown i quickly apologized to her trying to fix my invisible mistakes like shes my lawyer and she just told me its okay why are you apgloziging i could only help but stare at my screen and try to piece it together why am i feeling this way i don't know why or how i was suddenly upset but i was we got off after discussing it and i went to dad the only thing he said was shes probably tired and that's why she wants to go a bit early and i just couldn't shake the feeling i gave a lengthy apology after apology after apology and after taking a good long look at myself a pit of loneliness crashed into me was i just began yping about how i am scared to lose her how i am scared to ruin anything how this is perfect and cannot be changed and what if something happens my whole life i have been ripped away while clawing someone to pieces since i need them my youngest memory is clawing my mothers back from my sharp nails begging not to go to my dads and how much i hurt her and how hard i cried and i think everyone telling me and depending on me and me needing to depend on others has hurt me alot i care too much and i think too much it doesnt help when you have a bluent not touchy family but ij ust want to claw them to death show them how much i love them and the lengths ill go to show it since i truely do and how scared i am for something to happen since ive had so much taken away from me i have had my body taken away i have had my mother taken away my house my toys my sister my dad my uncle food water privacy and my deepest desires my emotions and feelings have been ripped away and i need to grab into them and claw them again to show they are mine and i love them this is not good to think about not good at all but i just love them so much it hurts and makes me want to cry and shatter into a million pieces every dumb mistake or crack in the road slip up or scratch makes me just want to crawl all over them and smother them and protect them so muchand show them i love you please dont go anytime soon this is how much i love you how hard i squeeze you and sink my hands into you is how much i just want to hug your inner you

[twiceasfrustrating]

Stay With Me

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: GN/M

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Belphegor, Beelzebub, Main Character

Additional Tags: omegaverse, fated pair, greater demon forms, mild angst, GN!MC (you/your)

Summary: Soft pets for an Omega in need, but you can’t stay for long.

A/N: For those who haven't read up on my OM Omegaverse content yet you need to know two things. 1) Only demons have second genders and therefore follow Omegaverse rules. 2) Belphie is attracted to MC as his fated pair, even though MC cannot begin to conceive of such a concept.

Word Count: 764

Your hand brushed over the soft gray and white-speckled fur of Belphegor’s head as he rested in your lap. His snout was long, his nose wet, and his breath hot against your thighs as he breathed a little too deeply. His long clawed fingers made themselves at home just under the hem of your shirt so he could feel the warmth of your skin under his rough leathery palm directly. A single hooved leg kicked out before returning to its normal position, letting you know that you had touched a spot he didn’t like. You made a note of it so it wouldn’t happen again.

“Are you feeling a little better now?”

He opened one large purple eye and stared up at you before closing it again and huffing. You could only imagine that was a yes.

“I’m glad to help you, but I have to leave for class soon.” His fingers twitched and you could feel how his claws fought not to sink into your skin to keep you in place, “I’ll come here right after class, I promise.”

“Don’t go,” Belphie’s voice echoed in your head, reverberating low and deep like you were hearing him through a long tunnel. Even though his mouth hadn’t moved, it was clear inside of you.

You bent over to press a single kiss against one of his horns, “You have to let me go before Lucifer and Beel decide it’s not safe for me to visit anymore. I was only allowed to visit as long as I still kept up my usual schedule.”

You knew he wouldn’t like it if you couldn’t see him again before the end of his heat. Out of everyone, he always had the worst reactions to your absence. However, sometimes it had to be done. Even Beel had to admit that sometimes Belphie couldn’t control himself properly around you when he was in such a state.

“Mate…” He sounded sad and mournful, his tail reaching out to wrap around your forearm, carefully avoiding pricking you with the thorns that ran along its length, “Stay.”

You shushed him as you slipped your fingers around the end of his tail and slowly began to unwind him, “I’ll be back. Try and sleep until then, alright?” It would make the time pass faster if he did.

He sat up in his spot, his form shifting into his lesser demonic one so you were staring at a face that was more noticeably human. He placed his hands on either side of your face and spoke to you in his own voice this time, “Love you. Need you.” He wanted to say something more eloquent, but his hormones were running wild and they made it hard for him to think.

“I know.” You turned and kissed the palm that had been against your cheek, “We have to be good if you want me to come back though. Try for me, okay?” Then you slowly rose to your feet, backing up slowly as you kept your eyes on him in an attempt not to trigger his instincts to chase after you. That was how you walked out of his nest and toward the stairway to the attic, only turning to see where you were going once he could no longer see you.

As you finally lost track of him, however, you could hear screaming like a dying animal coming from the room. He never took it well when you couldn’t stay with him, but this was better than being banned from seeing him completely. Although, it seemed that his instincts couldn’t tell the difference. It hurt to hear the wailing and you were sure everyone else could hear it too. You were doubly sure when you saw Beel at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you as you came down. His face was twisted into a look of concern; for you and Belphie.

He couldn’t understand what his twin was going through entirely, but he could feel the deep loss his younger brother was feeling deep in his gut. It twisted his insides up and he couldn’t help but feel sympathy.

“It’s just a few hours, right?” You gave a half-smile to Beel as you reached the end of the stairs.

“Yeah,” he said as he handed you your bookbag. Although, you could both tell how much a few hours seemed like it would destroy Belphie. It had only been a minute and he was already falling apart without his mate around. In a few hours… who could say what state he would be in.

[insomniasymphony]

Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader [He cannot hate you]

Constellation: Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader Words I got: → Protective → Duality → Affection Rating: Teen up and Audience

                            ►► He is the devil with a sweet tooth,                               And you are the candy on his tongue.                       Get on your knees and ask him to choose                                     Nothing sweeter than you.                              For sweetness doesn't last long. ◄◄

Hectically, you jerk your head from left to right, look around for other cars and take a breath when there are no others blocking the road. In the cold evening air, your legs carry you in hurried steps across the asphalt, to the other side of the pavement that should lead you through the houses of Yorknew. Further and further, until the hotel room is forever gone.

The breath on your lips rises in white clouds, bringing something wistful with it that you don't want to pay attention to. Still, you can't rid yourself of the thought in the back of your mind.

It's not too late to give up on your plan.

You could drag yourself back to the room you've been sharing with Hisoka for four days, put on something pretty and wait for the magician to return from his meeting. He'd tell you about his new plan, kiss you, and fuck your senses into no-man's land for half the night because you're his favourite toy.

That's the problem: you're just a doll that can be replaced.

He's never said that he loves you, even though you've been spending every spare minute together for six months. Hisoka took you on his journey and he hasn't let you out of his sight since.

You shower together, eat together, he kills anyone you exchange too many kind words with. It's as if he wants to shut you off from the world so that you belong to him alone.

But this obsessive nature of his is nothing but terror for you. Sometimes you long for freedom, which you know Hisoka will never give you. He would rather strangle to death with his own hands than see you go. His subliminal threats make that clear time and time again.

And tonight you are ready to die for your freedom.

A little more hastily, you hurry ahead, turn into a narrow alley and hear the echo of your footsteps rising up the stone walls. Each reverberation makes your skin seem colder under your soft woolen coat. The goosebumps don't subside, the shiver persists, and you can't help but believe that behind every shadow is a part of Hisoka. His intense gaze has made you paranoid.

Briefly, you shake your head. This time his eyes won't be able to pierce you. When Hisoka returns, the hotel room will be empty and you will be long gone – so far away from him, with a new name and a new life, that he won't find you. For three weeks you have been looking for someone who would save you and Hisoka from this relationship and you have indeed found someone who wants to fulfil all your wishes for a lot of money in exchange.

Your gaze wanders once briefly over your shoulder. Through the echo of your own flight, you can no longer perceive anything but your own movements. Hisoka could be walking right behind you and you wouldn't notice. The racing of your heart makes the blood rush in your ears and everything else inside you is so erratically tense that you don't know if your nerves can hold it all together.

Only when the alley ends and sends you between other streets to find safety, a tiny part of the fear falls away, still simmering underneath.

Across the street, at least fourteen cars have parked. This area of the city seems like a residential neighbourhood where men return to their loving wives. The husband old-fashioned in a suit while she wears an apron because dinner is boiling on the cooker. Docile women in the kitchen who have no time to look for other men. Probably that's exactly what Hisoka is longing for too. A woman who only has eyes for him. All day long. Without exception. Locked up like a bird in a cage.

Even though you never intended to replace him. Hisoka is the man who won your heart. A guy who goes through life strong and ruthless, but always takes great care to make sure you're okay.

Your steps slow down as you stop at the edge of the pavement. One of the vehicles is started, flashing its headlights three times. The sign that this is your getaway car. The man who will take you away. Away from Hisoka, whose arms have wrapped protectively around you more than once in the last six months. His warmth on your skin has always been comforting and even though you know he hates it when you talk to other men and he has left marks on your body as a safety for himself as a result, his company has always been loving. He has never hurt you unless you found sexual pleasure in it. He never raised his voice at you. Never did he try to lock you up. His only crimes are the threats that still jump through your senses and also the fact that he likes to corner and intimidate you.

On top of that, he messes with people for your sake who are more dangerous than one might think at first. Yes, you love him. But if you don't leave, he will either throw you away or he will be killed because of you. You are poison to each other, you can't explain it any other way.

Yet, you don't want to go. The fear in your heart has made room for sorrow and the desire to run back into his strong, protective arms is strong.

Swallowing dryly, you give yourself a push. You have no choice but to make the best decision for both of you. Your feet start moving again and you drag yourself along, reaching the car you're getting into. You find room in the back seat, the fabric of which clings to you strangely and uncomfortably as you take a shaky breath and look in the rearview mirror for a half-glimpse of your helper's round face.

“Are you ready, good lady?” His smoky voice scrapes through the atmosphere, merely making you nod before he finally starts the engine and drives off. Your heart sinks four floors deeper, smothered in grief and fear, both of which settle on too many things in your chest. Maybe you're making a mistake, but this relationship has no future.

You feel the car smoothly take the turns, hear the engine accelerate, sense every bump in your bones. You claw your sweaty hands into the upholstery as you reprimand yourself to rest with conscious inhales and exhales. It's over, you've escaped, given you both the freedom you deserve.

Yorknew's houses diminish for a moment, bringing trees and the parkland to the fore where you would have loved to have a romantic walk. But Hisoka doesn't think much of boring strolls. He likes sex. Togetherness where you are close to each other – all to yourselves, so that you can snuggle up to him and you just sit there. Amusement parks. Bungee gum. You.

The thought draws a sigh from you before the car makes a strange rattling sound, forcing the driver to stop. You halt at the side of the road, so you can't help but hold your breath.

“What was that?” you press out.

“If I saw right, I just accidentally drove over a marten,” the stranger returns to you, making you exhale because it's not a horror movie you're in after all. Then he gets out.

The open door, which he doesn't close, brightens up the inside of the vehicle, makes the outside world a little more unfriendly than it really is and forces you to get out too, because you can't find a quiet minute alone on this upholstery.

Slowly you push your way back into the cold of the darkness, glancing at the streetlights flickering conspiratorially before circling the car to check on your driver. But all you see in front of the bonnet is a trail of blood. Not a marten. No one. Probably he's just taking the dead animal away, burying it so the kids won't get spooked in the park the next day.

The cool air seems to bite down to your bones, numbing your skin as you count off two minutes. The restlessness keeps you looking around and for a moment you are willing to jump in the car and eagerly drive on. But your driver also has your new identity and all the other things that have been so painstakingly prepared. You can't leave without him. So you stroll a few steps towards the park. Just until the blackness seems to swallow everything, because the flickering streetlamps don't give enough light for more.

Tense, you cross your arms in front of your chest, bobbing up and down before gnawing fear begs for action. “Hello?”

Only silence returns to your question and you can't help but take a step over the dark threshold and venture further ahead to find your driver. Three, four feet ahead to the first tree closest to you. “What's wrong?”

Again you meet only silence, staggering a few more steps ahead and giving up in the same breath. A glance over your shoulder moves the car, which is already a few metres away from you, into a ghostly, almost lonely picture, apart from the other vehicles that pass by every now and then. No one seems to care about the abandoned automobile.

A little more annoyed, you take a breath, shake your head as something wet hits your cheek and you instantly look up because the sky didn't look like rain at all when you started running.

And it still doesn't.

Nevertheless, your heart stops for a beat.

Cold seems to consume you from within, makes you pull your coat tighter.

Up there, above you, fixed between branches, the lifeless eyes of the man who was supposed to help you escape stare back at you. His arms hang twisted above him and his legs are missing entirely. In the darkness, suffused with moonlight, you can only make out the bitter facts. And one of them is death.

“Do you like it?”

Instantly you suck in the air sharply, turning around in an instant only to catch sight of Hisoka. Leaning relaxed against a tree, he shuffles his cards as if nothing has happened. “I thought we had decided that you would wait in the hotel room. Where were you going with that man at such a late hour?”

His gaze lifts so that his amber eyes can look at you, while his features wait in a lack of enthusiasm for answers. You don't know if he's angry, but his expression seems to threaten you.

“I-I... I wanted to...” What do you want to say anyway? You don't know yourself what exactly you wanted other than to just get away from him for too many things that seem wrong. “Away.”

“Where to?”, Hisoka inquires, pushing himself off the trunk and coming closer. The cards disappear into the pockets of his white trousers in the same blink.

“Just... away,” you counter, unable to look at him any further because his eyes seem to look right down into your core.

“From me?” He pauses in front of you. “Why?”

Again your attention jerks to him and you hate the fact that he is wearing heels because it only makes him taller than he already is.

“You... are... constricting me.”

“Is that so?” The almost biting undertone in his voice is frightening. But you don't have time to think of what his next move might be as he grabs you by the chin and forces you to look at him very closely. His grip is so tight around your jawbone as he does so that you panic he might break it.

Then he leans towards you, breathes such a gentle kiss on your lips that, along with fear, terrible warmth rises up inside you. Your heart races wildly, but you don't know if it's the fear or the longing. Seeing him like this, knowing he is so close to you, is cruel because you love him, don't want to leave him, but don't want to see either of you die either.

The mere thought of losing him, or not being good enough anymore, knots your stomach as your vision blurs and the sobs in your throat quietly spill out.

Hisoka watches this rection, loosening his grip around your chin and running his thumb over your lips. A little like he wants more words from you. And you can't help but give them to him in a gush.

“I love you, Hisoka. I really do. But this can't work.” You have to swallow to keep from breaking into a raspy cough. “You lock me up like I'm your pet and you're messing with people who might kill you one day.” The first tear rolls down your cheeks unintentionally, making you wipe it away in frustration because you don't want to seem like an effeminate damsel in distress. “You're going to kill yourself because of me. And if not for that, then one day you'll just throw me away because you're not a man for life. And I'm afraid that by then I'll love you so much that I won't be able to stand it. So I was gonna let you go. And I can understand if you hate the decision, but isn't that the duality you love to talk about? Love and hate, both sides of the same coin? I-” Hisoka interrupts you as he takes your face in his hands and forcibly pulls you to him, far enough to force you onto your toes to press a kiss to your lips. A warm touch full of affection so gentle it takes your breath away.

Then he lets go of you, remains close in front, but his features are adorned with a friendly smile that makes him a little suspicious, while his hand caresses your cheek. As he does so, he brushes your lower eyelid, collecting another tear that was about to escape.

The tenderness he has for you irritates you so much that every one of your brain cells shuts down for a breath before Hisoka focuses on you again, piercing you with a blank stare. The atmosphere between you grows heavier.

“You think too much about nothingness, love.” His voice is so soft that it seems almost deadly at the same time. “And because you're like that, I'm going to let you get away with it for today.” He leans down to your ear, licks once over the shell with the tip of his tongue. “But if you run away again, I will kill you.”

“H-Hisoka...” You don't know what you can say to appease him. Nothing seems good enough. But Hisoka understands, straightening up to look at you again, putting on that playful smile he goes through life with. “Or I can put you in chains so I can have you with me for the rest of my life. Whichever option you like better.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with mockery and at the same time with a barely perceptible commitment so that you can feel the blush on your cheeks. On one hand, he's making a fool of you, on the other, he's conveying in his own unique way that he's sure he wants you for himself – forever.

He can't stay mad at you for long, can't even punish you for your terrible action, just takes you as you are, as if he has a weakness for all your stupid words and your troubled feelings.

And in those seconds you know that he loves you no less than you love him.

[Picture from a card collecting game]

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[whaleofatjme1920]

Denying Feelings on the Tiled Floor (Masky X F!Reader)

[Masky X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, angst]

[AN: I genuinely dont think I've posted this here before but it's from my quotev and I want it here lots of love <3]

Tim can’t really describe the first moment he knew he felt something for you, only that he did. And he knew the risks that came along with having such feelings.

Hanahaki, it’s a terrible disease, really. Instead of giving flowers to the person you love, you grow them in your lungs. If the person that you’re so willingly throwing your affections at doesn’t return them, you die. The flowers cloud your lungs and unfurl, sprouting and taking root as they invade your chest, making it harder and harder to breathe until you eventually choke.

He wasn’t supposed to have feelings for anyone, especially as a proxy and even more so as a respectable group leader. His job is to guide and lead, not feel softly for someone who might never return his feelings. Tim doesn't really think he even deserves to have these type of warm feelings, if he’s being honest.

Not after he failed to protect Brian. Not after he failed to protect Amy. Not after he failed to protect Sarah. Not after he failed to save Alex. Not after he barely managed to protect Jessica. And certainly not after he failed to do right by and protect Jay. His existence was always bound to be one of suffering, not warm feelings and sly glances at someone he feels so deeply for.

He supposes that’s where the Hanahaki comes in from. He can’t just have warm feelings, he must suffer for those two. The warmth he felt for you was at first a spark, small, floating on the wind from something greater and bigger than he could ever imagine. Then, it took hold on every part of him, consuming him until it was ablaze and the flames licked upwards to the heels of the sky.

It was something he never wanted to feel, something he wanted to shove back. But sometimes, it was pleasant, and sweet, and it lured him in like sailors to a siren song.

Sometimes it was just a little smile.

“Good work today,” Tim complimented as he patted your back, watching as you tiredly stumbled back into the house. “I wasn’t sure we were gonna be able to get that guy but you? You were on it.”

You glanced over your shoulder and smiled at him. “Thanks! He was a slipper bastard, but I make it work,” you giggled.

Tim chuckled and closed the door of the temp house his group was currently staying in. “Get some rest tonight, okay?”

“Why? We have something big tomorrow?” You asked, tilting your head slightly.

He followed you into the kitchen, watching as you began to rummage in the fridge for something cold to drink. “No,” he started. “I just want you to get some rest.”

You poked your head from back out of the fridge, genuinely smiling at him. “Sure thing, Masky.”

His heart skipped a beat.

Sometimes it was your laugh.

It had just been you and Tim in the car coming back from a late night convenience store run. Apparently, the rest of your group wanted to have a movie night but the snacks were severely lacking.

There was music playing in the car but he hadn’t been focused on it all. In fact, he was more focused on you telling him things from your childhood.

“I can’t believe they just let us do that,” you had giggled. “I know senior pranks can get out of hand but I’m certain we cost them thousands in actual damage and even more in water damage.”

Tim chuckled and nodded. “I remember for our senior prank, Hoodie and I got the bright idea to steal three pigs from one of the local farms in the area with a group of other guys, and marked them with a one, two and four,” he explained, watching from the corner of his eye as you began to grin. “So, we let them loose in the school and of course, the staff and the students that weren’t in on the prank spent the entire day looking for pig three-” he’s barely able to get the rest of the anecdote out before you burst into laughter.

Tim’s heart grows softer as he joins you, fighting the desire to hold your hand. You sound so beautiful to him.

Tim knows he can’t deny his feelings. He couldn’t try any harder, and unfortunately for him, he has the inkling you don’t feel the same. It’s painful because he can feel the seeds of that terrible disease spreading further and further, consuming him slowly.

You’ve mentioned it before, not wanting to be in love. Not desiring a relationship and by extension, him.

“I just don’t think I’m up for those kind of things,” you said one night as the two of you say up on the roof together.

He tilted his head slightly to the side. “What makes you say that?”

You shrugged. “I’m a proxy, and I don’t think love is in the roster for people like us.” You giggled slightly and fixed your posture before shaking your head. “I think the only types of people who would work with people like us is people like us. But, even then, I think we’re way too emotionally unstable.” You then paused and looked over to your group leader. “What about you?”

Tim shrugged, a small, sad smile on his face. “I think I’m in agreement with you.” He said it, but he doesn’t mean it. He watched you carefully after he said it, looking for any signs that you wanted to challenge him, and when he didn’t see them, he felt the flowers bloom.

Coughing is absolutely normal for Tim. He’s handled the Operator’s influence for far longer than anyone should, which has been since his childhood. It’s just his body’s natural reaction to being poisoned all those years. But what wasn’t normal was when he started coughing up petals.

Oh how he hates the color pink now. Carnations. They’re pink carnations. He has no idea why they’re pink carnations as you have shown no type of fondness or specific admiration for the type of flower, but they smell so sweet and the color reminds him of you. He tries to smoke his cigarettes more and more in a vain attempt to smoke the roots that have taken hold in his lungs before they consume him in his entirety.

But he knows he won’t stop them, and that he won’t give into that surgery. What’s the use of living if you cannot have the feelings that come alongside it? All of the things that still make proxies human, life, death, love and birth - peace and war? Happiness when you laugh with friends, confusion, anger and somberness. It’s worth it. Every single part of it is worth it. He doesn’t want to lose the warm feelings he has to you either,

Even if it kills him.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed Tim coughing up pink carnations. The way the sparsely blood covered flowers find their ways into vases or in the trash have been greatly concerning you, and as far as you can tell, it’s not from Toby, Brian, or Kate. The only habitual cougher is Tim, and that makes you concerned.

You don’t know how to feel about Tim most days, but you know it’s something sweeter than what should be allowed as a proxy. You’re finally making your decision when you think you’ve almost lost him.

It’s a warm summer night when you finally come to terms with how you feel. You’ve just returned from some kind of ‘cooperation mission’ with Eyeless Jack and Jeff and you are more than exhausted after the mess you had to put up with.

“Anyone home?” You call out. From the kitchen, you can smell fresh pastries. Looks like Kate and Toby have been baking again. You follow the scent and see platters of brownies, cookies and other sweets laid out on the countertops with little sticky notes telling you to only take from the brownies - the rest are for other proxy groups and independents.

You’re just about to pluck one of the fresh brownies when you hear coughing. It’s soft at first, thick, but sounds like normal Tim coughing. You wonder if you should head over and see if there’s anything he needs. “Masky?” You call out again.

He coughs again. “What?” He sounds exhausted.

“Do you need some water?”

“No, I don’t-” he begins to cough violently, and you swear you can hear something falling to the floor as he does so. Tim rumbles around his room, crawling out of bed as he continues to violently cough and to the bathroom.

Worried, you exit the kitchen hastily to see what’s wrong just to see him slinking into the bathroom. “Masky? What’s going on?” You ask in a growing concerned tone, walking down the darkened hall to where the bathroom light shines from under the door.

And there you see it, flowers. Pink in color, carnations. They’re soft under your shoe as opposed to the hardwood. You feel the blood run cold in your veins. “Tim? Tim? Tim, you gotta open up please-” you rush out as you begin to pound on the door.

“Don’t you dare!” He snarls, pushing his weight against the door, still coughing. “I don’t need your hel-” he practically coughs up his lungs as he falls to the floor.

You panic. “Shit, shit, shit!” You cry out as you lean back in the hallway. “I’m coming in!” You know he can’t really hear you as he continues to hack out his lungs, but you kick the door in, bursting it from its hinges. You catch it and practically tear it out of the frame before shoving it back into the hall.

You widen your eyes upon seeing the state of Tim and immediately fall downwards, your hands sliding over his trembling form. There’s blood all over the sink, the mirror, even some of the sub and on the floor. The red drops leave trails down his mouth like snail trails. “Oh my gods,” you murmur as you rest his head on his lap, stopping his skull from knocking around on the tile floor.

“You shouldn’t-” he coughs more. “You shouldn’t be in here!” He’s not able to reprimand you because he’s practically puking up a bouquet.

“Nonsense,” you shrug off, trying to bring him comfort. “What the hell brought this on?” Your fingertips gently trace around his mouth and help claw the budding flowers out. You’ve never hated carnations so much until now.

Tim glares up at you before closing his eyes in pain, feeling the flowers cloud his lungs further. “It’s nothing-”

“Does this look like nothing?” You sound so cross, but it’s just because you’re so worried about him.

A long, pregnant pause passes between the two of you.

You continue to pull the blossoms from his mouth before looking over his form, seeing how his hand is slowly reaching up for yours. “Tim…”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I never meant for you to-”

You shake your head, your hand reaching out to hold his. You grip him before taking his hand warmly up to the side of your face, allowing him to caress your cheek. “Don’t.”

“But it’s true,” he barely manages to wisp out. “I never meant to throw this onto you,” he finishes before weakly coughing up more petals and full budding flowers. He can barely breathe now.

You sigh as you press his hand up to your cheek just a little firmer, letting him feel your warmth before you softly pull him back. “Open your palm, please,” you say softly as your free hand fishes out yet another bundle of carnations.

He weakly nods, closing his eyes and giving into his labored breathing as his lungs compete with the roots and sick blossoms for air.

You sigh once again, a small smile crossing onto your face before you plant a kiss on the center of his palm, remaining for just a moment before allowing him to pull away all on his own. “You always had me you idiot,” you whisper as you watch his fingers curl inwards, gripping the kiss that you had just planted.

Tim looks up at you, starry eyed before resting his hand on your cheek again.

The garden in his lungs begins to wilt.

[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by @tanjhero​

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

- Being the Flame Pillar’s tsugoku is no easy task; saving his brother, however, proves to be something else entirely. - 

warnings: mentions of blood, angst

words: 2.5k

-

Burning hearts, brilliant eyes, wishes that never come true. There’s almost something beautiful in sorrow, the slight glimpse of light in the vast darkness. To be a demon slayer, one must bury their heart. They have to hide it under lock and key, learn how to forget what crying feels like. You’ve always carried this ideology close to your heart ever since you started your training as a young adolescent.

Six years have then since passed, and the Final Selection is well behind you. Ragged scars cover your arms, chest, and back, all trophies from your brutal battles with blood-hungry beasts. Demons, to be precise; you see ragged, glinting teeth in the night, in the hours of the day when you’re finally allowed to dream. Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, these teeth seek to ravage you, to sink into your skin and rip your throat out.

The world is dark. You’ve long since grown cold, refusing to properly feel anything. To be emotional is to be distracted; if you wanted to survive, for others to survive, you cannot afford to deal with such interruptions. This is the very reason why your mentor – the gracious Flame Pillar himself, Rengoku Kyojuro – always struck you as odd. Like the sun itself, he’s full of light and eternal brightness.

You’ve never been more jealous of someone in your life.

You train by his side, let him whip you into proper shape. Being a tsugoku is no easy task; both mentally and physically draining, you’re often left scrambling for any sensation left in your numb fingertips. Although your body suffers from the constant thrum of pain, you are strong. You don’t take your strength lightly, and neither does your mentor.

As time and his persistent nature eat away at your skeptical brain cells, he’s more or less become a friend. Much to your initial displeasure, you allowed him to root himself to you. However, as you grew stronger, wiser, your heart did so as well. Kyojuro, this dear man, has cracked open the safe of your heart. With each rising sun, you envision him, his dazzling smile, his abnormal irises. It’s the first time in your life you’ve been blessed.

The days grow into something long and dark whenever you train with him. He doesn’t give up, refuses to let you to wipe away the sweat at your brow, keeps going and going until you’re a trembling mess at his feet. He’s to make a slayer of you yet.

Some days, you consider yourself lucky. Kyojuro is a soft man despite the hard cording of muscle covering his skeleton. Sometimes, his gaze melts into something akin to honey, dangerously sweet and tempting. He’ll call training off early, opting to massage your weakened muscles and guide you through breathing exercises. You don’t take these treatments lightly; after all, Kyojuro is a Pillar, a highly respected one at that. To have a pathetically weak tsugoku will only bring shame onto his namesake.

And, if he’s really in a giving mood, he’ll insist you spend the night at his residence.

Already well fed and bathed, you dismiss Kyojuro with a tight-lipped smile and a prayer for his safe return. He explained that he and his father were to travel into town and seek out the beloved liquor his father adores so much. Although his face is stoic, you can see the pain and disappointment in the depths of his eyes. Like himself, Rengoku Shinjuro is a man deserving respect – or at least used to be. Since the passing of his wife, he’s been drowning his sorrows (amongst all other emotion humanly possible) until he sees the bottom of the bottle.

You find solace in your room, wet hair unceremoniously thrown over your shoulder. Like your father and grandfather, you wear your hair long; the one true tradition that’s been passed down your bloodline for generations. Even as shorter hairstyles become widely accepted, your clan refused to do so, following the old rule of cutting hair once one was shunned. You lose yourself in thought, mindlessly combing through hair with a comb made out of bone.

It isn’t the first time you’ve stayed in the Rengoku household, but you always find yourself drawing hesitant. Kyojuro’s own room sits right down the hallway, a silent temptation that you never give into. To do so would be disrespectful to your kind mentor, even downright inappropriate. Mentor and tsugoku was a strictly former relation – nothing more. You’d be damned if you stepped out of line.

A slight knock at the door stirs your curiosity. Kyojuro and Shinjuro have yet to return from their shopping trip despite the sky being cloaked in an ominous purple. Instead, you’re greeted by Senjuro, Kyojuro’s younger brother. Like the other two – and the rest of the males in his bloodline – he sports the fire crackle hair, the robust eyes. The entire Rengoku clan has been blessed by the sun, by fire, since the beginning of time. You’re not good friends with Senjuro, by you’re way past the line of casual acquaintances.

You glance to the cheesecloth in his hands, your eyebrow raising itself in a silent question. Senjuro sends you a cheeky smile, though the edges are tinged with nervousness. It startles you just how much he resembles Kyojuro. As you beckon him to enter, you set your comb down and tell him to join you on the futon.

“Aniki and father aren’t back yet,” Senjuro tells you as he sits down. “And I figured… Well, maybe… If it was okay for us to hang out?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Senjuro’s always been like this, awkward yet exceptionally kind. As he unwraps the cheesecloth, you’re greeted by the sight of plump grapes and rice crackers.

“I know we already had dinner, but sometimes Aniki and I sit around with some snacks and talk about everything.” Senjuro’s smile grows at the mention of his brother; you find it extremely endearing. “And you’re always nice to me, so I thought that we could…” His sentence trails off into nothing and he worries his bottom lip.

You promptly pick a grape from the bunch and pop it into your mouth. Its sweet flavor erupts on your tongue and you hum in appreciation. “Thank you for the treat.”

The nervousness in Senjuro’s smile melts away. “I watched you and Aniki train earlier. You’re incredible,” he gushes. “It’s no wonder why you’re Aniki’s tsugoku!”

You wave off his compliment with a dismissive hand. “First you bring me food, then you flatter me; is there an ulterior motive to this?” you tease.

With a slight giggle, Senjuro shoves at your shoulder. “I just wanted to be in your company, that’s all.”

You find the gesture to be incredibly sweet. As you ponder on his words, you realize that Kyojuro must be busy all the time, attending to his work as a Pillar, and Shinjoru spends almost every waking moment getting drunk. “Look at you, being the charmer,” you throw his way. “You definitely take after your brother.”

Senjuro visibly perks up at your words. “Really? You think so?”

You chuckle at his excited response. “Yes, really. I think you’re going to grow up into a wonderful man, Senjuro-kun.”

His cheeks warm up at your praise. “I can see why Aniki likes you so much.”

The cracker you hold stops centimeters away from your mouth. You instinctively lower your hand. “What do you mean?”

Senjuro cocks his head to the side. “Oh, you mean you don’t know? Aniki’s had a crush on you for months.”

The cracker falls into your lap. “He what?”

Something snaps outside the screen door. The hairs on the back of your neck come to a sudden rise; the sharp smell of blood fills the air and your mind kicks into autopilot. Shoving Senjuro away, you quickly grab onto your blade as the door is ripped from its hinges, the sight of bright yellow eyes shining through the dark.

A demon.

“Shit,” you curse, shooting to a stand, drawing your blade from its sheath, and holding it out before you in a defensive stance.

The demon stalks into the room; its body is nothing short of massive, all flexing muscle the color of moss. His head easily brushes the ceiling as he draws himself to his full height, inky, greasy hair falling in his grotesque face. His nostrils twitch as though they’re following a scent. “Where is he?” he growls, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. “Where is the Flame Pillar?”

Your grip on your blade tightens. While it’s fortunate that Kyojuro isn’t home, that means you’ll have to take out the demon and protect Senjuro at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, you can convince the creature to turn around and leave.

“My apologies,” you say, your voice brisk. “The one you seek isn’t here.”

The demon’s yellow eyes stare down at the blade in your hands. His lips pull back in a snarl, his razor-sharp fangs shining in the light. You sharply inhale at the sight, a slight spark of panic traveling down your spine. “Pathetic little slayer,” he hisses, “thinking you can stop me? I’ll rip your head off and drink straight from your neck.”

You shift your weight on your feet. “Senjuro, get out of here. Now.”

Behind you, Senjuro scrambles to his feet. You can hear him gulp, but you ignore the urge to turn around and see if he’s okay. “B-but what about…”

“Get your brother. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

With another drawn out growl, the demon lowers itself, ready to pounce.

“Run!”

A large flash of green fills your vision and you hastily swing your sword. The battle you engage in is fierce, intense, too quick to be seen by the naked eye. Your body twirls and evades the monstrous demon’s attacks, bouncing off the walls and slithering between his legs.

You don’t necessarily realize it as you move the fight outside, the night’s breeze carrying your hair and whipping it into your face. Biting back a curse, you jump backwards just in time for a clawed hand to slash at the space where you previously stood.

“I will kill you!” the demon roars.

“Breath of Ashes: Shimmering Coal!” you cry out. In a great, fantastic arc, your blade grows to an unbearably hot temperature as you slice through the demon’s chest.

He screams in agony at the searing pain, reeling back and clutching at his chest. His eyes scream murder as he charges you; this time, though, you aren’t so lucky. Your back makes a sickening snap noise as you’re thrown into a nearby tree. Struggling for breath, you quickly get back up, charging at the demon again.

Time is lost. A faint hint at a new moon fills the sky; the only light comes from the inside of your room, leaving you in almost complete darkness. Your movements are bold, swift, straight to the point; you slash and strike at the demon, landing devastating blows, but his neck is too thick. You curse and howl in pain as claws rip at your sides, your arms, your face; blood openly flows down your face and the rest of your body, soaking the material of your torn yukata.

You groan from your spot on the ground; the coppery taste of blood coats your tongue, the back of your throat. Struggling to sit up, your fingers claw into the grass and dirt as you fight off the wave of nausea. It can’t end like this – you can’t end like this. You refuse to give up, to die. Even if this demon spills your guts, you’ll slice off his head and take him to hell with you.

Black fills the outer rims of your vision. There’s a harsh ringing in your ears, ready to steal your hearing away from you. Death is creeping up onto your doorstep, waiting, just waiting for you to answer.

There’s a cry of your name and a swirl of flames. Kyojuro comes seemingly out of nowhere; a war cry spills from his lips as he swings his blade and brings it down on the demon’s neck. Although he’s incredibly fast, your trained eyes follow his every move. The muscles in his back flex as he slices the demon’s head clean off. The demon releases an animalistic sound, spittle flying from his mouth as his head lands nearby.

“Fuck you, Flame Pillar! I’ll see you in hell!” he screeches before his head turns into dust.

A ragged breath punches its way out of your lungs as you slump back onto the ground. Kyojuro rushes to your side, worry etched into his features. You see his mouth move, but you can barely hear the words tumbling out. He gingerly slides his arms under you and picks you up, holding you close to his chest. The rest of the world passes by in a blur as he carries you back inside, instead of stopping in your room, however, he continues all the way to his room.

“Can you hear me?” his voice filters into your mind. You nod your head and groan as he places you onto his bed. “Gods, (y/n),” he breathes, pushing the damp strands out of your face. He gulps at the sheer amount of blood coating your face. “Hang on,” he tells you.

Rising from the bed, he fetches an abundance of medical supplies and gets to work at cleaning you up. Both his eyes and movements are gentle as he wipes away the blood, revealing your exhausted face. As he removes your yukata, he averts his gaze and hastily covers your privates up before working at your exposed arms and stomach.

“To do what you did,” he starts, his voice hoarse. He sounds suspiciously close to crying. “You saved him. You saved Senjuro.” His voice shakes as his hands begin to tremble. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Flicking your eyes to him, you notice how he’s biting hard onto his lip, desperate to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never seen such a pained look on his face a day in your life. His eyes shift between the two of yours, tears welling up and clouding the surface. Your heart jumps to your throat.

“You saved my baby brother,” he spews. Tears rush down his handsome face. “You risked your life to save him. It’s just… I…” He frantically rubs at his eyes with a sleeve. “I didn’t want to lose you, too.” Despite his tears, Kyojuro manages a tiny smile. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if you died,” he confesses.

“Kyojuro-san…?” you croak.

Taking your hands in his, he swiftly brings them to his lips and presses kisses to your knuckles. “I was so scared.” He frantically shakes his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if you died.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. “You see… I- I love you, (y/n).”

Your breath stills in your throat. He… He loves you? Rengoku Kyojuro, a man blessed by the gods themselves, loves you.

Leaning down, he gently presses his forehead to yours. “I love you with my very being,” he mutters. “And to know that you’ve saved Senjuro… It makes me love you even more.”

Before you have time to register it, your hands link around his neck. This man was the one to melt the ice surrounding your heart; he was the one to make you feel again. You smile weakly at him. “Kyojuro-san… I… I love you, too.”

[mxvladdy]

Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!) 

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub 

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing. 

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying  awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.  

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this."  Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”  

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back?  He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”  

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.  

[soothedcerberus]

Thank you for indulging me, anon! Blaster and Cassette cleaning/bathing/grooming/tactile touch hc under the cut ^^

Eject:

-Hates bathing-but if he can coax his siblings into a water fight it’s worth it.

-Tries to turn every bath into a game of water polo, with limited success. 

-A terror in the tub

-Please sit still please wash yourself-USE ACTUAL SOAP 

-Spends all his time playing around and bothering his siblings that Blaster has to remind him to actually clean himself or he’ll scrub the cassette himself.

B: I guess I'll just have to... *reaches for Eject*

E: *shrieks*  ill do it ill do it!!!

-Got in trouble because he would not stop kicking washbuckets at fellow Autobots passing by the washracks and screaming “GOAAAAAAAL” every time he hit someone. 

-Eject’s occasional sport injuries means that either Rewind or Blaster has to help him wash. And listen to him complain the whole way.

-Cannot be polished with a buffer. He is way too ticklish. 

-Uneven and rushed polishing. Always. It drives Rewind crazy. 

-If Blaster is able to pin Eject down for a more thoroughly polishing, within the hour Eject will find a way to ruin it. Blaster has given up trying to polish the sports cassette. 

-Gets turf stuck up in his feet and will track it into the ark. Blamed it on Sideswipe when confronted by Prowl.

-Now has to pressure wash his feet when coming in from a football session. 

-Helps Rewind polish his visor and faceplate-after kicking a clump of dirt into it.

------------

Steeljaw:

-Steeljaw Isn’t a huge fan of baths, he can clean himself anyways he doesn’t need a bath.

-Speaking of, Steeljaw grooms Blaster and his cassette sibs. Nobody is safe

-Will also groom to comfort himself or his family, they appreciate the sentiment 

-Hesitantly paddles and paws at the water-but will not hesitate to get involved if Eject splashes him

-He does like to have his claws filed though, has his own personal scratch post  (but you can get on his good side by filing them for him)

-Blaster can really get his purring going if he polishes the cybercat with a microfiber cloth.

-Loves his mane being polished with a buffer. Only trusts Blaster or Rewind with this task.

-Has a teeny toothbrush to polish his fangs, 

------------

Rewind:

-Always suds himself up well before washing himself off. Looks like a snowman 

-Likes drenching sponges and hurling them at Eject.

-He can’t soak for long, lest he gets dizzy.

-Gets Eject to help detail his harder to reach joints after promising him to play doubles tennis with him.

-Attention to detail when hand polishing himself, even gets his tape wheels.

-Cleaning is a relaxer for him, he finds it helps with his anxiety.

-Once nearly fell asleep when Blaster massaged and shined him with a big microfiber cloth, much to his embarrassment.

-No claws, but he did pick up filing and buffing the edges of his fingers from his cybercat sibling. Better for turning pages if there’s no nicks or rough spots. 

-Tries to sneak in polishes to his twin’s frame. It drives Eject crazy. 

------------

Ramhorn:

-Ramhorn being the largest of the cassettes, definitely needs help cleaning himself. Sudsing up his back and sides, Blaster and the other cassettes take turns helping him. 

-Acts gruffly in response to being bathed by others but secretly likes feeling pampered. 

-Loves being buffed, he leans as far as he can into it, snorting in contentment. 

-Sometimes it’s just easier to hose him down-he prefers it too. Except when Eject intentionally sprays him in the face. 

-Splashes around in deep puddles like a sparkling when nobody is looking.

-Wants a swinging brush, but it's not high up on the list of essential equipment. :c

-Horn is his most “handsome” feature (according to him) so it is well taken care of. 

-His horn makes an excellent back scratcher (ask Blaster). His entire frame makes a good backrest (ask Rewind).

-Will itch his horn on others, has toppled several minibots (and a few larger bots) this way.

-Steeljaw will give good scratches and kneads to the rhino’s back, before promptly curling up and sleeping. 

-Rewind, bless him, takes it upon himself to clean the rhino’s ears. 

-Warm water or oil makes him very sleepy, so he’ll often sink to the bottom of the basin. 

-Soaks with just his horn sticking out. 

-Is used as a giant “rock” for “King of the rhino” games. 

-Sometimes puts up with Eject diving off of him. Sometimes. 

-On bad days he’ll seek comfort in Blaster or his sibs, nudging them with his head to get cuddles or pets. He makes sure nobody else sees him like that though. 

------------

Blaster:

-Cassettes help Blaster polish, they can reach little tickle/itchy spots near his neck with small cleaning cloths. 

-Since Blaster’s chest is their second home/room, they make sure to keep it extra clean. 

-Dumps warm water over his cassettes when its time for a rinse. 

-Still bundles them up to dry, even if they protest. Is gentle and intricate, making sure each cassette is clean and dried off.

-Massages behind Steeljaw’s ears eliciting pleased chirps and purrs from the lion. Steeljaw might lick Blaster’s hand while getting pets-as a thank you. 

-Helps Ramhorn into the deep basin even if the Rhino insists he doesn’t need help. That one pratfall was one too many for the boombox. 

-Rubs soothing medical cream onto Eject if his frame ever gets sore or sprained. 

-Lets Rewind gush to him about the latest documentary he watched or book he read while stroking the small cassette's back in soothing patterns. Applying a small amount of polish. 

-Sometimes Blaster will wash them together as cassettes in his deck because it’s faster than corralling them all for a bath. Like a giant dishwasher, complete with a rinse and dry cycle. This makes his cassettes nauseous though. :(

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Siren Song: The Mer

Follow-up to Anacapa’s Own: Get to Know the Mer on Everyone’s Minds 

CW: Dehumanization, nonhuman whumpee, blood, shoulder injury, drugging, abduction, nonconsensual touching (nonsexual)

The night is deep, the mer is alone.

He feels held in the warmth of it, as though he were still a small calf cradled in his mother's arms. 

The dark air is indistinguishable from the ocean, except for the difference in the inflation of lungs or the cool rush of water along gills. The sky above is full of stars, a bright full moon shining a stripe of light along a calm sea. 

The mer slaps his tailfin to watch water burst upwards in a shimmer edged in white. Like smooth fishbelly just before he bites down, the pretty fish that live near the mating grounds. They shimmer like this. 

What he loves most about the nights is the sky full of stars. The mer thinks sometimes the sky must be as deep as the darkest places beneath him, those places in the ocean where the weight of the water will flatten unlucky mer dragged down by the monsters that live in the trenches. Even the Big Teeth, the black-and-whites who sometimes talk to the mer families, wouldn't go so deep even if they could breathe water like the mer. 

What the monsters wait for, the mer don’t know. 

But they know better than to find out.

The mer boy drifts with the softest dip and rise of the water beneath him, floating on his back looking up at the brilliance of stars. His fingers splay with the webbing stretched between them, settled out to either side. He can feel the water as it moves against the fin on his back, at his elbows, lapping just at the edges of his ears. 

The water is getting colder. 

The time the sun spends warming the upper layers is lessening each day, and so the mer knows that soon his family will come back.

They should have at least five new baby calves for him to meet, tucked beside their mothers. The others his age will have stories about the days spent exploring, scaring the brightly colored schools into scattering, burying themselves in sand. He will miss getting the chance to do it all himself, but the stories will help him enjoy the long swim towards the brightest star.

What he dreams about is when they’ll be back home in the coldest waters, where there is warmth that simmers beneath the earth to keep their dwellings comfortable in the village while they spend the winter doing slow, soft things. They will help the new calves grow and flourish, so they will be ready for the long swim to come again in spring.

He’s not worried - his pod will know where they lost him and come back. 

He only has to wait.

He tilts his head, taking in a mouthful of water, spitting salt up into the sky and then closing his eyes tight as it splatters back down over his face. Waiting is… hard. 

It feels like all he does is wait - he swims around in the same circles, suns his thick, smooth skin and shimmery iridescent scales on the same rocks, letting the sun dry the salt in his pale hair. Waiting is hard, but they will come to bring him home, soon soon soon, and he can wait for them. 

At least there are many birds and fish here, so he won’t go hungry. And the ones who don’t swim are always interesting to see. They stumble around on legs, live only on the little lands that break up the oceans, and they’re always fun to say hello to. 

The mer likes to smack his tail in the water to see their small dark eyes turn his way, and their unwebbed fingers like bits of driftwood pointing at him, the bright colors they drape on themselves like a beacon of poison, a warning, only the mer knows they don't wear them that way. 

He likes them.

They come out in big fake whales made of ringing metal that make it hard to hear under the water, but they smile and wave, and the mer has learned to wave back. Sometimes they throw him things, although other ones yell at them when they do. Sometimes the ones who all wear the same colors will come and sit by his favorite rock. 

He likes them and their legs, but he likes the ocean more. He can’t imagine a life spent breathing only air. 

Drifting in the water, he can feel, through the smallest vibrations in his fins and fingers, one of their big metal whales somewhere nearby, unseen in the dark. He turns his head and trains his eyes, thinking maybe he can see where the metal whale is blocking some of his view of the stars.

Then he hears it, low and mournful, and twists over to sink beneath the water and listen to see if he hears the sound again.

His podsong.

Not all of them, not even most, but he can hear their voices raised, some of them, together. They are singing, and calling out, for him. Missed you, missed you, come to us, come home. A shiver runs through the mer from where his hair drifts around him to the very tip of his tailfin’s long, fluttering edges. 

His pod has come back. 

He zips through the water then, following the sound. The land-walkers have nice voices but they don’t sing, not like this, with voices made for traveling through the waters. There’s something odd about the podsong that he can’t place, some tinniness to its sound, but maybe that is just distance, or some way the sound moves. He calls back, pulling on the primary vocal chords, the sound vibrating down through him to the tips of his fingers.

Missed you, missed you, I’m coming, I want to go home.

He is joyful as he follows the podsong, as it gets loud enough to surround him and warm him like an embrace. He will miss the land-walkers, and he is sorry not to say goodbye, but his family is here and he thinks that the land-walkers have pods, too, just very small ones. They’ll understand.

He calls out, again and again, but the podsong of his family never changes. A stir of unease takes his joyful rush of blood and nips cold at it like the calves at fish from their mother’s hands, and he slows, finally coming to a stop. He should have seen them by now, or there should have been some change in the song as they saw him.

He should have felt the way they would move the water around them, the sense of them even from this far. He should... but he doesn’t.

He clicks, soft and puzzled. No one clicks back.

The big metal whale from earlier is nearby when he pops his head up out of the water again, looking as the rivulets run down his face to see if he will see his pod breaking the water, a sign of them other than the song.

“There he is.”

The sound is distant, and the words don’t mean anything to the mer - they are the mush-mouth way that land-walkers speak. There must be some up on the metal whale, and he cranes his head back to look up at it, lifting his hand in an echo of the wave they have taught him on their visits.

No one comes at night, not since the standoff between the island land-walkers and the metal whale land-walkers, that had ended with shouting and fists shaken and the mer hiding in the smallest place he could find under the water, hugging the coast of his favorite islet. 

“Got him.”

Flash of cool moonlight on something in a land-walker’s hands, a bright burst of something like light, and then the mer’s shoulder erupts with pain. 

He screams, a shrieking cry that bounces off the water and the metal of the land-walker’s whale, thrashing, his hands up to try and pull out the long dark cold stick that has burst through his shoulder. It has a rope attached, and as the mer tries to slice at it with the claws on his fingers, it pulls quickly taut and the pain of it pulls him through the water, closer to the whale.

He cries for his family and pleads in wailing for the pain to end, but the podsong continues on and on as though they can’t hear him at all. He is dragged to the big whale like a calf pulled away from inattentive parents by a shark, and he keens as he claws at the thing in his shoulder. The drag of it feels like it will pull his body apart. He splashes loud, manages to throw himself up and back against the water, slapping his tail as hard as he can, again and again, making sounds he knows will carry far. His pod will hear the warning in the splash, they will scent the blood that he is losing even now to the water. They’ll know to avoid it, the big whale.

Why do they keep singing the same song, when he is calling for help?

When he’s close to the boat, the pulling stops, and for a second he is left to thrash and try to pull the thing from his shoulder, keening, his hands slick with his own blood, shuddering at the unending pain.

Then there’s a clunk, the soft whirrrrrr of land-walker machinery, and the mer feels himself closed in by a thousand knotted ropes that pull tight at the top, capturing him in what he understands is a land-walker’s fishing net as it lifts him out of the water up alongside the whale.

They have no good teeth or claws, so they use the nets, and every calf knows to avoid them. The mer cannot escape, no matter how he thrashes and fights, and the net swings horribly in empty open air.

He gasps, choking until he remembers to use lungs and not gills, and the net moves, bringing him over the top of the metal whale, before lowering him down to its floor. The pain throbs from his shoulder down through every inch of his body and his tail flops, miserably, as he tries to fight his way free of the net to no avail.

“Turn off the speaker.”

The mer doesn’t know these words. But a moment later the podsong stops, stops all at once mid-word, and the mer cries, thrashing harder. His pod is so close by, and they gave up so quickly. He calls and calls but they don’t sing again. 

“God, listen to it. That’s beautiful. Recordings just don’t do it justice, do they?” 

The land-walker’s voice is too close and the mer twists in the net. It goes from horror to hiding place, all at once, and he curls up under the heavy lines of rope, groping weakly at the thing through its shoulder, but it doesn’t budge.

He looks with wide, terrified eyes as a land-walker female moves towards him, dressed in black so her pale skin seems to float through the air, just a head and eyes, hands. Her hair is back like a tail - he has seen some of the ones who visited him wear it like that - and she moves into a crouch, arms resting at her knees, looking at him with a soft smile. 

A man behind her speaks, and she speaks back to him. Their words are mush, they are sharp, spiky dead coral, and the mer looks from one to the other and understands nothing. He calls for help from his pod again, to a dull, dead silence that sends dread rippling through him stronger than the pain.

He doesn’t understand why his pod isn’t coming. They were right there.

“Shoot it. If it keeps making sounds like that, we’ll have the fucking park rangers to deal with again.”

“Oh, hush, Anders. We’ll be long gone before they notice anything’s missing. But fine.” There is a new thing in her hands, like the thing that sent the metal stick through his shoulder but smaller, and then mer whimpers in panic, curling up around his tail. He cannot imagine any more pain, and his blood is slicking the floor beneath him purple in the darkness already. “Sssshhhh,” She says, gently, and he clicks at her in a kind of useless warning to stay away. 

It’s no good. He can’t do anything, wrapped up in their net like a fish.

“Careful-”

“I know what I’m doing.” Her fingers find a hole in the net and grip tightly into the mer’s pale hair, yanking his head back with precision and without gentleness. “Let’s get you some rest so I can deal with the harpoon.”

“It’s not strictly a harpoon-”

“Anders.” The rounded end of the thing in her hand presses through the net against his neck, just beneath his ear-fin and above his gills. There’s a click - he flinches - and then a sudden new pinch of pain that fades as quickly as it came. She lets go and scrambles back as he tries to claw at her, just missing the swipe of his fingers, the gnash of sharp teeth. “There we go.”

The world spins, suddenly, and the mer’s limbs feel heavy, dropping to the floor with his head. He chirps, weak and scared.

Something is very wrong.

He tries to call out to his pod again, but his song is warbling, too soft to carry.

“Get him into the travel tank and we’ll move him to the facility.”

“Warehouse.”

“Anders-”

“All right, all right.” Footsteps moving away, and the mer blinks slowly, blearily up at the woman as she smiles down at him.

“I know this was a rough way to meet each other,” She says, and he wonders at the nonsense words and why she bothers to say them. “But don’t worry. I know how to care for you.” His head thumps uselessly into the floor, unable to so much as move, and the salt of the ocean is the same as his tears. Her blunt dull fingers are back in his hair, then, but more gentle, and he whimpers. His body trembles, waves of whole-body shivers, and his gills shift, open and close, desperate for the rush of water against them. He has to breathe with his lungs, through the slits on his face, and it’s tough to breathe deeply enough when his whole body feels like it has been weighed down. It takes all his effort simply to breathe in and breathe out. “Sssshhhh, you’re okay. It’s okay to be scared. But we’re going to learn so much about you.”

She pets him, like the land-walkers pet their own animals, and the mer is so, so afraid.

“Look at you, you’re so scared.” He turns, tries to snap at her arm with sharp teeth, only to have her shake his head violently enough that he feels like his mind is rattling. “Hey now, none of that.” 

Her hand moves, closing over the thing that is still stuck through his shoulder, weeping red-violent blood, and she pulls, just a little. The pain is too much even for the mer to make a sound. His vision goes white, and his mouth is an O, gasping, rigid as he waits for the swell of agony to recede, to shift away like the tide from the shore.

“Remember, we have a deal,” The man from before says, and the mer stares blankly in his direction. The meaningless sounds wash over him, they don’t land, they fly away. His ear-fins twitch a little, as he hears a low sound from a great distance. “Shit, we need to hurry. We have a deal, still, right?”

The woman looks up at him, briefly, and the mer doesn’t know their words but he sees the disdain on the woman’s face. “Of course we do. I get what I want, you get what’s left. Get us out of here, Anders.” 

The man walks away, and the woman goes back to rubbing just under his ear-fin, and the mer wonders, still, why his pod stopped singing so suddenly. Were they also caught in the nets? Were they also hurt by the sharp thing in his shoulder to pull them close enough to catch? Why did he hear them and not see them, or hear their bodies in the water?

The woman moves to cup the back of his head with her hand, and she does a grotesque expression that shows all of her flat white teeth. Her voice when she speaks is strange, falsely soothing, like a mother cooing to a calf but without love. Sh rubs her thumb over the spot below his ear where he had felt the pinch that turned him into this useless lump, maybe dying here on the metal whale, with no water to take his body back home.

He shudders. The spot she is touching is a spot that only mates touch on each other, and the mer feels his stomach flip and twist in nausea, clicking in disgust at the violation. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m Dr. Rachel, little thing, and I’m going to take really, really good care of you.”

The metal whale jerks into sudden motion and the mer can only raise his eyes, with difficulty, to watch the stars.

The night is deep, and the mer is alone.

----

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch 

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Destiny (RotJ AU oneshot)

“Thank the Force, you’re safe!”

Leia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she flung herself into Luke’s open arms, his face concealed by the darkness as the soft full moon rose like a halo behind his head. She breathed out a sigh, holding him close as she let the tension that had been bearing down on her go. The gnawing ball of anxiety at the pit of belly faded, as relief flooded her senses.

“We won,” she added in a rushed tone, barely able to believe her own words as she realized the freedom they had fought for was now within their grasp.

“We did,” said Luke, soft spoken as he returned his sister’s embrace; his prosthetic hand coming up to gently envelope the back of her thin neck. “But there is more that needs to be done.”

Leia shook her head, knowing he was right but refusing to let the long road still ahead of them spoil this moment of euphoria in the wake of their victory. With eyes closed, she smiled softly.

“Let’s not think of the future. The Death Star is destroyed. The Emperor is destroyed.”

Luke didn’t need to tell her, for her to know he had fulfilled the task of ridding the Galaxy of its dictator. She could feel the responsibility of the act weighing heavy on his conscience.

“He is,” her brother said either way, but Leia was surprised to find the words didn’t bring her the calm she had expected.

Instead, Luke’s tone seemed flat, solemn. It seemed uncanny, unnatural for him. Leia decided to dismiss it as nonsense. Instead, she focused on Luke’s arms around her, and the tender kiss he placed against her forehead. She had always known they belonged together, that there was a connection between them. 

It had taken some time for her to realize what exactly the bond was, but as soon as she realized she had fallen in love with Han, she knew Luke was the brother she’d always been missing. The brother she’d sometimes see in her dreams, a twin she’d never known. She had assumed her possible lost brother had died in the womb, that the ghost was a figment of her imagination. Now, she knew better.

Still, another question was begging to be answered. She felt the hatred and disgust well up inside her, before she even uttered the name on her mind. She sensed Luke’s reluctance to discuss it, knowing he heard her inquiry before she said it. Its taste bitter on her tongue.

“Is… where is Vader?”

“Our fath--”

“Your father,” Leia interrupted sharply, and she swore she could have heard Luke snort in annoyance if it weren’t so out of character for him to be intemperate. “Your father, my sire.”

“Father has changed. When we first spoke, I was afraid of his words. I was afraid of his intentions, of what he might do to me - and to you. But I’m not afraid anymore,” Luke said after a moment, but this time Leia didn’t imagine the cutting edge to his voice. “He asked me to relay a message. To you.”

“I want no part of his last wishes.”

“I know.”

Leia hated the tension that had formed between them, tainting the air and making it almost oppressive. She had no intentions of forgiving the man who had fathered her, who had stood dumbly by as her home planet and her adoptive - her real - parents were murdered. Her people turned to dust in the blink of an eye. Vader was nothing to her, and much as she knew Luke had been entertaining the idea of forming a bond with Vader as a parent, she had no such notions.

Biting her lip, Leia clung to Luke. For a moment, she feared he would back away. She feared he may be upset, despite the fact that she had never seen Luke be anything but calm and serene since he first became a Jedi Knight. She stroked his back, the rough fabric of his robes a familiar presence. Hiding her face against Luke’s chest, she shut any thoughts of Vader out but she was still hyper aware that Luke hadn’t confirmed whether the Dark Lord was dead or alive. 

In the distance, she could hear the chattering of ewoks mingling with Chewbacca’s cheerful yowls, and if she strained her ears she could make out Han’s gruff tone as he conversed with Lando over a glass of whatever the Ewok equivalent to liquor was called. They would be alright.

But when Luke spoke again, interrupting the pleasant background noises of celebration, the mournful aura he was emanating could not be ignored.

“That’s why I must be the one to do his bidding.”

“What are you talking about?” Leia said, tilting her head slightly upwards to attempt to catch his eyes.

Before she had the chance, the hand at the back of her neck guided her confounded face away as he pressed her tightly to her chest.

“I didn’t understand before, but now I do. The Emperor was seduced by the darkness inside of himself, not by the Force itself. The Force is neither light nor dark, you cannot know it if you do not walk the line between the contradictions.”

“I don’t understand.”

Leia wasn’t lying, Luke’s words made little sense but she couldn’t keep the tension from pouring back into her weary bones ever so slightly. Something was amiss, but she allowed Luke to squeeze her as she returned the embrace with the same fervour. It seemed desperate, as if Luke was stalling something inevitable, something momentous. Perhaps, she already knew where he was going. Perhaps they were both buying themselves more time.

“Father knows. About you,” Luke finally breathed, the admission of guilt filling Leia’s heart with dread and fear. “I tried, but I couldn’t keep it from him.” 

“You let him live.”

It wasn’t a question, and when Luke offered no reply, Leia knew it to be true. She dug her fingers into his back, but forced herself not to lash out. She wanted Vader dead, she wanted to see him suffer as a punishment for all the atrocities he had committed. As she struggled with the battle between her love for her brother and her disdain for her biological father, she could sense Luke’s sorrow growing in magnitude. It became palpable, until it overpowered even her vivacious, volatile emotional turmoil.

“You are too good, Luke,” she finally murmured, relenting for now despite the simmering disappointment and anger beneath the surface.

“Yes. I have been. And I remain to be, but it can be remedied.”

Leia flinched as the durasteel fingertips of her brother’s cybernetic hand dug into the side of her neck - a neck she became ever so aware of, reminded of its frailty. She reached out with that unknown, premonitory, invisible hand to search his feelings. She sensed no malice, only grief. She simply couldn’t grasp what he was mourning, or who, if Vader was still alive.

“There is so much more that I don’t yet understand, but I can learn. But so can you,” he continued, and shivers of unease ran down Leia’s spine at the spiteful way in which he brought her into the equation - so unlike the Luke she knew.

“I don’t want to learn about the Force,” she said, in an effort to reassure herself as much as Luke.

“No. Not now. But you will, eventually. It can’t be helped. Your potential will draw you towards it, as it did me. You can fight it, or embrace it as I have. It won’t matter, it takes you either way. You have no choice.”

“I don’t believe that,” Leia scoffed, the sinking feeling in her belly foreboding.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, nor does it matter what I believe. It’s the truth.”

The conviction of those words was irrefutable, and for a second Leia feared Luke could actually foresee the future and was speaking with an unearned wisdom regarding what was to pass. She found herself dreading the fact that there may be a predestined path for her.

“You sense it too, don’t you? You have felt its call, you have felt it beckoning to you. The Force.”

Leia wavered, about to reply when she remembered something she had overheard in the past. Luke communicating with an unseen figure, its voice eerily similar to the late Obi-Wan’s - its warning prodding at her subconscious until she had no choice but to reiterate it aloud.

“The Force doesn’t beckon. The Dark Side does.”

“But it has called you, hasn’t it?”

Luke didn’t falter, and Leia didn’t deny him. Her silence was all the compliance he needed, and she felt another chaste kiss pressed to the top of her head. Again, the durasteel prickle of his cold, harsh fingers buried themselves a little farther into the tender flesh of her nape.

“Then it has already been decided. Father was right. You are too much like him.”

Leia jerked back, trying to rear away as hurt, rage and disgust rushed to the surface in a flurry. Instead, she found herself trapped by Luke’s powerful hold. Heart sinking, she realized the dread she had been feeling wasn’t merely caused by Vader’s survival. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came forth. She tried to yank her arms free, but the unseen hands keeping her firmly put were too strong. She wanted to scream, wanted to kick, and writhe, and punch, and claw her way out. Instead, she stood paralyzed as Luke’s fingers grew painfully tight around the back of her nape; tips pressing against her hammering pulse point.

“There can be only two; one master and one apprentice. You have an inherent rage. You would make the perfect Sith, but if you become Father’s apprentice…” Luke trailed off, and the meaning behind the unspoken intent was enough to suck the air out of Leia’s lungs.

Swallowing had, she found it difficult to breathe; and the vice closing around her neck was getting ever tighter. She could feel the sharp sting as unforgiving durasteel pierced her skin, and the rush of warmth that could only be blood spilling down the front of her dress. As her mind grew foggy, Leia realizing the welcoming darkness was likely of Luke’s doing to ease her into the eternal sleep, she picked up on his voice close to her ear. Despite the haze as life faded, her brother’s words were crisp and clear and haunting.

“This is the only way. It is my destiny,” he said, with an evident choked tremor to the delivery. “I’m sorry.”

Head tipping backwards, the last thing Leia noted was the irony in the lone tear that slid down Luke’s pale cheek juxtaposed with the predatory, greedy glow of his now bloodshot golden eyes.

***

Because there aren’t enough Dark!Luke AUs out there, so have my take on an alternate ending to RotJ where Luke falls and Vader lives. Enjoy!

[elijahs-wife]

A Whole New World

Requested by @kpopgirlbtssvt​: “Hi! Can I please request a Kol x vampire!fem!reader where she’s Damon & Stefan’s younger sister, & she was turned when they were (when their dad shot them). Y/n  met Kol right after she when through vampire transition (When Stefan made Damon turn, that’s when Y/n turned as well) since Damon & Stefan were fighting, they both asked her to come with them, but she didn’t want to choose between her brothers, so she chose to go with Kol, who offered for her to travel with him. They fall in love along the way🥰” THANK YOU FOR THIS CECE!! I’m sorry its so late but ya girl is in college and I have no free time rip. I hope you enjoy it! <3

A/N: There are some inconsistencies with the actual TVD timeline and plot in this story but IGNORE THEM FOR THE SAKE OF THE CRAFT lol. I also made everyone a little older so that Kol wouldn’t have to fall in love with a 16 y/o girl. 

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Salvatore Fem! Reader

Word Count: 5.1k oops

Warnings: nothing much...? a couple of deaths but nothing graphic

Mystic Falls, 1864

When Katherine Pierce came to stay at the Salvatore’s house, Y/N couldn’t have been more thrilled to have another girl in the house. Not that she didn’t love her brothers, on the contrary, she loved them very much, but all her life she had secretly longed for a sister. Finally, she had someone to really talk to, a friend, a confidante, and she couldn’t wait for when she would choose one of her brothers and become a real sister. The day she found out about Katherine’s secret, the day that she accidentally walked in on her feeding on Damon, she wasn’t scared, although she knew she should have been. She knew that a sensible young girl would have told someone immediately, or at the very least ran away, but she didn’t. She was intrigued by vampirism in a way she couldn’t explain.

Y/N had spent most of her evening in her bedroom, absorbed in a book; she knew that Katherine was busy with Stefan earlier, so she kept her distance so as to not see anything traumatic. When she left the room, the house seemed unnaturally quiet, and there was no one in sight. She went downstairs to check there, but nobody was there, until Damon stormed through the front door, making her jump up in shock. “Y/N”, he burst out, “Father knows, about Katherine. They’re planning on killing her, on killing all of them.” Her hands flew over her mouth in horror – how could he have found out?

“Listen to me, Y/N”, Damon said, his hands firm and resolute on her shoulders, piercing her with his icy gaze, “Stefan and I are going to save her. You will see her again, I promise.” Shaking her head frantically, she cried, “Let me come with you, Damon, please,” as she took hold of his arm, but he tore it from her grip. “It is far too dangerous outside, sister. Please, just stay here.” And with that, he rushed out of the front door.

There she stood in the parlor, shaking like a leaf in a storm, worry riddling her mind. She was her father’s favorite, and while he was gentler with her, she also knew that Guiseppe could be a cruel, vindictive man, and if he caught wind of the mission that her brothers were on, she had no idea what he might do; in fact, she shuddered to even think about it. And if they were caught? No, she couldn’t let her brothers face Father’s wrath on their own, she had to be there for them. She headed to the kitchen to retrieve the knife, cringing at the thought of having to use it, but she’d rather be safe than sorry. Running out onto the porch, she heard the shouts of men in the woods nearby and followed their noise. She slipped between the trees, placing her steps with deliberation. It was dark, with only slivers of moonlight to help her see, so she was careful as to not make any sudden movements. The voices were getting closer now, and in a few more steps she could see two men in a clearing, loading a woman into a carriage – Katherine. Y/N crouched behind a large tree, watching from a distance as Stefan distracted the men and Damon knocked them unconscious. Thank heavens, she thought, relief washing over her as they hoisted Katherine out of the carriage. She took a step forward to help them when she heard the deafening sound of a gunshot, and then the thud of a body falling on the ground. Damon. Another gunshot, and she saw the blood patterns blooming on Stefan’s shirt, before he collapsed.

A horrified, strangled noise left her throat – she wanted to scream but she couldn’t. It was then that she saw the dark figure lurking there, holding a rifle, and then retreating into the trees. The man who had just killed her brothers. Fueled by unbridled rage, she stepped out of hiding and ran until she saw his shadowed figure. “Show yourself!’ she yelled at him, wielding her knife with a shaky hand. The man froze at the sound of her voice. “Show yourself, you bastard, so I can see who you are before I kill you!” He turned around slowly, and as he took a step forward, the moon illuminated his face. The knife fell out of her grasp and onto the twigs and leaves below their feet. She couldn’t believe her own eyes. “Father?” she croaked, tears starting to prick at her eyes.

“You should not have left the house, Y/N”, Guiseppe said, his eyes hard and unfeeling as they stared at his daughter. She quivered on the spot, unable to move. “You- you killed Stefan and Damon?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I killed your brothers.” There was no hint of remorse in his voice. She broke down into quiet sobs, tears streaming down her face as she tried to process her loss. How dare he stand there and face her after committing such an atrocity? “They just wanted to save Katherine, Father. They are your sons; how could you do that to them?” she cried. He took a few steps closer to her. “Katherine is a vampire, Y/N. But of course, you knew that already.” Her despair was now clouded by red anger. She paused for a second, trying to compose herself before defiantly sticking her chin out and replying, “So what of it? Katherine was like a sister to me, and vampire or not, nothing could change that.” Guiseppe’s face twisted into disgust, although Y/N could have sworn she saw a flash of regret in the mix. “I am sorry, Y/N. But I cannot have sympathizers for children.” The sound of a bullet being fired was the last thing she heard before everything went black.

-

How much time had passed, she did not know, but it was still dark when Y/N woke up alone on the forest floor. She sat up gingerly, a slight pain in her stomach. To her horror, when she looked down, her dress was torn and bloody at the bodice from where she had been shot. The memories were coming back now, how her father had let his hatred for vampires justify killing his own children in cold blood. But if he had killed her, how was she awake?

Stumbling to get on her feet, she pressed her fingers against her stomach – her wound was completely healed, which only added to her confusion, and she felt the most ravenous hunger, clawing at her stomach and throat, making her almost dizzy. Her only instinct was to get out of this forest and find help. She didn’t even notice when she bumped into someone, hard. One of the guards that Damon had knocked out. “Miss Salvatore? What are you- oh my goodness, you’re hurt”, he sputtered, looking down at her bloodied dress. “What-”

“I’m fine”, she interjected, finding his voice far too loud for her liking, it was hurting her ears. The steady thrum of his pulse, however, was ever so enticing. Something in her body was telling her that he was the key to quelling that hunger in her. She looked away from him and at her feet instead, in an attempt to suppress the thirst. But the sound, the smell, it pulled her in like a magnet. She could hear him calling her name, but it was so hard to focus when all she could think about was blood. And at that moment, she remembered that Katherine had never told her how one became a vampire, and suddenly she knew exactly what was happening to her. She couldn’t control herself, not when it was in such close proximity. “I’m sorry,”, she whispered. His confused expression transformed to fear when she bit down on his neck. He had barely started to scream when she pulled away and looked deeply into his eyes, commanding, “Do not move or make a sound.” So, he remained silent, unable to move an inch as Y/N drank from him. The taste was funny at first, warm and metallic – then all of a sudden, irresistible. She reveled in the feelings of immeasurable power that were coursing throughout her body, feeling the blood dripping down her chin.

“It’s good manners to share, you know”, an unfamiliar voice said from behind her. She whipped around to face it and found a total stranger standing there. He looked young and he had a handsome face, with dark purple veins pulsing below his eyes – another vampire. In her shock, she stepped aside, and he reared his head to sink his fangs into his neck. The stranger drank until his body went totally limp and fell to the earth. “Is he-?” Y/N gasped. “He was half dead anyway, darling. You saw to that”, the man said with a saucy grin. She looked at him in disdain, before checking the body. There was no doubting it, he was dead. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded.

It was then that she realized that she could see him even in the darkness, so for the first time, she took a proper look at him. His attire suggested that he came from wealth, all his clothes were tailored to fit him perfectly, although his frockcoat was now spattered with blood. There was something about the way that he was staring at her that made her uneasy – he sent shivers down her spine, and it was the fact that she didn’t mind it at all disturbed her. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked apprehensively. He started, as if jolted out of a daydream. “Forgive me”, he said, “I enjoy looking at beautiful things. Sometimes I get carried away.” She felt a flush creep up her face at being called beautiful. “I’m Kol Mikaelson. I’m only passing through Mystic Falls; I used to live here quite some time ago and thought I would pay a visit. May I ask you your name?”

“Y/N. Y/N Salvatore,” she replied, extending a hand, which he took in his own, bringing it up to his lips to place a polite kiss, making her face heat up even more. “It is lovely to meet you, Y/N”, he said with a smile that was more disarming than she’d care to admit. “Likewise,” she said smiling back at him, although it was a short-lived one. Her brothers were still dead, their bodies lying somewhere in the woods. She couldn’t just leave them. “Is there something the matter?” he asked, seeing the sadness in her face. She nodded quietly, trying her best not to cry – her emotions were running wild. “My brothers are somewhere in this forest, dead. My father shot them dead when he found out that they were in love with a vampire, and he shot me too. I have to find their bodies, give them a proper funeral…” Her voice became thick with tears and trailed away.

Even though they had only just met, Kol couldn’t stand to see the pain on her beautiful face. Something about her drew him in in a way that he had never experienced before, made him want to care. “I’m sorry about your brothers. I’ll help you find them”, he reassured her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. She couldn’t explain it, but something told her that she could trust him, that she should. So, she walked with him through the woods in their search.

They walked through the trees in the darkness for over an hour, with no luck. In that time, they talked nonstop – exchanging horror stories of evil fathers, Kol’s tales from his numerous travels abroad and rendezvous with witches, about his family and how they were the origins of every vampire in the world. There was a whole world out there that she knew nothing about, and the more she heard about it, the more she ached to see it. “So where are you going to next?” she asked him enviously. He chuckled and hummed, “I’m not sure. Perhaps New Orleans to see my brothers, or New York City. France, Italy, India. It’s entirely up to me.” He watched her longing expression and wondered how she would respond to what he was about to ask her. “Would you like to come with me?” She almost tripped over a large tree root, not having expected him to ask that at all, and gave him a bewildered look. “I could show you a world that you could never have imagined. Magic and real adventure, far beyond the likes of this town”, he said. She stammered, not knowing what to say. “I- I… don’t think that would be a good idea. This is my home. I have responsibilities here that I have to take care of.” She looked away awkwardly. There was no doubt that the offer was tempting, but how could she leave town with a man she had just met? And there was no chance that she would leave without retribution for Stefan and Damon. “We’ve been searching for at least an hour, why haven’t we found them yet?” she cried in frustration. He shook his head. “I don’t know, love. You said that they were shot, which means that there should be a strong scent of blood, but I’m not getting anything.” Suddenly, he cocked his head to one side. “I hear someone coming”, he muttered. Y/N found that when she focused, she could hear it too – the small, hurried footsteps of a woman, getting closer by the second, until she appeared before them. “Emily!” Y/N sighed in relief.

Her eyes wandered over Y/N, taking in her torn dress covered in blood and grime. “You’ve completed the transition”, she stated, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “How did you know?” she asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You need to come with me", Emily urged, “I’ll explain everything, but right now you need my help. Here, put this on, it won’t be long before the sun is up.” She handed Y/N a ring, a bulky silver band set with a large blue stone, with her initial on top in silver as well. Y/N looked at both Emily and Kol, before turning around to face him. “I must go", she said, unable to hide the regret in her voice. He took her hands in his and kissed them softly. “I understand", he said with a slight nod. “But if by chance you change your mind about my offer… meet me at the clock tower by dawn. I’ll be waiting.” She gave him a long, wistful glance before walking away, knowing that it would be the last time she saw him.

-

They walked with haste as Emily began to fill her in. “It was Katherine", she said, “she had me slip her blood into your afternoon coffee.” I knew that coffee tasted funny. “When you died, you woke up in transition, and you completed it when you drank human blood.” Emily explained how she had kept Katherine and all the others safe in a tomb. Y/N kept looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something about where they were going but she didn’t, so she decided to speak up. “Emily, you have to tell me what’s going on. Where are you taking me?” she implored. “You will see for yourself soon”, Emily insisted, “we are almost there.” Y/N could hear the rushing of water close by; they were nearing the falls. The closer they got, the clearer the sounds of two voices became, voices that she could recognize anywhere. No. It can’t be. She picked up her pace, almost running, until she saw them. Her brothers, very much alive.

They were arguing heatedly, but she could only hear snippets of their conversation over the sound of the water. Both of them were hardly paying attention to their surroundings until Damon finally saw her out of the corner of his eye; in that moment, everything went quiet. “Y/N?” he faltered. Her incredulous expression turned to a huge smile as she ran to them, pulling them both into a massive hug. When she finally pulled away, Stefan saw the glint of blue on her hand, and grabbed it in his, realizing the fate that had befallen his sister as well. “No”, he whispered, “how could this happen?”  

“When Damon told me that you were going to save Katherine, I followed you. I saw Father shoot you, and when I confronted him, he killed me too. But then I woke up. According to Emily, Katherine slipped me her blood earlier. I think she knew that she was going to be captured today. I think she wanted to be able to see me again… someday.” Stefan balled up his fist and slammed it into his other hand. “Damn it”, he muttered, shaking his head angrily, “I don’t want this for you, Y/N.” She huffed, having expected a warmer response. “Well, I didn’t exactly ask for this”, she replied, “but what’s done is done, and we can be together now. I thought you were both dead.” She heard a low snort from Damon. “Thanks to Stefan, we are dead. In a sense.”

“What do you mean ‘thanks to Stefan’?” she asked, slightly confused. She didn’t like the look in Damon’s eyes; in fact, she had never seen him so contemptuous. “Well, sister, while you were away, Stefan was busy killing our father.” Eyes widened, she turned to her other brother in disbelief. “But that’s not all”, Damon continued, “I wasn’t going to complete the transition. I was going to let myself die, until Stefan forced me to drink from her so we could be together for eternity.” He gestured at the lifeless body that was cast to a side. “An eternity of misery, brother, starting now. I’m leaving,” he spat out, as Stefan looked down in guilt. Her attention turned back to Damon. “You’re leaving? Why? And where?” He shook his head, “I don’t know. Anywhere is better than here. Come with me, sister. We can survive this together.”

“No”, Stefan protested, shaking his head, “Mystic Falls is our home. She’d be better off staying here, with me.” And just like that the two of them were back to arguing, but this time, over which one of them would take care of her. She had had enough. “Don’t I get a say in all this?!” she burst out, silencing both of them. “Stefan, Mystic Falls will always be home. But I’m ready to see the rest of the world, and I can’t do that by staying here with you.” She saw Damon smirk out of the corner of her eye and turned to him. “But Damon, I don’t want to go with you either. I can’t choose between the two of you, so please don’t make me. Besides, I’m 18, I can make my own decisions.” Neither of them looked particularly happy, but they didn’t say anything. “I can’t live my whole life with my older brothers looking over my shoulder,” she sighed.

It took a while, but eventually both of them nodded in understanding. She wrapped her arms around Stefan, hugging him tight. “I’ll miss you, Stef”, she whispered, feeling him nod against her. “Me too. Promise me you’ll visit.”

“I promise,” she replied before turning to Damon. The anger in him was gone for a while, right now there was only concern for his sister. “I’ll be okay,” she assured him, pulling him in her embrace. “Take care of yourself, Y/N”, he said, a strange lump in his throat. “And keep in touch,” he added as she pulled away.

It was then that she noticed the faintest streaks of light appearing in the sky. Dawn was coming, fast. She started taking backward steps. “We have an eternity ahead of us. You’ll see me soon, brothers. I promise.” With that, she turned around and sped into the trees. She had an irresistible offer to take up.

-

There were hardly any people out on the street at this time of morning. As Kol leaned against the brick of the clock tower, he saw the sky lighten up as the sun started to rise. She wasn’t coming. Not that he had expected her to, but he felt a strange void, like he missed her already. Perhaps I’ll see her again someday, he thought as he looked up at the sky. Prepared to leave, he turned to the right, when he heard a whoosh behind him. “Leaving so soon?” It was her.

Slowly, he swung around to face her, almost nervous that it wouldn’t really be her, but it was – there she stood in her disheveled, bloodied-up glory, a stark contrast to the shy grin on her face. She watched the smile spreading on his face – a slow quirk of the lips first, then stretching from ear to ear. “You came,” he beamed. Nodding, she walked towards him. “Travelling the world with you? How could anyone turn that down?” Shrugging off his coat, he wrapped it around her to obscure the blood from view. “Such a gentleman,” she remarked, pleasantly surprised at the simple action. He chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets as they started walking together.

“So, where are we going?” she piped up, enthralled by the prospect of having the world at her fingertips. Her whole life she had been sheltered, confined to Mystic Falls and now she was truly free. Kol could see the excitement in her eyes, and he couldn’t deny that it did something to his blackened heart. “Wherever you would like to go, love,” he replied, smiling at her, “although we should probably get you into some new clothes first.”

New Orleans, 1867

“I’m nervous”, Y/N muttered, adjusting her sleeves and tugging on her skirt as they stood outside the front door of the enormous house. “Don’t be, darling. I’m positive that they’ll love you,” Kol said, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly before knocking on the door. It was only a few seconds before someone answered the door – a dark-skinned, tall young man. “Marcellus,” said Kol, a slight sardonic tone to his voice as he stepped inside, “how lovely to see you.” She got the impression that it wasn’t lovely at all, which was confirmed by the thinly stretched smile on the man’s face. “Kol,” he acknowledged, his gaze shifting to her. “You must be Y/N. I’m Marcel”, he said, offering her a hand, which she took. “Pleased to meet you, Marcel,” she replied, shaking his hand with a polite smile. Looking around, she saw all sorts of expensive and rare trinkets on the side tables. Fancy.

“Well, look who finally came to visit,” she heard from above. Looking up, she saw them on the huge staircase: two men, one blonde and one brunette, and a beautiful lady who was looking at her with what seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and kindness. A smile broke out over Kol’s face, a kind that she had never seen before, one that must be reserved for family. It made her feel good, seeing him this way. “It’s good to see all of you,” he called out as the three of them descended the stairs. She felt his grip on her hand tighten once more and gave a nervous smile. “Everyone, this is the incredible Y/N Salvatore,” Kol declared, not taking his eyes off her for a second. His voice softened. “Meet my family, love.”

Paris, 1889

“It wasn’t that impressive,” Kol scoffed as they strolled down the Champs de Mars, having just witnessed the unveiling of the Eiffel Tower. “It most certainly was!” Y/N exclaimed, shooting him a look. “Isn’t it fascinating how far mankind has come? Building something a thousand feet tall. In my books, that deserves commendation.” He watched her face as she continued to speak – he loved it when she was passionate, the way her eyes lit up and her hands moved through the air, it enchanted him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an old man a few meters ahead, hunched over a cart filled with splashes of color – flowers, which she loved. Gesturing for her to stop and stay where she was, he ran to him, and when Kol turned around again, she gasped – in his hands was a huge bouquet of red roses. “For you, love. Twenty-five roses, one for each year we have been together,” he said, giving them to her with a warm smile that just melted her heart. “They’re beautiful, Kol. Thank you,” she said, inhaling their sweet scent. “What made you buy them?” she asked bemusedly, cradling the flowers to her chest. “Well, you love flowers,” he said, reaching up to gently push a tendril of her perfectly curled hair behind her ear, “and I love you.”

Chicago, 1921

As soon as they entered Gloria’s, Kol and Y/N were hit with the sounds of raucous jazz music that made her want to dance. Despite Prohibition, the alcohol was flowing freely and the smell of it lingered in the air like a perfume. She took a glass of wine from a passing waiter with a tray and sipped. Looking around, she spotted Rebekah and Klaus in a booth. “There they are,” she pointed out, and they pushed through the crowd of dancing people to make their way towards them. “Brother!” exclaimed a clearly tipsy Klaus, pulling Kol into an embrace.

“It’s been far too long, Y/N,” Rebekah said as she kissed her on the cheek. “Tell this one to stop hiding you away.” She gestured at Kol with narrowed eyes, who simply rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, Kol,” Klaus chimed in, “we hardly see the two of you. One would almost think you were ashamed of us.” Rebekah gasped in mock horror, clutching the string of pearls around her neck. Y/N giggled, “We’re sorry. I swear, we’ll visit more often. We just get… busy a lot.” She leaned into his neck, kissing the hot skin there, pointedly moaning while Klaus and Rebekah pulled faces. “I can’t watch this, I may vomit,” Rebekah said, getting up and leaving. “Count me in,” Klaus said, his hands over his eyes as he stumbled out of his seat.

Kol looked at her, a mixture of shock and pure glee on his face. “You are one cheeky little minx,” he said, unable to wipe the smile off his face. “I thought you liked that about me,” she teased, a sparkle in her eyes. He paused for a moment, his lips an inch distance from hers and murmured, “Oh, I love it, darling,” before diving in to kiss her – slowly and softly at first, then passionate and needy, leaving her out of breath. She would never tire of his kisses. “I love you,” she said breathlessly, smiling up at him.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

Havana, 1943

As the years had passed by, birthdays had come to lose meaning for Y/N, although Kol never missed the opportunity to plan something extravagant. But this year, he seemed to have actually listened to her, and kept it simple with the most romantic candlelit dinner on the beach, one of her favorite places to be. There was no one there with them except the stars in the sky, the salty breeze and the waves crashing on the shore – it was perfect. “Dance with me?” he asked her, a shy smile on his face.

She giggled and took his hand, getting out of her seat. There was no music, but they didn’t need any. He kept one hand on the small of her back, holding her close, and the other hand entwined in hers. They swayed from side to side, simply enjoying the warmth that they brought each other. “Making that stop at Mystic Falls in 1864 was by far the best decision I’ve ever made,” he whispered into her ear. She chuckled, resting her head on his chest, “And deciding to get the hell out of there with you was the best decision I’ve ever made. You’ve shown me a whole world that I never knew existed.” Unexpectedly, he twirled her around, once, twice, thrice, and let go – the melody of her laugh rang through the air as for just a moment, it felt like she was flying. But when she turned to face him again, he was on one knee, holding up a tiny box with a ring in it.

Her jaw practically dropped to the floor – she never thought she’d see this day. “Y/N,” he said, a smile spreading over his face, “you are the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. The very first day I met you, I knew you were special when I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I don’t ever want to stop thinking about you. We’ve been together for so long now, but its still not enough. I want forever with you, love.” She put a hand over her chest, physically feeling the emotion welling up there. “I know we can’t really get married,” he said with a light chuckle, “but I was hoping you would wear this ring.”

She dropped to her knees in front of him on the cold sand as he pulled the ring out of the box. A soft gasp escaped her lips when she caught sight of a diamond, faintly glistening in the light of the moon, set in a white gold band and surrounded by smaller diamonds. “Its beautiful,” she whispered, gazing at it and then at Kol. “What do you say, love?” he asked, looking hopeful.

She nodded furiously, smiling like a madwoman, “Yes, of course!” He couldn’t suppress the grin on his face even if he tried, as he took her left hand and slipped the ring on her ring finger – it fit perfectly. She leaned in to kiss him, a soft peck, and then everything fell into motion – her hands around his neck and his arms wrapping around her body pulling her flush against his, deepening the kiss. Her heart raced as his lips seared her skin, and her knees grew weak when his fingers curled around her hair. Every ragged breath she took smelled like him and it was inebriating. For those moments, time stopped, and there was no one in the world but them. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips, his hands cupping the sides of her face, foreheads touching gently. “I love you, Kol.” They finally pulled away slightly, catching their breath.

“So,” she teased, wagging her ring finger at him, “does this make me a Mikaelson now?”

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Tightrope Fanfic

Title: Tightrope

Summary:  Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since. 

Pairings: platonic prinixety

Word-Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Crying, Anger, Panic, Discussion of POF, Hurt/Comfort

This is a companion fic to Safety Net, but you don’t have to read that one to understand the context of this one <3

-

Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since.

He keeps expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. That perhaps this is some delayed April’s Fool joke. A ploy by Remus or one of the Others to fuck with him. His mind crafts a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations for why this can’t be reality.

Because Virgil doesn’t know how to handle a Roman who fell from a great height and shattered completely. What if he cannot put the pieces back together again? What if he messes up and makes things worse? What if he’s the one to cause this in the first place?

No, he refuses to go down that spiraling thought pattern. Because if he unravels now, then he’ll be completely useless to Roman. He compartmentalizes the fear, stuffing it away to haunt him at a later date.

Roman’s cries have died down to a few hiccuping gasps of air. The ever-poised, ever-presentable Prince of Passion is anything but. He lays in Virgil’s arms, as limp and lifeless as a doll. His white princely jacket wrinkly and half-undone, red sash hanging loosely. Virgil cannot see his eyes from underneath his rumpled, messy hair but he’s willing to bet they’re bloodshot. Virgil bits his lips as he notes the dark ichor running down Roman’s cheeks like smeared mascara. 

Roman has been in his room for far too long. Especially for someone who was already in a fragile emotional state upon showing up. Virgil shouldn’t have allowed him to stay. But he couldn’t find in himself to deny Roman, not when he’d looked at Virgil with a helpless terror in his eyes. So he had chosen instead to hold onto a sobbing Roman while trying to figure out what the hell happened. 

The clock in his room is hardly reliable, but he’s certain at least an hour has passed and he’s still nowhere closer than he’d been at the start. Which is that it involves the stupid wedding, Patton and Deceit. The latter of which, apparently told them his actual name. He won’t know more unless Roman divulges more. And in the swirling storm of hysteria that is his room, the chances of that happening is slim.

Before he can let doubt rake its claws into him, he pulls Roman closer to his chest and syncs out. Roman realizes a moment too late what’s happening. He lets out a startled gasp, tries pushing away, but it’s too late. With a loud crackle, they appear in the gloomy fog of a dead forest.

Roman looks around, eyebrows bunched up together. If this was any other situation, Virgil might’ve smirked.

“It’s the imagination,” Virgil says, answering the question behind Roman’s bewildered gaze, “Or at least my little pocket of it. No one will find us here.”

Well maybe except Remus, the one responsible for its creation. Virgil is hoping that today will not be the day he decides to return here for the first time in years.

Roman opens his mouth to speak, yet hesitates halfway through. He turns his head away from Virgil, shrugging. Virgil’s cold dead heart plummets at this. Roman isn’t supposed to be this defeated. He’s supposed to be stubborn, obstinate, argumentative. Virgil knows how to handle that. He knows how to bait Roman into banter, to get him to admit the root of his problems. But this? He doesn’t know how to deal with a Roman this apathetic. And that scares him.

Virgil should apologize, he thinks. After everything that happened, he hunkered down in his room. He stayed away thinking his presence would only be detrimental than beneficial. He was Anxiety after all, flight or fight. In this case, he chose flight. But obviously, like everything else in his existence, that’d been the wrong choice yet again.

He inhales deeply, his breath hitching at the last moment, the words refusing to come out. They remain stuck in clumps inside his throat, refusing to solidify into verbal spoken words. The ghostly howl of the wind is the only sound between the two.

Then Roman laughs. It sounds more like a cat hacking up a hairball than his usual melodious chuckles. It’s loud, harsh and absolutely dripping with pain. Halfway through he ends up in a coughing fit. Virgil watches, unsure how to respond.

“You were right.” Roman croaks at last, sagging heavily against a tree.

Those words aren't what Virgil likes to hear. It’s never good when he, Anxiety, is right.  He’d much prefer to be proven wrong. Even if that meant Roman lording it over his head for weeks on end. It’s annoying as hell and he never thought he’d miss that until now.

Virgil swallows, pushing the sudden ache in his chest aside. He doesn’t need confirmation to know what he was right about.

 Still, his heart thudding heavily in his chest, he asks anyways, “About Janus?”

Roman nods, grimacing. 

“Ro, what happened?” Virgil asks, unable to hold that question within himself any longer.

The fanciful side doesn’t respond at first. His hand traces the grooves of the bark on the tree he’s leaned against. His lips twist and contort, as if fighting to find the words to say. Virgil isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Roman ever at a loss for words until now.

“I thought it was a villainous trick at first. Just another ploy to get us to trust him. I made fun of it, even. It wasn’t until the way you reacted when I mentioned it to you that I thought otherwise,” Roman says, breaking in mid-conscious thought. Something that is very Roman-like, forgetting other people can’t read his mind. There must be something in Virgil’s face because he clarifies, “Deceit’s name I mean.”

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Virgil says slowly, toying with his hoodie strings, “He never told any of the Others.”

“But he told you?”

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to stare at the ground. The ache in his chest returns, except it’s different. It’s like a fire-pit at a summer camp-out. It’s warm and comfortable to linger next to, but stay too long and you’ll be sweltering in the unbearable suffocating heat. The same goes for thinking about the past. That’s why he hates getting nostalgic. It’s hard to reminisce about the good times without remembering why they ended.

The old him that hasn’t been extinguished yet, the one that called himself Janus’ friend, is indignant that Roman apparently made fun of Janus’ name. However the newer him that calls himself Virgil and wears the purple hoodie, isn’t. Good, he thinks, he deserves it. And he isn’t too ashamed of feeling that way. Not after the raging forest fire that burnt down their friendship in the first place.

“Yeah.” Virgil breaths out with stifled lungs. He can feel Roman’s eyes burning a hole in his head. He thinks he’d find an unspoken question in them if he looks up. He doesn’t elaborate. He isn’t in the mood for scorching his tongue on the ashes of a cremated friendship. Especially when it’d shift the focus onto him and not Roman. Something he’s certain Roman wants despite it being so rare for him to flinch away from the spotlight. 

For all their vast, stark differences, they aren’t really that different when it comes down to several things, one being that neither of them like showing weakness. They are also incredibly stubborn. It just so happens Virgil has the stronger resolve at this moment.

“I trusted him,” Roman says, continuing where he’d left off, “I trusted him, I thought he’d knew best and I just wanted--” 

A huff cuts off Roman’s words as he flings his arms towards the sky. He paces in front of Virgil, muttering bits and pieces too quick for him to understand. Perhaps he does need to share a little. Just to help Roman know and understand he isn’t alone. 

“Listen, I get it,” Virgil says, “I also trusted Janus once too--”

“No, it wasn’t Janus--well, yes, but--” Roman yanks at his hair, “I meant Patton!”

Patton? Virgil feels as if he'd been riding on the flying magic rug from Aladdin. Only the magic rug has been ripped from underneath him and now he’s freefalling into a waterfall full of sharp pointy rocks at the bottom.

He’d thought he knew where this conversation was heading except now he’s lost more than ever before. He needs a minute to breathe, to process what’s happening. Roman doesn’t give him that. He pushes on, shaking his head like a riled-up mistreated stallion from a horse girl movie.

“I wanted to do what was right for Thomas and--and Patton has always known what’s right, right?”

He gazes desperately at Virgil, searching for reassurance, for affirmation. Virgil’s heart sinks. He can't honestly give that to Roman, though he'd love to give Roman whatever his heart desires to stop his pain. 

Patton tries his best, he really does. But even he is wrong sometimes. He has made mistakes, ones that have hurt Virgil himself both past and present. And although Virgil has forgiven him, it doesn’t change the fact that even their softest puffball isn’t always right.

He can tell Roman realizes that by the way his scowl grows bigger.

“Am I too dimwitted?” Roman growls, “Was I the only one foolish enough to believe that? Just like believing that I could truly be--be--” 

He lets out a tormented scream, slumping down against a tree. Head bowed, knees drawn close, arms pulled tightly around himself. Virgil stands a few feet away, still so far from understanding as he was when Roman first appeared in his room. Only that apparently he needed to kick both Janus’ and Patton’s collective asses.

Virgil withholds a sigh as he crouches down next to Roman. 

A gloomy fog hardly provides the best lighting. It’s better than the dark murkiness of his room, however, and it’s here that he notices something. A blueish-purple splotch of something. Just barely poking out of Roman’s collar. It’s then, Virgil remembers that a metaphoric “bruised ego” is anything but metaphoric for one metaphysical entity such as Roman, Creativity and Ego in one.

“Princey,” Virgil says, his voice unusually level, “did you get hurt by what happened earlier?”

Roman doesn’t answer his question. Not directly at least. “Lee and Mary Lee hardly spoke to Thomas at the wedding, did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Virgil bites his lips, “I knew that.”

It’s a rhetorical question. Of course Virgil knows--he’s a part of Thomas. He’d been with Thomas during the wedding. The leg bouncing up and down in an anxious jitter. Directing the eyes away from the merriment of the wedding and towards that pointless moronic mobile game. The clenching feeling in Thomas’ throat during the brief interaction with Lee and Mary Lee. He hadn’t even been able to say hello because of Virgil.

He’d tried so hard to hold back, to not torment Thomas with his decision anymore than his host had already endured. It didn’t really matter in the end. As Thomas finally slipped away from the wedding, so had Virgil slipped into his room. He ignored the muffled noises of the debate erupting outside the mindscape. Why show his face when Thomas already knew what his input would be? Or knowing what he’d once been, for that matter? Or at least, that had been his justifications at the time.

“Which hardly seems fair! After what I--Thomas sacrificed to be there for them. B-but it’d been the right decision, right?” Roman laughs, shaking his head. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he pushes on, “Was it too selfish to expect more? To think that making the right decision would result in an award?”

Virgil stays silent. Morality isn’t his forte; sure as Anxiety he often cautioned Thomas to follow societal rules. It’s often easier to go with the current rather than fight against it. So he’s hardly the most reliable source of it. 

And as for his role, both the wedding and the call-back offered the same amount of dread. After all, he’s Anxiety. It’s literally his job to nitpick and point out every single thing a situation could go wrong, no matter how improbable or absurd. Unlike Roman, he’d be lying if he said he was surprised by the outcome of the wedding. It’s not far off from what he had predicted.

On the flipside, he could offer a million ways of how the audition could’ve ended poorly. A tear in Thomas’ pants mid-audition. Thomas blanking out on a crucial line. A meteor falling from the atmosphere and effectively crushing Thomas to death. Okay, that last one is highly improbable but it could still happen! You never know!

Regardless, he doubted any of that is what Roman needed to hear.

“I trusted him. He’d said it’d been the right decision when I made it. And I believed him.” Roman scoffs.

Virgil frowns, cautiously sitting a few feet away from Roman. He chooses not to look him in the eye, treating him as if he’s an easily-startled wild creature.

“Y’know, he and I are going through a bit of a rough patch. He’s trying his best, I know he is. But take it from me--sometimes someone’s best isn’t always good enough. And I think it’s okay if it...takes time for you to forgive Patton.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I mean,” Roman lets out a frustrated scream, “I don’t know! Before, there was a script, a stage, parts to play. Ones I had intimately memorized! But it’s as if it’s before the curtain rises before the opening show and the director has thrown out the script completely. He expects me after years of practice to perform something I’ve never seen--that even he has no concept of what it looks like and h-how is any actor expected to perform in such conditions?” 

A light-bulb finally goes off in Virgil’s head.

“You’re...angry at Thomas, aren’t you?”

Roman flinches as he’d been struck, throwing his body backwards harshly against the tree. He looks hardly affected by it as he scrambles quickly to his feet.

“Wh-what? No! That’s absurd!” Roman protests, “I’m not angry at Thomas--”

“But you are,” Virgil interrupts, rising to his feet, “You’re angry at both Patton and Janus, yeah, but they’re just targets to throw your misplaced anger at. Because you don’t want to admit it’s actually Thomas--”

“Yes, because you’re wrong, Mary Mary Q-quite Misconstrued!” Roman puffs up his chest, trying to keep his head high, “I--I’d never, I can’t hate Thomas--”

“Whoa, I didn’t say you hated him,” Virgil says, gently tugging Roman’s hands into his own, “there’s a difference between being mad at someone for something, and hating them.”

Roman looks at him with almost a wild gaze to his eyes, so close to almost hyperventilating. Virgil can almost see the invisible cracks in Roman’s skin, his multitude of facades peeling away before Virgil’s eyes. He looks at Roman and sees himself. 

“I used to think they were the same thing,” Virgil begins, “But they’re not. Hate is when you abhor ill will towards someone, when you wish them dead or worse. Anger...anger is just a form of fear. And it’s okay to feel and experience that anger, you don’t have to repress it.”

“I’m not scared of Thomas,” Roman scoffs, his gaze drawn to the forest floor rather than Virgil.

“But you are afraid that if Thomas can accept Janus and possibly Remus, then he could just as easily change his mind regarding you, right?” Virgil questions, “You’re afraid because all you've ever done has been in Thomas’ best interest and suddenly now you’re being told all it’s done is hurt him. You’re afraid but you don’t want to admit it, so you turn to anger instead because that’s better than being scared, right?”

“I’m not…” Roman trails off, clenching his jaw. Virgil is fully expecting to get punched by the way his body tenses up. Roman does lunge towards him just then, arms flailing out. Virgil doesn’t even have a chance to raise his arms up in defense before he gets an armful of blubbering prince once more.

“I’m supposed to be Thomas’ hero, he told me I was, but what if I’m not? W-what if I never was? And--and I have to be good, Virgil, I can’t be evil--”

Roman lets it all go then. It’s a tidal wave of anxiety and fears, of self-doubt and self-deprecation. Almost any other person would become overwhelmed by how much perturbation Roman’s kept hidden all these years. But Virgil is Anxiety, his realm is terror and trepidation. He’s experienced every fear-induced thought and more under the sun. He understands it better than perhaps anyone else ever could.

He knows Roman will most likely clam up after today. That later on, they’ll need to address these things in detail and take care of the bruises mottling his skin. Roman will need encouragement to rebuild his confidence and to turn away from self-destructive habits. Both of which are things that Virgil struggles with all too well. He knows it to feel as impossible as walking across a tightrope blindfolded. Right now, however, all Roman needs is for someone to listen.

And so listen Virgil does.

[bitchiha]

may i request kiba nsfw headcanons and kakashi smut also ily lizzie mwah :33

Kiba NSFW HC’s

A/N: ily too anon!! So this is obv the Kiba NSFW and I’m currently working on a Kakashi smut. Also I combined this request with another one which was asking for Kiba w a biting / marking kink and I think that’s pretty spot on for him so I’ll just add that here as well!

I DID NOT PROOFREAD SO IM SORRY IF THERE IS ERRORS I JUST NEED TO POST SOMETHING LOL

Okay first things first, Kiba does not know how to be gentle.. like this fucker will really try okay, like he’ll try and kiss you softly, but it just gets him all flustered and before you know it your lips are bruised again. Same thing with sex like omfg he tries to make it savoury but his instincts just kick in and now you’re all bruised on the inside. He feels so bad afterwards, but you kind of like it and he can’t help it.

He’s a possessive little shit sometimes too. Like one time when you came home you smelled like Naruto and it got Kiba so pissed off lol. He’s like, “where’ve you been?” And you tell him you went to get ramen with Naruto and he’s being too pissy about it, which just leads to him fucking Narutos scent off of you and a shir ton of hickeys. That drive just makes his thrusts 10 times more aggressive and like you’re so worn out after because like I said, he cannot be gentle with regular sex so imagine just imagine the jealous sex..

Because he’s so possessive he always leaves marks on you. Like if you’re not marked up after a good fucking is that really Kiba laying next to you?

His favourite spot to leave marks is on your thighs. Likes when you wear skirts and you move your legs a certain direction, accidentally letting a few hickeys peek out. He gets a kick out of watching your flustered face as you desperately try and cover them.

When he’s eating you out, leading up to it he does a real good number on your thighs. They’re so soft and squishy and he’s biting them and sucking and licking and just he loses track of time, but your whimpers always snap him out of it. Then he gets down to business. He does the same thing with your tits and sometimes you have to claw at him to stop because it’s way too stimulating. He can’t be gentle so he’s sucking and biting down on your nipples like there is no tomorrow. PLUS!! He’s really good at massages so if your tits are sore afterwards he’ll make sure to rub them real nice for you.

Also like.. after he’s already did a number on your chest and you’re going at it again (like literally the next day because Kibas libido is >>>>) wear a lacey bra. His head will explode. He will go feral. Like He goes to lift your shirt off your head and then he has to pause at the sight of your tits because wow. They’re covered by this really fucking hot lacey white bra and hes drooling over how it contrasts with the purple and red marks he left all over you.. yah he’s a goner <3

As much as Kiba loves lingère on you, you don’t wear it for him very often. This is strictly because he always ruins the pieces. Once you wore this really cute matching set of a purple bra and panties and kiba ribbed the panties off you. Like straight up ripped them off you. In the moment you didn’t care because right after he ripped them off his dick was fucking you senseless, but the next morning you were pissed. He even managed to shred up the back of your bra. Like he just got irritated with the clasp and scratched it off you.

He doesn’t think it’s a big deal, lingère is hot and it’s meant to be ripped off you, right? Plus you can always buy a new set.. but when you show him the price tag after you’ve dug it out of the garbage his eyes pop out of his head. Who knew that small amount of fabric could cost so much??

Jealous sex is always the best. He just gets so worked up and he can go on for hours. If you piss him off enough he’ll be into orgasm denial, but for the most part he’s trying to show you how much better he is than whoever you tried to provoke him with, so he’ll try and make you cum as much as possible.

Anyway, I think Kibas loud in bed. I mean like I think he’s just the type to not care how loud he is?? Like he’s just horny and the only thing he’s thinking about is you. He wants to make sure that you’re loud too though. Don’t hold them back girl, let him hear it. Or don’t and he’ll try like 100 times harder to make you moan.

He groans a lot, but he also says dirty shit too and like I don’t think he even cares how dirty it is. Also he has a thing for claiming too, so expect a lot of talk with regards to that. “Taking by dick so well baby, so eager for me to claim you?” “You’re all mine.”

Uhm tbh I think you could just lay down forever and let Kiba just go at it.. like he just has so much energy that he doesn’t mind expelling it onto you. Of course he wouldn’t mind if you returned the favour every so often. Like don’t get me wrong he loves getting his dick sucked. More than most boys do.. and he also likes if you want to ride him too. Riding him is the best treat ever, bonus if you wanna dig your nails into his shoulders or chest. But for the most part he doesn’t mind doing majority of the work. He likes going down on you or just treating you because he gets so excited at the noises you make.

Kibas an ass and tits man. You cannot and will not change my mind. He likes cumming on them too LMFAOO. Like ok he likes cumming in you a lot — he has a breeding kink, but if you’re not into it or he’s not in the mood he’ll just let his load off on your tits. It doesn’t matter if he’s hitting from the back because he’ll just flip you over and finish himself off. Your ass works too though. You’ll scold him for doing it sometimes because he likes to make sure it’s all over your tits or your ass, but he’ll just shrug at your scolding and give you a smirk.

Okay back to the breeding kink omg.. let me collect myself for a second here.. Kiba is a dirty talker okay, but when he’s really getting into his breeding kink his dirty talk turns kinda soft?? “Look how pretty you are all filled up.” “You’re so gorgeous like this, so ready to have my kids.” I mean.. That’s pretty fucking nice man, I feel like he may also manage to be a tad bit gentle when he’s getting into the whole breeding thing, just because the idea of you having his kids makes him soft, but it just depends on his mood tbh. Sometimes he just flips a switch and just goes for hours like he’s on some next feral bullshit and other times he takes it a little slower.

I don’t think this really makes sense and I don’t really have much to go off of to prove this point but.. I think he’d be good at aftercare? Like he would always have to shower you in complinments after, please give him some too, “that was great babe, you did really good, so good.” Then he’ll help you clean up. He ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS, gets you a glass of water after sex. Probably drinks it halfway back to the bedroom and has to go and fill it up again, but the effort is what counts.

Uhm aftercare got me thinking of showers and now I think that he would also like shower sex. It’s kinda like what I said about kakashi in my NSFW headcanons for him, but I think Kiba would want to do it with you anywhere in your apartment: in the shower, on the bathroom sink, on the dinner table (WITH the dinner on it), on the coffee table, the couch... and do I really need to continue this? I think you all get it. It just ties into his claiming thing.

So when your friends are over and you’re eating snacks on the couch with pizza on the coffee table, it kinda makes him smirk because he’s like.. we did it on that coffee table lol

Also when either of you come home from mission, expect Kiba is gonna wanna fuck immediately. Like he’s not even halfway through the door but he’s taking his shirt off and telling you to do the same.

OKAY BUT HIS ORGASM FACE —

Ugh. Magnificent. Exquisite. Delectable. Like if he’s laying down, his head is titling back on the pillows, if he’s ontop his head is tilting down and all his fair falls in his face. He definitely squeezes his eyes shut and makes a little hissing sound, plus, he curses after. “Fuck, yeah right th-there.” “Shit, b-babe, I’m cumming.” Yes I believe he stutters when he cums. Don’t try me <3 AND ITS CUTE TOO. Okay also his mouth will fall open a little and it’s super hot because you can see his little canines peeking out.

This man

This man...

I am whore knee for this man.

[heliads]

Troubled Waters Chapter 3: Twin Spirits

Strange happenings are starting to plague Beacon Hills. Scott McCall and his pack have always been able to defend their hometown no matter how dangerous the threat, but they may need the help of mysterious newcomer Y/N L/N.

previous / series masterlist / next

The naiad is tied up down below in the boat house, mountain ash forming a protective barrier between it and the rest of the world. Scott’s friends are gathered in the kitchen, formulating a plan for whatever comes next. Scott himself is about to join in the discussion until he spies a lone figure standing on the dock, and he trades out the warmth of the kitchen for the biting wind of the lakeside air.

“You want to go back inside? I think we’re about to start deciding what to say to the naiad.” Y/N turns when she hears Scott’s voice. “Sure thing. I was just getting some time alone with my thoughts.” Scott heaves a knowing sigh. “I wish I could help you more with getting used to the whole supernatural thing. I know it’s a pretty hard burden to have to suddenly deal with.”

Y/N tilts her head to the side in acknowledgement. “You’ve got that right. It’s just weird- a few days ago, my biggest worry was how badly I did on a math quiz. Now, there are True Alphas and fox spirits running around town.” Scott turns to her, smiling slightly. “Hey, you seem to be handling it pretty well. When Liam found out, we basically had to kidnap him to stop him from running away.”

Y/N lets out an incredulous laugh. “Okay, I’ll admit not being kidnapped definitely helped with the whole acceptance process.” Her voice drops as she stares back out over the lake. “I’m just not sure what to think. Sometimes it feels like I’m way in over my head.” She shivers, and Scott realizes that she must be freezing, what with the biting wind and the cool of the water permeating the air. Hurriedly, he takes his jacket off and offers it to her.

She smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks, Scott. We should probably head back inside, I think I’ve had enough alone time.” Scott looks at Y/N with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright? You know, you don’t have to do this. We can find another way to reason with the naiads, one that doesn’t involve you and your safety.” Y/N shakes her head reassuringly. “No, I need to do this. I have to protect the people I care about, even if it makes me a little nervous.” With that, she turns around and the two of them walk back inside, rejoining the rest of the pack.

Lydia is the first to speak. “So, we need a plan. How can we ask this naiad what her intentions are in Beacon Hills without giving away more about ourselves than we have to?” Stiles shrugs. “That’s why we’re having Y/N do the talking, right? Not only does she have control over the naiad, she’s not a supernatural and so she won’t be affected by the mountain ash or any of the other protective barriers.”

Y/N raises her hand timidly. “Actually, I was going to ask about that. Would it be okay if someone else did the talking?” She sighs and looks down at the table. “I’m just afraid that, seeing as I’m not a supernatural, it’ll be that much easier for the other naiads to take out their frustration that one of their own was kidnapped on me. I mean, let’s say a group of naiads want revenge and they go find me. I can’t protect myself with claws or fangs, and I’m just worried about possible retribution. When I first summoned the naiad, it was already pretty dark and I don’t think she saw me or could recognize my face. I think there’s still a pretty good chance of me being totally anonymous to her.”

Scott touches her shoulder encouragingly. “I agree. I don’t want Y/N getting hurt if we can avoid it. At least if the naiads come after me, I could fight them off. How about this- Y/N, you stand back in the shadows where she can’t see you and you command her to follow my orders instead. I can then question her, and then everything works out.”

Kira nods. “That could work. So, Y/N gives command to Scott, Scott asks about why the naiad is there and how to get her out of Beacon Hills, and then if we feel satisfied, we let her go.” The friends agree, and they slowly head down into the boat house once more. It’s time for a little interview.

The naiad of question is still within the protective circle of mountain ash, and she jerks her head up when she hears the friends come downstairs. They’ve left the lights off so the naiad can’t tell who’s there, and the room is barely lit by the glow of moonlight.

Y/N raises her voice slightly. “I give command to Scott. You will follow his orders as if I were giving them to you.” The naiad inclines her head slightly in recognition. “As you wish, summoner.”

Scott steps forward, looking the naiad straight in the eye. Even out of her element on dry land, she still looks like something out of a storybook. Something about the way she tilts her head, or looks at him with her sapphire eyes, makes him feel more than a little uneasy. 

Scott clears his throat. “What are you doing in Beacon Hills?” The naiad smirks. “Have we made you uncomfortable by arriving unannounced? We just want some new territory.” Scott raises his eyebrows. “Okay, then I command you to leave town, along whatever other naiads came with you.”

The naiad bares her teeth. “You think you can actually make us leave? Yes, I have to follow your orders, but you cannot stop us from coming back or finding another loophole to circumvent this unnecessary task. We have decided on the establishment of our society in Beacon Hills, and there will be nothing you can do about it.”

Scott tries another angle. “What is it about Beacon Hills that’s so important? Surely another town would be just as good?” The naiad breaks into a laugh that sounds just as sharp and cold as broken glass. “Beacon Hills is necessary to us because of its power. Thanks to the Nemeton, it is a source of energy coveted by all supernaturals. We just happen to be the most deserving of control over it. The rest of my naiads and I are the only ones who are worthy to inhabit it.”

Next to him, Y/N lets out a low hiss of anger. Scott turns to her, confused as to her sudden rage, and the naiad’s eyes dart to Y/N the second she makes a sound. For a moment, nothing happens, and then the naiad starts to laugh once more, filling Scott with dread. 

“Sister, of course you would be unhappy. You know we are worthy of this territory, no matter what disputes have occurred.” Y/N looks panicked at the naiad’s words. “I don’t know who you are, or what you’re talking about.” The naiad tosses back her head in glee. “But of course you do!” The naiad looks around the boat house, evidently taking in the confused expressions of Scott and his friends.

“Oh, they don’t know, do they.” Y/N stalks up to the naiad. “You shut your mouth. I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but-” The naiad cuts her off. “Yes you do, sister.” She looks back at the pack. “Your friend here is a naiad, just like the rest of us.”

Scott feels frozen in place. “Y/N, what is she talking about?” Y/N looks agitated, but Scott realizes with a sinking feeling that she doesn’t look confused. Just upset that certain truths were coming to light. She speaks hurriedly. “Of course it’s not true. Why would I be a naiad? I just found out that supernaturals were real a few days ago.”

Scott shakes his head slowly. “That’s not true, is it? You recognized the message and had to get involved because you’re one of them. She called you sister because you’re one of them! You wanted me to ask the questions because you knew she would recognize you and you didn’t want your cover to be blown!” 

Y/N is backing away from him slowly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice is cool and level, and it feels like a knife slowly twisting in Scott’s heart. “I believed in you, Y/N. I trusted you.” Regret fills her eyes when she hears him speak. She opens her mouth, as if to say something in defense of everything she’d done, but then Malia takes a few steps towards her, and Y/N turns towards the open air of the lake. She raises her arms above her head, and a wall of water comes rushing out of the lake, crashing down onto the floor of the boat house and forcing the pack back and away from her.

When the water recedes, the ground is empty, and there is no sign of Y/N to be found. Scott looks up at his friends, seeing the same horrified look on each of their faces and feeling the same one creeping across his own hurt expression. He finds the nerve to speak.

“So it’s true. She betrayed us. Y/N is a naiad.”

tag list: @savingprivatecass​ @lolychu​ @linkpk88​

[chibinekochan]

You get attacked by a demon and die *or not* - Lucifer

Requested by @nyx-daughterofchaos98

Angst

Triggers: Violence,Mention of Death and Blood/Injuries.

Happyending???? Maybe *no spoilers just a warning that there might be no saving the Mc/reader*

Lucifer x Reader

Words 2k *under the read more cause its long*

Your student council meeting has just ended. 

You had the job to keep a written protocol, and now you are packing your stuff. 

Lucifer is busy talking to some students. They take all of his attention. 

He doesn't see the demon that is targeting you. 

Lucifer is talking about something that seems important. 

Then suddenly BAM a loud noise, a crack and a scream. 

Lucifer looks over at the commotion. His eyes widen and before thinking he rushes over to the spot where you just sat. 

Nothing could have prepared him for this. 

You are laying on the floor, with a burned hole right in your middle. You are in schock and have not realized what just happened to you. 

Lucifer is pale and hovering over you. He uses his demonic power and tries to heal you. 

"Lucifer… What just happened?" You are confused and can't move to see the severe wound. 

"Don't move or speak." Lucifer is frozen inside. He has pictures of Lilith flashing in front of him. 

He can't let this happen again. Not again and not with you. You are still breathing and Lucifer can still save you.

Meanwhile you grow weaker by the second. 

You have lost a lot of blood. Lucifer's expression tells you everything you need to know. "I will die right?" You shake and you can feel tears in the corner in your eyes. You are scared. 

"No, don't you dare to say that. I will not let you die."Lucifer can feel life slipping away from you. His pact with you tells him as much. He grows more desperate with every passing second. Lucifer has lost someone like this once before. 

"Lucifer…" You are too weak to speak now. No matter how much demonic energy is inside of you right now, your life will only last a few more moments and you know it. You only see Lucifer in a blur right now. With your last strength you reach out to him, as to tell him that it's okay. 

Lucifer looks at you, knowing that he can't save you. He knows that this will mean that you will be judged and you are a good person. Lucifer knows that you deserve to be sent to heaven. 

Yet he can't let that happen. Not if it means losing you. "No! I will not let them take you." Lucifer has a strong determination in his eyes. He holds your hand, your heat is almost completely gone now. In a moment of sheer insanity he does the only thing that can let you stay by his side. Consequences be damned. Lucifer uses his power to transform you into a demon. Normally this would require an agreement or some form of consent. 

Lucky for him you already formed a pact with him. Of course there will be punishment for him. Lucifer doesn't care. He uses all of his powers to flood your body completely, and slowly turns it into a demon. 

Your body jolts, twists and turns, as if to fight against the demonic possession. 

Lucifer winces from seeing you like this. 

He holds your almost dead body close and let's you scratch and bite him. All to ease your pain, even if it's just a little. 

You don't have any idea what is happening to you. You only know that your body feels like it's on fire, you feel like something is inside you burning you. You scream from pain, you kick and struggle against whatever is holding you. 

Lucifer tires to calm you down. Pressing you closely to his body. Letting you do whatever you need to do. 

You slowly and painfully turn into something inhumane. You feel it bursting out of you, wings, claws, a tail and horns. You scream so much that you pass out from the pain and exhausting process. 

Lucifer is a bloody mess when he carries you to the nurses office. He denies any treatment and snaps at whoever is trying to address him. 

Lucifer only wants you to be treated for your injuries. He doesn't register anything else. 

You wake up several days later. 

Everything is hazy and you know that something has changed. 

You have changed. 

Weakly you open your eyes you look at your hands, they look normal. No claws to be seen. 

You feel a tiny bit of relief. 

Then you see Lucifer, still at your bedside. His wounds have healed but his clothes are bloody. 

You smell the old blood on him. Your eyes widen, you never could smell blood like this before. "Lucifer, what happened to me?" You look at him pleading for an answer. 

Lucifer is so glad that you are awake. He doesn't care about anything else right now. You might hate him soon but even that will be okay for him. 

"You almost got killed and to save your life I turned you into a demon." 

You look at yourself again confused. You pull your blanket down a bit. You look normal. Just like you did before. Yet you feel different. You know that this isn't what you were before.

You look at Lucifer again. You can't really comprehend what happened. You remember that something knocked you down. Lucifer was there and then it really hurt. "What did you do?"

"I used our pact and turned you into a demon. You look just like you did before but you also have a demon form now." Lucifer knows this must be hard to accept. He has barely come to terms with his own actions. 

"So, I am like you and your brothers now?" 

"It is similar to that." Lucifer tries to calmly explain it to you. 

You look at yourself. It's  hard to understand. 

You look at Lucifer again. "Does this mean that I can't go home?" You look at Lucifer, like you are begging him to tell you it's not true. 

"Yes, you can never return to the human world. I know it's not much but I want you to stay with me and my brothers as part of our family." Lucifer can't even imagine how this must be for you.

He feels guilty. Lucifer could not save you, he could only turn you into something else. He knows you never wanted this. It's wrong to expect you to be okay with it. Yet he hopes that you come to terms with it and do not completely resent him. 

You stare at him. "My family, do they know?" 

"They know that you died." Lucifer didn't tell them himself but he made sure that they know. 

"I'm not dead…"You feel angry, confused and sad. You never could even tell them that you were here in the first place and now you will not see them ever again. You have tears in your eyes. 

"I know but you can't leave the devildom." Lucifer looks at you full of sympathy, he has no idea how much turmoil your heart must be right now. 

"You can just open a gate." You don't understand any of this. 

"What I did was against the rules, and sadly you are banned from the Human realm. I have also lost my position and privileges. Including the ability to create a gate to the human realm. 

"I'm banned because you broke the rules?" You feel angry when you hear this. It is straight up unfair. 

Suddenly a new sensation fills your body. A completely new feeling unlike anything you have ever felt before. 

Your body is changing, without any effort or pain. 

Suddenly you can see that you have claws again. With shaking hands you feel your head and there are two horns. You scream, and start to cry, confused and angry. 

You look at Lucifer with tears in your eyes. 

For a moment he lifts his hand, wanting to touch you, to calm you down, but he knows that you would not want that right now. He drops his hand back in his lap. 

"You can punish me and hate me all you want now. I realize that I have been selfish." Lucifer looks at you, pleading for mercy or punishment. You cannot tell. 

"LEAVE." You yell at him. You can't stand to be in the same room as Lucifer right now

Lucifer nods and leaves the room, he never stops looking at you until he closes the door. 

You can tell that he isn't scared or disgusted by your new form but you are. 

You are still very lost and cry until you are completely drained. 

The next few days you have to stay in the hospital. 

All of the brothers are visiting you. All of them are concerned and you slowly get a bigger picture of everything that went down. 

How you almost lost your life and how Lucifer turned you into a demon. You knew this already but now it really sinks in. Without Lucifer you would be dead now. 

Lucifer was severely punished for his actions, there was a chance of him being executed. 

In the end he lost his position and was expelled from the school. He didn't defend himself at all. The only thing he wanted was to be there when you wake up. He even refused to change his clothes. 

You know that Lucifer would never do anything like this so you are surprised to say the least. 

The brothers agree to help you as much as they can. They are doing their best and later you find out that Lucifer asked them to never leave you alone. 

A few days later you leave the hospital and return to your room. 

Once you have settled into your new life you make your way to Lucifer. 

He greets you at his new home. It's strange to see him again. Lucifer looks miserable. He has lost much of his powers. Just like you have been told. 

"It's great to see you again, come in." Lucifer hasn't changed much in his personality but he seems somber. He looks a bit worn out. 

You follow Lucifer inside and sit with him in the living room. 

"I have thought about what you did and honestly I can't blame you. I have no idea what I have done in this situation. I'm still mad that I can't go back or see my family ever again but without this I would be dead. I just wanted you to know that." You have thought about this long and hard.

Lucifer looks relieved. He is glad that you don't hate him at least. "Thank you for that. I hope you have everything you need and everyone is good to you." Lucifer has the smallest smile on his face. 

You assume his brothers have told him everything already but you appreciate the sentiment. "I'm kinda used to being a demon now. They still treat me like a raw egg sometimes and we all miss you but other than that it's going pretty well." You smile at him. 

Lucifer lets out a small chuckle. "This is just like you getting used to everything so quickly. I'm glad. I hope in a few hundred years I will be able to return and support everyone like always." 

"I think it might go faster than that. Diavolo is talking about the future of the exchange program and if they do it, I already volunteered to help the humans. I doubt they can do it without you." You don't know why they are still pushing this but at least you can help the new human to be in a better position than you were. 

"Already taking this much responsibility. I expect nothing else from you. I can only imagine how much chaos my brothers have caused. I fear that the house is a pile of stones by now." Lucifer sounds almost happy now. The guilt must have eaten him, but now that you are looking okay to him he feels relieved. 

"They are pushing themselves really hard just to not be a burden and not disappoint you. They are all good brothers." You have a kind expression on your face. They are far from perfect but they try, and they love Lucifer. 

"They truly are, but don't tell them that. I hope everyone is good to you as well." Lucifer looks almost normal to you now.

It is a bit nostalgic. "Of course, and if not I can kick their butts now." You smile full of confidence. 

Lucifer laughs a little. "I can picture that. At least I know that they are in good hands with you." He truly trusts you. 

You smile at him, you are glad that you have forgiven him. "We are all waiting for you, so you better come back soon."

Lucifer doesn't deserve such kindness, yet he is happy. 

You two keep talking about everything that happened so far. You really could get used to the life in the devildom as a demon. 

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