collecting-dustbunnies

[collecting-dustbunnies]

mister alberich

[collecting-dustbunnies]

HDD Curse Rewrite Part 2

A/N: Dateables edition, no Luke because even though you could interpret these as platonic I'm not willing to expose that child to an evil MC.

Best to read at least the intro of Part 1 first. Think of this as the 'key' story line - more of an alt story than a sequel.

Warnings/Mentions: This likely takes place post-s3 at least now, but there's no real spoilers worth mentioning past s1 or maybe further along with Simeon. Once again, MC is not great in this one. Dubcon non-sexual touching, primarily in Barb’s. Some physical violence in Simeon’s. Verbal abuse/emotional manipulation in all of them.

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A bright light filled the room at your incantation - Solomon’s hand grazed your sleeve, Mammon called your name, Lucifer cursed - but by the time they could all see again, you were long gone. The slam of the door the only thing you left behind.

For a long moment, there was silence.

“Lucifer and Satan will work on a way to break the curse,” Diavolo took command. He could see some of the brothers still getting to their feet, Solomon still staring at his hand, and even Barbatos looked shaken. “Those of us who don’t have pacts with them will search.”

“One last thing…”

Everyone’s attention was drawn to Valago. The little demon was on the floor, the magic it expended for the curse apparently too much for its body.

“You better break it before midnight. Or else you’ll never get back your sweet little human.”

Diavolo

The Devildom was his domain, so it was only natural that he found you first.

It wasn't where Diavolo expected to see you right now.

A crowded cafe, open late - as many things were in the Devildom. Your outfit drew curious glances from the patrons, but none bothered you. Even without your own magical prowess, the Devildom knew how attached the brothers were to you. Knew better than to threaten you.

You were sat in the corner, a little separate from the rest of the customers. A waiter set down tea for two before Diavolo even reached the table.

"Sit," you offered. The black smoke surrounding you was barely visible in the dim lighting of the booth.

"MC, we should really-"

"I don't want to leave until I've finished my drink."

Diavolo met your eyes and you didn't look away. That was something he liked about you - you didn't avoid his gaze or try to shrink away, you didn't try to debase yourself to please him. You treated him like an equal.

This, though... Diavolo knew a challenge when he saw one.

"I really think-"

"You don't want to make a scene now, do you, Lord Diavolo?"

The interruption made Diavolo's eye twitch, but he maintained his smile and followed your gaze through the cafe.

The other patrons were too far to hear your conversation. Still, they snuck glances over, some openly gawking at the human exchange student and the demon prince. When he turned back to you, he could only describe your expression as a smirk.

Diavolo sat.

"Just felt a sudden urge for the night air, did you?" Diavolo sipped at his own tea. He wasn't sure if you'd ordered it, or if the barista had seen him enter and prepared it especially for their prince. He considered his options as he waited for you to respond.

If he grabbed you and pulled you away, or if he left here carrying your unconscious body, people would talk. Demons could be terrible gossips. The future demon king, the head of the exchange program, kidnapping a human in public? If it got back to the Celestial Realm, that would put him in a very difficult position.

If you decided to cause a scene - screamed, cried out, begged for mercy - it would cause a similar issue.

And it wasn't just this cafe - it would be the whole walk home. Far too many witnesses.

"Your adaptability is always something I've admired about you," Diavolo continued. From the start, you had managed admirably in the Devildom, handled the chaos of the House of Lamentation, and made friends from all three realms.

Even as your cursed self, you adapted well to treating him as an enemy. If Diavolo thought too hard about it, his chest clenched uncomfortably.

"I didn't exactly have a choice."

Diavolo met your eyes. There was no longer a challenge there - instead it was undisguised anger.

That was new.

Diavolo was selfish. He knew that. He didn't like seeing you mad at him. He didn't like you bringing up things you didn't like about him.

But Diavolo was also a prince. He could handle short-term hardship for his ultimate goals.

"I have always admired your kindness and understanding." He never let his smile drop. "If getting out your feelings now will help you return to yourself, I will gladly take it."

You raised an eyebrow and looked doubtful. Diavolo didn't falter.

"My feelings on what? On how you kidnapped me and dropped me into the wolf den for a year?"

Diavolo let you speak.

"How you locked Lucifer into servitude in exchange for his sister's life?"

He took a drink.

"How your unwillingness to listen to others, how fear of your wrath, led Lucifer to lock Belphie away?"

"Now that's not entirely-"

"I died, Demon Prince."

Diavolo wasn't sure what stopped his speech.

The sheer audacity of you interrupting him.

Your sudden use of his title.

Or the reminder that you had died.

Diavolo had never seen your body. Barbatos had carefully timed it so they arrived after your other self disappeared. He'd known what had happened, known that you had died, but he'd never had to truly face that reality.

Never had you throw it in his face.

"You took me from the human world and told me I'd be safe. That you and the brothers would protect me. I could've died so many times, and then I did die." Your voice was quiet. Somehow that made it worse. The other clientele of the restaurant kept glancing at the two of you.

"I know you don't wish that you'd stayed in the human world." Diavolo's tone held no doubt. He felt no doubt - or at least, it was easy to ignore any cracks that had formed.

"I could have destroyed your exchange program by telling anyone outside of the House of Lamentation what happened."

"You would never." Diavolo, under the table, clenched and unclenched one fist. You had kept Belphegor's secret - kept your secret - from your friends, from the Devildom public, from the Celestial Realm.

You had to.

"No, I wouldn't. I was ordinary, Diavolo. I wasn't a prince or an avatar or an angel, but I had a life before this." The resentment in your tone held none of the glee which he would expect from such a curse. Merely a bitterness, like tea steeped too long. "I didn't ask for this. I never asked for the weight of three realms on my shoulders."

"I'm sorry." Diavolo wasn't sure if the words were to placate you or because he needed you to hear them, but they were sincere nonetheless.

"Who was I supposed to talk to? The brothers? Barbatos? You?"

Your voice had risen on that last word- the cafe had more or less emptied out, but Diavolo still had to stop himself from tensing at the extra attention.

"Me. You could talk to me." Diavolo had to be strong. He had to be confident. His voice could hold no doubt, he could show no cracks in his armour.

It was odd, treating you as a friend and an enemy all at once.

"I am well aware of the weight of such responsibility," Diavolo powered on. He reached over, slowly - laid one hand over yours. "I always knew my role. I am sorry you had yours placed on you without warning."

"Why."

The word felt less a question and more a command. Diavolo could no more deny you than the brothers could, not when the smoke in your eyes cleared and you saw him.

"Because I made a mistake."

Your eyes widened - a reaction so small and brief he nearly missed it. Diavolo pressed his advantage.

If this was what it took to get you home, he would do it.

"I did not know how little I understood of humans." Small and big things he'd never considered. Your need for sunlight, your fear, what pain you could hide. "I did not know how to help you when you were hurting. I didn't know..."

I didn't know how to be a good friend and a good prince.

I didn't know how badly you would be hurt.

I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know.

Too late, he noticed the way you smiled, the way your eyes dimmed with the smoke.

Your name left his lips - but Diavolo could see whatever hold he had on your true self was gone.

Cold tea splashed onto his hand. The little plastic cup had crumpled in his grip.

Your removed your hand from his.

"I'm going to walk out of here, Diavolo," you told him. Before he could even gather his thoughts to protest, you continued. "If you try and stop me, I will scream, and cry out, and fight, and I won't win. I'm nothing compared to you, after all."

Was the bitterness in your tone true, or just another way to twist the knife? Diavolo was no longer sure.

"But I will make a scene. And you know how much damage rumours can do, don't you?"

"I will inform the others of your location."

You nodded as though you expected nothing less. It didn't stop you from pushing your cold tea away.

"I'll see you later, Your Highness."

Diavolo watched you go. He didn't move - he didn't flinch, or try to follow, or put his head in his hands like he desperately wanted to.

You were right, after all.

Rumours would cause problems.

Diavolo would have to pretend to be strong a little longer.

Barbatos

The sudden downpour was concerning.

It seemed your encounter with the Young Master had left quite an impression on his emotional state.

Barbatos did not have the time to return to his room to locate you easily, but he still knew you well enough to have a few ideas.

The Young Master had reported that you had been in a nearby cafe. You were sticking to public locations, places where those not in your control couldn't cause a scene. It seemed the curse had not robbed you of any intelligence.

Thankfully, the rain was encouraging more people to head inside - so when he spotted you, it was in an empty street.

Barbatos knew you saw him, but you didn't try to run. He followed you calmly - he doubted chasing you would do any good - until you stopped, sheltered from the rain by Hell's Kitchen's patio cover.

Lacking a towel, Barbatos offered you a handkerchief to dry your face.

"Thank you." You smiled at him. Aside from the black smoke surrounding your form, you appeared normal. Your formal attire, that had been so carefully chosen for you, was now damp.

“Please allow me to escort you home. It would not do for you to get sick.” Barbatos didn’t expect you to agree with his words, and so was only mildly disappointed when you responded with a laugh. Inside Hell’s Kitchen, patrons glanced your way. Some, he saw, gestured and winked teasingly.

“They think we’re on a date,” you said with a grin.

Barbatos hummed in agreement. He had agreed to avoid looking into your future any further than absolutely necessary or to follow his prince’s orders. It was a decision he was coming to regret.

“We rarely get time to each other, do we, Barb?”

Barbatos raised an eyebrow at the nickname but did not protest. “No. I am most often with my Young Master. Or Luke joins us for baking lessons.”

“It’s too bad. I like having you all to myself for a bit.”

Despite the circumstances, Barbatos had to battle to stop his usual polite smile from turning into something more sincere.

“I must confess I enjoy your presence as well. Perhaps we can talk more at the castle?”

The House of Lamentation would be ideal, but the castle was a good second option - Lucifer and Solomon could get there quickly, or Mammon if they’d found a cure and were really running out of time.

“May I ask you a question, Barbatos?”

Barbatos knew a trap when he heard one. Millennia of experience told him something was coming, but you were certainly right that you two hadn’t gotten much time to yourselves. He didn’t know you well enough to predict how the curse would manifest against him.

“Did you know I would die?”

Barbatos was silent. If you noticed any change in his demeanour, you didn’t show it.

Barbatos could feel his smile freeze and then flatten, the hand held behind his back clenching.

He searched your gaze and found a certain manic glee he had never seen from you before. The curse, surely, making you enjoy watching him hesitate, trying to find the right words. But there was a genuine sort of curiosity to your eyes, something that Barbatos thought might be you.

“I hope this question has not weighed too heavily on your mind,” Barbatos started slowly, testing your reactions. You narrowed your eyes, unsatisfied. Tilting your head back to rest against the glass, you reminded him of the many witnesses to the scene.

“Honestly, I think about it at least once whenever we’re together.”

Barbatos nodded. He could not blame you for that. Solomon aside, few humans he had met were ready to face their own mortality. Questions around your death, the circumstances of your murder and your return, only made sense. It was likely your human mind trying to find rationality.

“What do you think of?”

It may have been playing into the curse’s hands, but Barbatos wanted to know. Perhaps he would find some way of convincing you to come back, some way through the curse’s hands.

Your reflection in the window showed the black smoke, but it was easy to mistake it for a trick of the rain reflecting on glass.

“I think… that maybe you at least knew it was possible.”

Barbatos waited a moment more, forcing himself not to nod, not to shift your attention back to him.

“I think that I understand. You serve Diavolo, and your priorities have to be his, and his priorities are this realm and the exchange program. If somehow me dying and coming back was the best possible timeline, if it was the only way for Belphie and I to coexist, then…”

What an odd thing it must be for a human, to have to grieve oneself.

The search for logic, for reason, for the world to make sense once something that had seemed vital was taken from it. And what it meant for that thing to be returned, but not quite the same.

“Your understanding and reasoning are both impressive.” Flattery wouldn’t help him, Barbatos knew, but the gentle words were all he could manage.

“So I’m right?”

“I am sorry.”

Barbatos rarely had to apologise for his actions. Certainly not to anyone who wasn’t the young master. You were unique, in that way. You were a witness to the timeline he corrected. You remembered where others would not. Your pain was not erased so easily.

So he apologised and hoped it lessened your burden.

“I understand, Barbatos. You had an entire kingdom to consider. The future of the exchange program and the three realms. What’s one human life to that?”

Your words were understanding, your voice was bitter.

It was a rare thing for Barbatos to be at a loss, but it still happened. Somethings the Young Master got ahead of him and managed to sneak out. Sometimes one of Lucifer’s brothers would cause some trouble he hadn’t prepared for. With you, Barbatos found he liked to be surprised. He found that without noticing, he had begun to trust you - that more often than not, he enjoyed when you surprised him.

“You are not the same person to us now as you were at that time,” Barbatos said. Neither of your faces were visible to the diners. Barbatos was thankful for that. He had no idea what they would read from your expression.

“So you wouldn’t make the same choice?”

“The Young Master would not allow it.”

Barbatos spoke with certainty. He met your gaze and hoped you would sense the truth in his words.

He was getting distracted - his priority should be returning you to the others. Witnesses be damned, if they ran out of time...

"What are you so worried about? You can always choose another timeline, right?"

Barbatos did not rise to the bait, merely smiled placidly.

"I would rather exhaust all other options before I would consider doing such a thing."

Ignoring the eyes watching you both, Barbatos laid a gentle hand on your elbow and drew you just a little closer.

"I have grown fond of this timeline."

I have grown fond of you.

And he knew that you understood him, heard the unspoken words. Your eyes cleared, your face softened. You opened and closed your mouth and Barbatos couldn't help but smile a bit more sincerely, seeing you at a loss for words.

"Barb..." That nickname again, this time in a wavering voice. Did you think of him so casually?

The smoke intensified and you swayed, leaning more against him for support. Barbatos steadied you, suddenly glad for his gloves - touching you did not disgust him, but the sickening magic that surrounded your body forced him to repress a shudder.

Barbatos called your name and you looked at him, scared but so trusting - Barbatos tried to move you away from the window, from prying eyes at your most vulnerable.

His timing couldn't have been better.

A single step, a sudden surge and your lips were on his, muffling his sound of surprise - his eyes widened, yours closed, and on instinct he placed one hand at the small of your back, inadvertently pulling you closer.

The kiss wasn't deep, yet it was earnest. Yours hands rested on him, one on his shoulder, one on his waist. A gentle touch, one he could easily escape.

Whether it was surprise or a foolish mistake, Barbatos' eyes closed.

You broke the kiss for a breath - and too late he heard your murmured words.

"...Create a path where there is none..."

"No-" His grip on you tightened - it was futile. You finished the incantation.

Barbatos still felt warm, but he was certain that feeling would fade soon, just as you had.

The last thing he saw were your eyes - a cruel expression of victory. His hands gripped onto nothing, your body faded away. A teleportation spell. How impressive.

Barbatos needed to inform the others, needed to resume his search, needed to check on Solomon and Lucifer's progress on breaking the curse.

He needed to, but... first, Barbatos needed some time.

Simeon

Luke was safely in Purgatory Hall, baking comfort food and preparing Celestial Realm hot chocolate.

Simeon’s DDD had pinged with updates - that you’d left the house, that you’d run into Diavolo, that you had teleported somewhere - but it had been unnervingly silent for some time.

Diavolo and Barbatos had been vague in their descriptions of their encounters with you. Simeon had come to expect that from those two - he couldn’t exactly blame them either, even though it frustrated him at times.

Simeon gathered that the curse was likely getting worse.

Still, Simeon believed that you were fighting it. You fought it off long enough to get Luke away, and you could fight it off long enough for them to save you.

But now finding you was the issue. Simeon took the long way back to the House of Lamentation. You had to be within the Devildom - Barbatos would’ve noticed the power needed to teleport between realms in your spell. And if you were conflicted while the spell went off, you likely retreated to somewhere familiar to you.

If you were back in the house… Simeon shuddered at the thought. With the pacts and you like this, the demon brothers would be vulnerable.

But if you weren’t, then perhaps somewhere you visited regularly.

The gardens were quiet, though not abandoned at this time of night. Late walkers, those returning home from parties or study dates, and demons who were more nocturnal all wandered through.

And one lone human, sitting on a park bench, staring at their DDD.

Did those around you not notice the smoke? It was less present now, less obvious. Perhaps Simeon only saw what he knew to look for.

He knew you noticed his presence before he stood in front of you, but you didn’t acknowledge him, just tapped away on the screen.

If it were any other circumstances, it would remind Simeon of one of Luke’s tantrums.

“I’m taking you home.”

"No, you're not."

Finally you looked at him. It wasn't a glare, it wasn't anger, and somehow the simple annoyance felt worse.

Simeon reached for your hand, ready to lead you back - at least if you were more apathetic, you might not fight back as hard? - but he was interrupted.

"You okay, human?"

The one who interrupted was a tall demon who Simeon recognised as a member of Beelzebub's Fangol team.

"I'll be alright, Belial," you reassured, but there was just a hint of discomfort in your voice. The demon, Belial, looked between the two of you and backed off, but Simeon could see him and others lurking nearby.

Ah. An interesting tactic.

You were far more popular in the Devildom than Simeon was. That wasn't particularly difficult to achieve - there were enough demons who remembered the war that Simeon was at a disadvantage from the start, and demons were generally more tolerant of humans than angels in the first place. Combined with your close relationship to the brothers, Simeon knew who the demons would side with in any altercation.

If he made a wrong move, he'd be in for a fight... Which might be worth it, if he had no other options left.

"This would be a lot easier if you just came home," Simeon sighed. He sat beside you - you'd chosen a bench with a nice view of a pond, the park dark enough that the water reflected the stars peeking through the clouds in little wavering lights on the surface.

"You're used to choosing the easy way out, aren't you, Simeon?"

The comment was enough to make him freeze, looking at your face as you gazed at the water. The dark and the smoke obscured your expression.

"I can't say you're wrong," Simeon admitted casually. So this was the path the curse was taking. Harming them physically was much harder for you, after all, so emotional attacks were your best bet at fulfilling the conditions of the magic. Easy for you, too, with how much of themselves they had shared with you, combined with your own observations.

That was fine. There was little you could throw at Simeon that hadn't already been said.

"You didn't fall when you had the chance."

Simeon tilted his head. He couldn't say this angle was entirely unexpected, but...

"Fear, right? You were afraid."

"I was." Simeon had little issue with confessing this now. The wounds were old, and while he couldn't say that picking at the scabs didn't hurt, it was tolerable.

"Of your Father? Of falling?"

"A little of both." Gazing at the slowly clearing sky together, the conversation felt almost light, casual. Your questions poked and prodded for weak spots, for a chink in his armor, but your tone couldn't be more calm, more idly curious. "I'd be quite willing to talk to you about this in more detail, if you like. Maybe tomorrow."

You hummed but made no move.

"Do you ever regret it?"

Simeon sighed. "You already know the answer to that."

The silence dragged on. What time was it? How close was midnight? Simeon was afraid to check, but he felt the seconds passing.

"Lilith didn't deserve it."

"She didn't," Simeon agreed.

"Where does that leave you?"

Simeon shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. A point for you.

"How do you mean?” he asked slowly, trying to calculate where you would go with this.

“You didn’t fall for Lilith.” There was a new lilt to your voice, an odd sort of coyness. Simeon had heard something similar from you before, but without the hostile edge. You bounced your DDD on your knee.

“But would you fall for me?”

Simeon’s breath hitched. Another point for you.

He remembered Michael’s expression quite clearly, the long talk he’d had back in the celestial realm. His eyes slid to your hand, resting on the back of the bench. A sliver of moonlight reflected in an unassuming ring.

“You would never ask it of me,” Simeon said, wishing his voice reflected the confidence he truly felt. You wouldn’t. You would never.

But this cursed and twisted version of you?

“Lilith’s human never asked it of her, either.” You smiled at him. Too shy, too gentle for the malice now clear in your eyes. “And you’ve already done so much for me, haven’t you? How far will you go, Simeon?”

“To the end of every realm.”

You stiffened, shock written all over your face at his blunt answer. Simeon smiled, allowing himself a moment of vindictiveness. You weren’t the only one with surprises, apparently.

You recovered faster than he would’ve liked.

“It would be such a shame, though. For you to fall.”

“I’d survive,” Simeon shrugged. It was a thought he’d entertained too often, a worn groove in his daydreams. Not enough desire for it to be a true wish, but more than a passing fancy. To live by the brothers again. To be free of the judgment of the seraphim.

“How would Luke feel, to hear you speak of damnation so calmly?”

Your DDD, still in your other hand. Simeon was not good with technology still, so it took him a moment to recognise the recording app open.

For a moment, he thought it was a call.

“You wouldn’t,” Simeon whispered, suddenly feeling less confident than before. Luke was young, Luke wouldn’t understand, Luke-

You wouldn’t hurt Luke.

And yet, Simeon could not see any hesitation in your eyes. No sign of affection, none of the protectiveness you’d shown for the little angel earlier.

“Isn’t it better to prepare him?” You leaned closer, but it wasn’t your eyes Simeon was looking at. Your DDD, your fingers moving across the screen, Luke’s photo appearing. You’d taken that photo. You’d laughed with Luke. You loved and cared for him.

“Stop this.”

“To lose someone so suddenly would be worse.”

“This isn’t you.”

It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you. You wouldn’t speak so callously about Luke, you wouldn’t use him as a weapon. You wouldn’t hurt him to hurt Simeon.

This wasn’t you. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t you.

“What do you think he’ll tell Michael?”

It wasn’t you.

“I wonder if he’d emphasise with the brothers?”

It wasn’t you.

“Learning what it’s like to have your loyalty split, I mean.”

It wasn’t you, so Simeon could do this.

Your DDD clattered to the ground.

Simeon’s hand held your wrist, bone grinding within the joint. You grinned even through your gasp of pain, your gritted teeth.

“You won’t talk to him.”

Simeon’s other hand pinned you to the bench by your shoulder, hand dangerously close to your throat.

“I won’t allow it.”

Simeon was aware of some movement around him. Lesser demons, barely worth his time. Most too young to recall the battles of the old wars.

Simeon remembered all too well.

Something behind him caught your attention.

“You would make a good demon, Simeon,” you whispered, voice watery with pained tears. Simeon squeezed tighter, earning a groan. It wasn’t you.

“Simeon.”

Simeon jolted, his grip loosening. You made no move to leave.

Solomon had approached, his pale skin flushed from - from exertion, with the run here? From anger?

Simeon felt like his mind was moving through molasses, looking between your wicked grin and Solomon’s fearful eyes. Lesser demons still observed, but kept their distance. Some seemed to trust Solomon to protect his fellow human.

Simeon opened his mouth to explain. It wasn’t you. You’d threatened Luke. He had to stop you.

But Solomon shook his head.

“I’ll take it from here.”

It took too much effort for Simeon to release his grip. Bruises already formed on your skin, swelling already visible around your wrist, the dark mark on your shoulder looking unbearably tender.

Slowly, Simeon came back to himself. It wasn’t you - but you would pay the price for whatever he did to the monster in your body.

“I-”

“Simeon, I’ll take care of it,” Solomon insisted. Simeon stood with wooden legs, eyes darting from your wrist, your shoulder, your triumphant eyes.

“Go check on Luke,” you told him. It took everything in him not to let his hand find your throat.

You’d found a way under his skin, found a way to the wrath he tried to keep hidden.

He met eyes with Solomon, trying to express without words just how far you had fallen. The lesser demons in the area visibly relaxed as Simeon stumbled back, sparing the two humans he loved most another glance before he stalked away.

He hated to admit it, but Simeon would take your advice.

You weren’t entirely wrong, after all.

If Luke lost someone tonight, he was going to need the support.

Solomon

Solomon did not have pacts with all the demons in this park, nor did he have the trust of many of them.

But as Simeon left, so did the rest of the park empty out. Whatever wrongness they sensed, whatever they thought was going on, evidently they all thought it best to leave the humans to deal with it among themselves.

You straightened your collar. Your breathing was a little heavier, you winced when you put too much weight on your wrist. It was a startling lack of reaction after you faced an angel’s wrath.

Solomon took a moment to stretch his senses to the magic in the air, surrounding you. The thick miasma of it made his stomach churn.

Solomon had a plan. It was astounding how quickly he'd forgotten his gift to you - still wrapped around your wrist, the pretty stone shining dimly.

He needed to get close enough to use it - to get the time to use it.

“Are you alright?”

Solomon had always tried to be a rock of humanity for you. He wouldn’t pretend to be ordinary - that wouldn’t help you, not in the Devildom. But he could try to remind you a bit of your home.

At first, it was mostly a sense of responsibility. While he may have found amusement in watching you learn to navigate the Devildom by causing Lucifer as many headaches as possible, you were still a fellow human, vulnerable and surrounded by demons.

Later, it was genuine affection and a hope, however dim, that amongst all the remarkable beings you called friends, he could offer you something unique. A bit of comfort. A reminder of the familiar. A special bond between the two of you. Someone you could reach out to, could rely on.

So when you didn’t respond, he asked again.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded slowly, the smoke making your bruises look darker, the shadows on your face starker.

Slowly, slowly Solomon approached, kneeling before you. You let him lace one hand in yours, examine your injuries up close. Whatever you’d said to Simeon had provoked the angel enough for him to truly lose control.

Solomon didn’t want to heal you right away, not until this curse was gone. He didn’t know how the two spells would interact.

Letting his senses reach out, Solomon immediately found another problem.

The curse thrummed within you - deep in you, in your veins. Too deep.

“Solomon…”

Solomon took your hand in his and waited for you to speak. There was still time… but not much. He had to figure out something. And while he did that, he had to keep you here.

“Solomon, I feel tired.”

You looked it. Your eyes looked sunken, your hand in his was cold. The curse took a physical toll - like your body was fighting off an infection.

“I’m sorry. We’ll fix this, alright? You’ll be just fine.”

He couldn't break the curse like this. When it was so settled in, when you were so tired, removing it could... it could hurt you. Solomon wouldn't hurt you any further.

Not unless he truly had to.

You didn’t insult or fight him. The curse was dormant - looking for an angle of attack, or consolidating its power over you?

He had a checkered past, but you’d never held that against him. You’d trusted him despite all the warnings from the demon brothers. You’d spent time with him, despite so many others fighting for your attention.

Solomon was self-aware enough to know his weak spots - but he was also aware enough of you and your feelings to know that whatever came out of your mouth likely wouldn't be the truth. Nothing you said under the effects of the curse could do any permanent damage.

Watching you sway lightly in your seat, eyes fading, Solomon realised there was one thing that could hurt him very badly.

Would the curse risk its own host in an attempt to fulfill its conditions and harm him?

Were you fighting against it enough to cause yourself pain?

Were you faking it to hurt him?

Whatever it was, your current state couldn’t last. Solomon had to do something. He had to think.

Solomon had to find a way to bring the curse to the surface. Make himself its target, not you.

“Is such a pathetic curse really causing such an issue?”

Solomon wanted to think of something better than that, but… too late. This was the quickest way. Provoke the curse. Bring it to the surface with your anger.

Break it.

Your expression twisted from something miserable to truly pained - and angry.

“Solomon, it hurts.” Your voice took on an almost whining tone - it reminded him of Asmodeus, when he was looking for sympathy. Not something he was used to hearing from you. Solomon steeled himself.

“I thought you were stronger than this. You’re my apprentice, remember? You should be able to handle more than this.”

Tears started to well in your eyes and Solomon observed you closely for any sign that the curse was responding to his words. There was wrath starting to shine through, and he held onto that. Angry was better than depressed. The more energy you had, the more the curse rose up to attack him, the easier it would break its hold on you.

“I can’t believe how much you let it control you. Simeon could’ve seriously hurt you, you know?”

You smiled, vicious, and Solomon winced. Okay, no mentioning your previous encounters. He wanted the cursed you angry, not vindicated.

“Where’s the MC that brought seven demon lords to their knees, hm? You couldn’t command Mammon to gamble right now!”

“Shut up.”

“You’re pathetic.” The words forced their way out before Solomon could think too hard about them. Whatever got a rise out of you. Anything to bring you out of that depressed, weak state. “How much time have we spent on counter-curses? On uncrossing? You should be better than this.”

Your face twisted and Solomon bit his lip. He could apologise afterwards. Right now he needed to provoke the curse to the surface, get you to hit back, so the removal wouldn’t - so to break it wouldn’t -

“I suppose I can’t blame you for this,” Solomon filled his voice with mock-sympathy. The kind of condescension he knew would drive you crazy. Already he could see your eyes narrowing, your nails digging into his skin. “It’s you, after all.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” you hissed, trying to pull away from him. He didn’t let you. Solomon tried not to aggravate the bruises left by Simeon, but you still winced in pain. He had to stop himself from doing the same.

“I mean you don’t belong here, do you? You never would’ve been able to summon a single spark of light if it weren’t for me. Your presence here is dumb luck.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said through clenched teeth, and alright, Solomon was filing that away for later because you sounded a bit too honest.

“I know exactly what I’m saying now. You’re weak.” No, you’re not. “Your pacts, your power, all of it given to you.” You’d earned everything you had. “You’re incredibly, obliviously, pathetically mortal.”

You stared at Solomon. Solomon stared at you.

His hands gripped yours too tight. It was the only way to stop them trembling.

“What the fuck, Solomon?”

He'd gotten a response. He could feel the curse pulsing under your skin, feel the magic rising to the surface.

He was so close.

He had to push forward.

“You heard me.” His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Or was it too familiar? Solomon had said and done terrible things. Hurt so many people.

He never wanted to add you to that list.

“You’ve got another 80 years in you. Maybe 100 if you’re strong enough, which looking at you now…” Solomon trailed off. He hoped you thought he was just trying to annoy you more. He hoped you didn’t notice he just couldn’t finish that sentence.

“You lasted longer,” you spat back. Solomon grinned darkly.

I want to talk about this with you later. I don’t wish this on you. I want you to stay but I can't force you to live forever. If you asked, I couldn’t say no.

“You think you’re anything like me?”

You’re better.

“You’re weak, you’re inexperienced, you’ve gotten this far by acting cute with those demon brothers.”

They love you.

“You're going to be here for an infinitesimal fraction of their lives. You're insignificant."

You were well and truly crying now. Solomon kept his face blank, his shoulders level. If he'd had a century less experience, there was no way he would be able to hide his regret from you. If he'd seen any less tragedy, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from begging your forgiveness.

Solomon didn't expect it.

He'd known exactly what he was saying.

Even as he gripped tight to the gem, even as he felt the curse surge just underneath your skin, even as he spoke the words that would free you - Solomon could only feel the barest relief that you were safe.

But before the curse fully lifted, you managed one last grin.

"I win."

"How does that work?" Solomon asked through gritted teeth as the magic took hold, straining with the effort of drawing the curse out at this late stage.

You locked eyes with him, the last vestiges of hazy smoke still clinging on.

"Because you're never going to forgive yourself for this."

Solomon opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the curse finally shattered.

Smoke filled his lungs, causing him to hack and cough, but he couldn't let you go - what if, after his moment of weakness, he found you gone again?

When the air cleared, you collapsed against him - an incoherent mumble all you managed before you lost consciousness.

Solomon held you tight, making sure your breath was steady, your pulse strong. The curse had exhausted you, weakened you... but it would not hurt you any further. You would sleep off the worst of the effects and recover.

With your life out of danger, Solomon's shoulders slumped. His eyes slipped closed, his chin rested in your hair.

It was only then he let the tears fall.

Solomon: The curse is broken. I will be returning to the House of Lamentation soon with MC.

Barbatos: Does MC require any medical attention?

Solomon: Nothing serious. Please notify the others. I'll be there soon.

Barbatos: Are you certain you don't need any assistance?

Solomon: I'll manage, Barbatos. Thank you.

Barbatos considered insisting - but he knew his old friend well. Solomon could be remarkably stubborn. He could only inform Lucifer of Solomon's words, letting the first born inform his brothers.

The Young Master had returned there earlier, guided by Barbatos. Simeon had run past him towards - somewhere. It didn't seem to be the House of Lamentation. Barbatos had best message him as well.

How one human had come to hold so much power over some of the most powerful beings in all three realms was beyond Barbatos' understanding, even with his unique perspective. He could only hope his Young Master would permit him a glimpse into the future tonight. Barbatos needed to ensure no permanent damage had been done to this timeline.

With his lips still burning with the memory of your kiss, Barbatos walked through the streets towards the House of Lamentation.

[collecting-dustbunnies]

HDD Event - Curse Rewrite

A/N: Hello folks, I was disappointed by the lack of angst in this event so I wanted to make my own. And then I added some more. This is way longer and meaner than I planned.

If you didn't finish chapters 3 and 4 of the Happy Devil Day event, there will be spoilers, as well as spoilers for S1 and S2.

This part will be focused on the brothers. Edit: Part 2 link here.

Warnings/Mentions: They/it pronouns used for Valago. Glitched text in the intro. MC is straight up not a good person in this fic due to the curse. Emotional manipulation, verbal cruelty, dubcon non-sexual touching (mainly in Beel's and Levi's). A lot of use and abuse of the pacts, including MC accidentally giving an order to remove clothing (which is immediately retracted, in Asmo's section). Skip this one if any of those make you uncomfortable.

-------

This was not how you were expecting the night to go.

"That last curse you were under didn't work properly because of the human, right?" Valago laughed with a manic glee. "They saved you from those masks!"

"How does this guy know about-"

"Don't you dare get closer to MC-"

"Valagoooo, don't be mean-"

"I'm not being mean at all!"

You didn't like the way Valago was looking at you. There was clearly something wrong with it, but you didn't know what it was planning. You were surrounded by some of the most powerful beings in all three realms. Their confusion wasn't helping you feel safe.

Unsure what to do, you made sure you were at least between it and Luke, Mul, and Aster.

"I'm going to give a present of my own... wouldn't you brothers like a chance to return the favour?"

There was a light in the room - a dark, pulsing light that hurt to look at and crackled with arcane energy. Valago strained but its smile never left its face.

Levi cried out.

Satan threatened.

Mammon cursed.

And the light buried itself in your chest.

You felt the magic crawling deep within you. It was thick like tar. It was searching for something but you didn’t know what, and it didn’t hurt but it was tugging at something within you and you thought you might throw up when it pulled and-

And you looked up at the people around you, the worried faces of the people that you love, and something shifts.

“What happened?” Satan’s hands fluttered around you, a stark contrast to his normally decisive nature.

“Are you hurt? Is everything alright?” Solomon followed, ready to heal you in a second, warm magic already at his fingertips.

“I’m not hurt,” you said, because it was true. Whatever Valago had done hadn’t injured you. You tried to think, to really assess what was wrong.

“Are ya sure? What’s with that black smoke?” Mammon’s panicked voice cut through your attempts to figure out what exactly the spell did to you. He was too l̴͙͛͝o̴͉̪̔̈u̷̙̱̓ď̴̙. “Hey, you little bastard! What’d you do to MC?”

“MC dealt with you at your worst, right?” Valago laughed. You clenched your fists. “Now you can see them at their worst! I just did a little curse to twist them up!”

“Twist them?” Diavolo snapped. Why did he always sound like he was s̵͊͌ͅh̴̘̓̑ô̷̮͝ù̵̟t̷̩̟͗i̶͕̯̇ń̶̢͈͗g̵̩͌̕?

“Undo it. Right now.” Beel was straight to the point, as usual.

“M-MC…” Luke crouched down in front of you. His eyes were wet, he looked so very young, and whatever had shifted in you before went right back into place for a moment.

“Simeon,” you said, slow, purposeful, careful with your words. “I need you to take Luke and get out of here.”

“No!” Luke gripped your arms, tears spilling over. Your body shuddered as you fought back whatever instincts the curse was pushing on you.

“MC, are you sure?” Simeon’s voice was gentle, too gentle, c̷̘͉̩̙̍͑o̴̻̽̕ņ̵͈̼̅̓d̷̞̟̬̈́ẻ̴̤̱̀̈́s̵̢͎̞͈͌̇c̷̫̟̉͂̂̍͜ë̷̯̭́̑̍͝ǹ̵͚d̸͎̗͑̕i̷̛̯͈͊̈́̚n̴͔̮̦̰̈́̇̆g̵̨̦̲̿͠ͅ, and you bit back a cruel comment.

“Luke, I’ll be okay,” you promised, gently prying his arms off you. Simeon, thankfully, took him before he had a chance to throw himself at you again. “I just want you to go for now. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“MC, what’s happening?” Lucifer demanded when Luke was safely away. He always needed to be in c̴͇̒o̴̯̊n̷̥̔t̴̯̆r̵̰̈́õ̴̼l̵̰̿.

“What’s going to happen to MC? How do we break the curse?” Asmo asked, voice rushed and shrill, d̸̮͐r̸̙̼͘á̵̢m̷͎͚̅ả̸̡̜ţ̷̮͛i̴̩̞̓ç̴̓ as always.

“Valago, what did you do to the nice human?” Mul sobbed which… was a little grating, but didn’t fill you with anger in the same way as the others.

“I can’t break curses! I can only cast them!” Valago’s voice sounded off in a way you couldn’t quite explain. His movements were too sudden, too jerky. “You’ll have to figure it out yourselves!”

Chaos broke out.

Solomon and Lucifer examined the curse on you, commenting to each other now and then. About how this seemed beyond a lesser demon’s ability. About possible curse-breaking techniques. Only b̸̭̭̲͒ō̶͔̋̃t̵͕̣͌̏h̶̙̝͍̃̄e̴̘̓̃̕r̷̡͕̈́̿i̶͈̦̟̒̔͛n̴̤̖͔̅g̵̠͈͆ to talk to you when they needed to know something.

Mammon and Satan threatened the little orange demon, cursing at it. Loud, angry, p̸̗̌ǒ̵̮ǐ̷͎n̷̡̓ť̶͔l̶̗̍e̸̬̿s̴̮͆s̴̢̓.

Diavolo’s loud voice sounded over everything, making it impossible to properly focus. Asmo’s was similarly hard to ignore, his melodramatic cries drowning out the rest of the room.

Levi, Beel, and Belphie were quieter, but you could still hear their low, anxious voices buzzing away.

“E̸͆ͅn̸̯̒o̴̢̕u̶̬͛g̸͕̃h̸̗̓.”

The brothers were sent to the ground at your word.

Power surged through you. F̸͔̰̩̪̎̂̿̓͌i̶͉̾̇͝ǹ̶̩͆̿à̷̩̿̅l̵̯͙̳͔̥̄̊̂̄͂l̶͍̤̇̄́̒y̷̨̳͈̑̓̒, a little quiet - their groaning in pain didn’t sound nearly so annoying as their panicking. Your chest eased. Your mind felt clearer.

The traces the curse left in its wake lit up through your chest, bringing a smile to your face.

You stood, already moving to walk away but Solomon gripped your wrist.

“Not that I don’t like my apprentice showing off now and again,” Solomon said, forcing lightness into his voice, “but what was that about?”

“I needed some quiet,” you said. You didn’t notice anything wrong with your words but Barbatos frowned and Diavolo looked between you and your fellow human with wide eyes.

“MC, I’m sorry,” Solomon continued. His voice was too soft, like he was talking to a child. “Please stay here until we break this curse.”

You considered it long enough for Solomon to relax a little.

But something within you whispered get them alone, whispered divide and conquer, whispered it'll be f̵͙͂u̵̩͆̄n̵̹̗͛.

And another part of you screamed get away before you hurt them.

“No.” You pulled your arm from Solomon’s grip.

Even with your control of the brothers, you weren't going to be a match for Solomon, Diavolo, and Barbatos. But you had one advantage over them all.

They never expected their precious human to act against them.

A bright light filled the room at your incantation - Solomon's hand grazed your sleeve, Mammon called your name, Lucifer cursed - but by the time they could all see again, you were long gone.

For a long moment, there was silence.

"Solomon and I will work on a way to break the curse," Diavolo took command. He could see some of the brothers still getting to their feet, Solomon still staring at his hand, and even Barbatos looked shaken. "I need you brothers to find them. You know them and the house best."

"One last thing..."

Everyone's attention was drawn to Valago. The little demon was on the floor, the magic it expended for the curse apparently too much for its body.

"You better break it before midnight. Or else you'll never get back your sweet little human."

Beelzebub

Beel was the first to find you.

It was mostly luck. He'd run right into the staircase and there you were, looking up and down like you were debating where to go. Black smoke surrounded you, distorting the features Beel normally loved.

"Be quiet," were the first words out of your mouth when Beel pushed through the door into the little staircase. The pact came into effect before he could call out to his brothers - but the command gave him just enough room to whisper your name.

You looked at him then, properly. Eyes always soft and filled with affection were instead hard and spiteful. You looked cold in all the places you were usually warm. Your outfit for tonight, which had looked so nice on you earlier, now made you look strange and alien.

Beel didn't know what to do.

He couldn't call out to his brothers. The pact choked away his voice whenever he tried.

He wasn't good with magic, like Satan or Lucifer or Solomon. He didn't have any idea of how to break the curse. He wouldn't know where to start.

And he didn't know what to say that would make you come back with him.

"Please." The pact dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'm sorry we were too loud."

"Beel."

"We'll be quieter," Beel promised. His voice picked up with his breathing, with his heart - he wanted to be loud, but the pact kept him quiet and he was afraid if he was loud it would just drive you away again.

"Beel."

"Or you can sit somewhere else. Or we can move." Beel couldn't control his breathing, couldn't control his words - saying the first things that came to mind, whatever might convince you not to run away again.

Beel wasn't a fool. He didn't think the issue was actually how loud they were, but it was all he could latch onto to get you to stay. If he couldn't bring you to the others, if you left again and he couldn't find you before midnight hit, if he lost you-

"Beel."

Finally Beel stopped. The pact even forced his breathing to be near-silent - which hurt when he was almost panting for breath.

Your expression looked... strange. Beel thought - Beel hoped - he could see some trace of your real self there. Some gentleness.

"You can't save me, Beel."

Beel’s heart stopped.

He somehow ended up smaller than you - he was on his knees, he realised belatedly.

Beel reached out for you and he was so, so thankful when you stepped forward enough for him to pull you closer, face pressed into your stomach.

“Breathe, Beel.”

The order freed his lungs, forced his throat to relax but that only made his silent sobs come through easier. He held you close to him like that would change anything, like at a word from you he wouldn’t turn around and leave, like he wouldn’t be forced to let you walk away.

“It’s not your fault, Beel.” Your hands ran through his hair and Beel shuddered at your touch. “I don’t mean to upset you. If this was something you had to fight, if I was scared and needed comforting, I would always want you by my side.”

“Order me to save you,” Beel whispered. You tugged on his hair - so soft, so gentle, guiding him to look up at you.

“I feel strange, Beel,” you murmured. One hand stayed in his hair, the other rested on his face. Your eyes were distant. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I… I want to hurt.”

“Please, MC.” Beel had felt the strength you gave him when you used the pact to help him. Even if he didn’t know much about curses - even if this curse confused Solomon of all people - if you ordered him to, he could…

“Beelzebub… calm down.”

A pact command.

“No, MC- ah-”

The order took hold.

Beel’s breathing slowed and evened out. His heart steadied. The tears in his eyes cleared.

“MC.” Beel knew he needed to reach you somehow. He knew but he no longer felt the need to.

Despite his now steady breathing, Beel felt like he was suffocating. Peace settled over him. He couldn’t fight against it.

“That’s better,” you said, tugging on his hair harder now. He grunted but followed, releasing you as you guided him to sit against the wall.

You gave his hair one last ruffle.

“I love you, Beelzebub. Do you love me?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly, no hesitation. Your eyes were empty. Your smile showed too many teeth.

Beel trusted you. He trusted you and that’s why he made a pact with you.

He never imagined you could ever do this.

He couldn’t even feel betrayed.

“You’ll still love me while I’m like this, right?”

“Yes.”

Beel’s voice held none of the emotion such a confession would normally draw from him. He knew he didn’t show his feelings a lot. He knew people found him scary because of that, thought his flat expression was all there was to Beel. But he’d never felt like that was all he was.

Until now.

You pressed a light kiss to his lips that Beel couldn’t return.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

Beel watched you walk away.

He could feel nothing.

Asmo

“Ha! I knew it!”

Asmo walked right into his bathroom to find you soaking your feet in the tub, shoes laid down beside it.

“It’s where no one would expect to find you, right? But if you want a little peace, there’s nowhere better.”

“You and peaceful don’t exactly go together, Asmo.”

Asmo’s smile flagged, but he forced it back on. He knew he shouldn’t try and face you alone, but-

“Don’t call your brothers.”

Ah. Well.

Plan B.

“Want me all to yourself? I’m flattered.”

Asmo moved slowly, feeling oddly… uncomfortable with your gaze. He always wanted your eyes on him - he wanted you to see how beautiful he was, to pay attention to him, to love him.

Asmo didn’t feel very loved right now.

His shoes off, he sat across from you. The warm water helped relax him a bit - it felt normal in a way nothing else had since those little demons showed up.

Since he couldn’t call his brothers - and because your words still rung in his head - Asmo was quiet and just watched you, his expression contemplative.

You looked fine.

You weren’t hurt. You weren’t crying. If anything, you looked bored.

The black smoke still surrounded you. Was there less than before? Was that a good thing? Or did it mean the curse was further inside you now?

“Asmo?”

You spoke first. Asmo hid his relief with a smile.

“Do you love me?”

And the smile was gone again.

Asmo was scared of a lot of things. Or rather, he acted scared of a lot of things. It brought him attention, and sympathy, and comfort, and he was more than willing to face a few rolled eyes from his brothers if it meant he got to snuggle up to you.

But what he was actually afraid of was this.

Asmo knew about his reputation.

Asmo knew everyone thought he was flighty, shallow, that he was all lust and no love.

But you - you hadn’t ever judged him like that.

You let him cuddle up to you and never expected anything more - and sure, there were times where Asmo wouldn’t mind going further, but it was nice. It was nice to be held, to be cared for, to not be seen as a means to an end.

“Of course I love you! You mean everything to me!”

You were a lot closer - no, he was the one who’d moved. Standing in the tub, hands on either side of your hips on the edge, face close to yours.

Water soaked up to his knees. Lucky the tub wasn't filled very far, or else he'd have sent a wave onto the floor tiles as well.

Asmo breathed in the black smoke and choked.

You watched him cough, impassive.

“Do you though? Or do you love how I make you feel?”

Asmo swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t use your charm on me,” you explained. You reached up, playing with his curls. “Every bit of affection I give you. Every word, every touch. I choose to give it.”

“I know.” Asmo held your hand, pressing it against his face. “And I’m glad. I’m thankful every day that you choose me. That’s why I’ve got to help you now, right?”

Aside from the bubbling of the tub, there was quiet.

Please, Asmo wanted to say, please look at me properly. Please smile. Please hold me.

Please tell me you never thought I didn't love you.

Your hand slipped away from his.

You moved to lift your legs from the tub, but Asmo trapped you in - he didn't know what time it was but he knew midnight couldn't be more than an hour away, and it was better to have Satan and Lucifer working together with Solomon and the royals to break the curse than have them looking for you.

You sighed, blowing his hair to the side - your breath still smelled like the sweet, fruity drinks he and Barbatos had made for you.

"I'm leaving, Asmo. Do something else that's not bothering me. I don't know, take a bath."

Your voice held just enough of a command. His jacket was tossed to the side, hands moving to raise his sweater without his input - his breath hitched, but-

"Stop."

It was the most emotion Asmo had heard in your voice since he'd entered the room. Your eyes were wide, your hands reaching out to him - one made contact, lightly pulling his shirt back down and smoothing it out.

Asmo couldn't make out your expression past his watery eyes, but for a moment he could've sworn you'd looked horrified.

"...After I leave."

You swung your legs over the side, nearly slipping on the tiles in your sudden haste to get away - shoes collected, fabric once again covering your calves and ankles. As an afterthought, you turned on the bath taps again and tossed a pretty pink bath bomb in. It felt like an apology.

Asmo's tears only started, as you commanded, after you left.

Levi

Levi found you, of all places, in his room.

The fabric around your ankles was a little wet, your hair was mussed from the elegant styling Asmo had done for you.

But the most startling change was-

Levi! Finally, I've been waiting for ages!

-the annoyed expression you leveled at him.

"Stay right there. Don't try to contact your brothers or anyone else," you said, the pact taking hold. You were leaning against the fish tank, Henry 2.0 swimming to the opposite side to avoid you.

That, of all things, scared Levi the most - Henry 2.0 loved you almost as much as Levi did.

"M-MC, listen, we've got to, um... We've got to get back to the others. They can fix this."

You tilted your head, and suddenly Levi felt very, very uncomfortable. It reminded him of when he'd gotten you to try on all those glasses - at the end, when you looked down your nose at him, he'd been blushing, but now...

It didn't feel very nice anymore.

"Fix what, Leviachan?" The nickname was mocking. You walked over to him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey, and Levi wasn't sure if he wanted to run but your command took that option away.

"I thought you liked me like this."

Levi was forced against the wall, cheeks burning red. You had him trapped in a kabedon. Your sleeve brushed against his hair, your body heat was near-overwhelming.

It was what he'd dreamed of.

It wasn't right.

"I like every side of you, MC, but..." Levi wasn't good with words like some of his brothers. Under pressure, he defaulted to his favourite quotes from anime. He couldn't do that now, though. This was too important. You were too important. "I like my best friend the most."

Levi took a deep breath. It was difficult to meet your eyes but he did.

He did and he saw you wavering for a moment.

That cruel smile, that hard look in your eyes, both gone - you swayed back lightly, giving him more room to breathe.

"I said it earlier, didn't I?" Levi continued around the lump in his throat. Hesitantly, he rested one hand on your waist, not wanting you to feel trapped but trying to offer comfort.

"I'll save you from yourself if it's the last thing I do."

"Levi..." You looked scared. You looked scared and all Levi wanted to do was pull you closer. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, but if he could keep you calm... if he could bring you to the others or keep you here, where he knew someone would find you two eventually...

And then you were coughing, deep wrenching coughs that blew black smoke past your lips and had you stumbling back-

"MC!"

Levi rushed forward, trying to reach for you-

"Sit."

The order was quiet, hoarse. It must've hurt coming out of your throat.

Levi's body followed it anyway.

Fighting against it was futile, Levi knew. Levi knew but he tried anyway. If he could reach you, if he just get you to stay-

His body hurt. Losing you would hurt worse.

You moved past his hands, leaning against the door as you got your breath back, your little coughs and Levi’s heavy breathing the only sounds in the room. Your eyes were red, from tears or from coughing he wasn't sure.

Levi called your name when you opened the door - did you pause? Or was that just his imagination?

Whatever it was, it wasn't enough.

You walked away.

Satan

Satan ambushed you in the library.

“Very good, detective,” you said. Satan’s hands framed your face, pressing you against the bookshelf.

“I figured you might come here. It’s got some of the better hiding spots.” Satan examined you. He’d found Beel listless and still in the stairs to the attic. He’d led his younger brother down to Diavolo, hoping he could undo the pact command. Satan knew you must’ve done it.

Satan knew. But he couldn't quite believe you ever would.

You’d only ever used the pacts if they were in danger of destroying something or to protect yourself and his brothers.

“Just so we’re clear, I order you not to yell or try and contact anyone outside this room.”

“I figured.”

Satan hadn’t been planning on it.

If you were being so liberal with the pacts, he didn’t want you anywhere near his brothers.

He had to figure out what was going on.

Maybe it was self-flattery, but Satan believed you two understood each other. You saw through his attempts at keeping his wrath concealed and he saw through your attempts to hide when you were struggling.

And he could see you struggling now.

"Valago was quite vague with the curse," Satan explained. He shifted to allow you more breathing room, taking in every change in your expression. "Tell me what you feel."

"Are you a doctor now? We did watch that one medical drama-"

"Please."

You paused, the smoke in your eyes clearing for a moment to really look at him.

"...It's hard to describe." Your tone hadn't changed. It still lacked the warmth, the affection you normally held. But you were talking.

"You're all still very important to me." Satan's heart leapt. That was a start.

"But I like it when you hurt, now."

Satan nodded. He'd expected as much. "Has it been getting worse?"

"Yes." You turned to the library door now, eyebrows drawn together. "I didn't want to hurt Beel, but it was like I couldn't stop myself. It was probably the worst with Levi. I did want to hurt him."

What did you do to Levi? Satan didn't ask aloud, but made a note to check on his brother as soon as he figured this out. As soon as you were you again.

"Or not him, but... it's like I want to hurt. Until... until I'm satisfied."

"And using the pacts?"

"Why all the questions, detective?"

Satan grit his teeth. The teasing nickname had never sounded... well, mean. In all the time he'd known you, you'd joked, you'd argued back, you'd been genuinely furious when it came down to it - but you'd never been cruel.

"You're not as clever as you pretend to be, we both know it."

He said your name, too desperate - trying to reach you again, trying to stop you from slipping back into the curse - but the panic in his voice seemed to drive you on.

"All your curses are pranks at best. Lucifer and Solomon have the actual expertise. Diavolo has the sheer power."

"I'm the fastest learner," Satan said bluntly.

"All the book learning in the world won't change your opinion of yourself."

"And nothing you say will change that you're still trying to fight this off."

The two of you glared at each other. Satan's wrath wasn't bubbling up or threatening to spill over. He was furious at Valago. He hated the curse.

But nothing you said under the effects of this curse would ever change his love for you.

"What makes you so sure?"

With that, Satan laid out his most damning piece of evidence.

"If you really wanted to break me with your words, you know exactly what to say." He rested his forehead against yours, ignoring the way the black smoke scratched at his throat, brought stinging tears to his eyes. "You could compare me to Lucifer. Tell me I'm nothing on my own. Say I'll never be anything but an inferior copy of him."

Even now, the words hurt to say - hurt worse to imagine you saying them.

But you hadn't.

"You can't want to hurt me that badly."

For a moment, Satan felt triumphant. He could see the fury in your eyes - knew it was from the curse. Even the part of you that had been twisted up knew that he was right.

You leaned close, lips brushing against his ear.

Satan closed his eyes. He hadn't beaten the curse. But he'd found a chink in its armour, and maybe he'd have to be satisfied with that. The others would find him soon and he could share what he'd found out.

"Go read a story, detective."

"I'll see you again soon, love."

The pact command drew him to the fiction section, away from books on curses and hex-breaking.

So as the door open and shut behind you, Satan perused the shelves, looking for a human world fairy tale.

Something with a happy ending.

Belphie

Unlike his brothers, Belphie hadn't been actively searching for you - but for his brothers.

He'd seen what you did to Beel. Found Asmo crying in his bathroom, watched Mammon try and comfort Levi.

And in the brothers' group chat, Satan wasn't replying.

Beel and Levi were two of your first pacts, the ones you knew you could rely on. Asmo had never once hurt you like some of his brothers had. Like Belphie had.

Call Belphie a coward, but he wasn't ready to face you. If you were willing to hurt Beel, then who knew how far you'd go to hurt him?

Simeon had returned to join the search, and Barbatos and Diavolo were swapping out depending on which of them was more useful in interrogating the little demons.

Have one of them find you. They didn't have a pact with you, so you couldn't hurt them in the same way.

Instead Belphie was going to find Satan. Heading to the library was the best bet, right? Satan would probably end up there.

"Belphie, keep quiet and follow me."

Oh.

Belphie's body did as it was told.

Smoke still seemed to surround you. Belphie followed along behind, obediently, so he couldn't see your face. He didn't know what your expression was, what you were thinking. He didn't know how strong the curse's hold on you was, but seeing his brothers, it had to be strong.

If you were trying to hurt them, Belphie was an easy target.

You took him to the planetarium.

Whether it was the curse or simply his body on autopilot, Belphie rested his head in your lap. It was as comfortable as ever. But he didn’t feel like he was going to sleep.

Oddly, you looked more tired than he felt.

"Get it over with."

You tilted your head. Belphie bit back annoyance - this version of you didn't get to play cute.

"Say what you're gonna say and then get back to the others. I killed you." Belphie forced the words out. It was only the truth. "I deserve it. So get it over with and then we can get this fixed."

Belphie held your gaze for as long as he could. Tried to look strong, daring you to speak. He would take it. He would take it if it meant this cursed you could be satisfied with the pain you caused and he could get you back.

"Belphie..."

He didn't know what to do with gentle. With a soft touch to his hair.

"I can't deny I was... and am... upset about that." You grimaced at your own choice of words, Belphie enraptured by every change of expression, listening to every word. "But I... I understand why you did it. I can't imagine how you felt up there... I know you were in pain. That you'd been in pain for a long time. It doesn't make it right, or excuse it, but I... I don't hate you for it."

Belphie knew he was playing into your hands, knew he was being dumb, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't help tearing up. You two had never really talked about it that deeply, and that was his fault mostly. Hearing you speak with such understanding was better than anything he could've imagined.

"How you acted after, though..."

There it was.

"You never gave me a chance to forgive you. To feel comfortable with you." Your voice didn't sound angry and that was so much worse. You just sounded sad. "It was like the very next day, nothing had ever happened, I... I felt like I was going crazy, because you acted like nothing was wrong. You just cuddled up to me like it was totally normal, like we were best friends, like you hadn't just-"

Your voice broke and Belphie sobbed. This wasn't right. Even with the curse this was all wrong.

You were supposed to be cruel. To be sadistic. To insult him, to call him every name under the sky, to tell him how much of a monster, how much of a demon he was.

You weren't supposed to cry.

"I'm sorry!" Belphie pleaded, trying to sit up but the gentle pressure of your hands kept him in place, trying to reach out but unsure if his touch would be welcomed.

"I tried so hard not to show it," you continued, ignoring his words. "I tried to keep calm. To let you hold me and not flinch away because it made you happy and it made Beel happy and I didn't want you to be mad-"

How long? Belphie's mind raced. Your shuddering form, your rushed out words. How long were you afraid? How many times were we together and I was happy and you were miserable?

How long were you scared of me for?

Belphie barely even remembered the curse. This felt too real, too honest, to be the result of some magic.

"I'm sorry..." Belphie trailed off as you did, tears on both your faces. Belphie was too afraid to try and brush yours away.

"Rest, Belphie." It was a weak command, but Belphie was in a weak state. Trying to fight against your order, working in tandem with his sin, was impossible. "You'll wake up when this is over."

The last thing Belphie heard was a hitch in your breath and footsteps echoing on tiles.

Lucifer

"It must be tiring."

You met Lucifer's eyes from where you sat - on a couch in the planetarium, Belphie's head on your lap, one hand stroking through his hair. It was a scene Lucifer had walked into many times before.

Belphie's tear-stained cheeks were wrong, though, as was your vacant expression. You didn't look quite cruel or vindictive.

You looked... empty.

That was what worried Lucifer. If there was any sort of liveliness in you at all, he could hope that you might be trying to fight off the curse.

But this...

"You've been overusing the pacts. That and whatever toll the curse is taking on you..."

Lucifer crouched down before you, brushing your hair back.

"Maybe Belphie had some effect on you, too."

"Are you going to drag me back to the dining hall, Lucifer?"

In your current state, you couldn't hope to command him. Lucifer could take you away right now - and he fully planned to.

“I want to talk to you first.” Your eyes met his. Old tear tracks marked your cheeks, bags visible under your eyes.

“We can talk after you’re rid of this curse. Solomon already has a few ideas.”

“I can’t order you.”

Lucifer nodded. His pride swelled in his chest. His strength allowed you to rely on him even when you weren’t fully yourself. The feeling was tainted though, by the damage already done.

Valago had brought up Halloween, the masks - how they’d frightened you, could’ve hurt you. Lucifer still regretted being unable to fight off the curse for your sake. You’d saved him and his brothers.

He would save you now.

“I can still order him, though.”

You tugged on Belphie’s hair, hard enough for him to whimper in his sleep. Your expression didn’t change - you still looked tired, bored almost.

Lucifer swallowed.

Lucifer could, if necessary, stop Belphegor from doing whatever you ordered him to.

But that didn’t mean Belphie wouldn’t get hurt. If Belphie fought, if Lucifer had to physically restrain him…

“I only have a few questions.”

Lucifer could only nod.

Lucifer was not naïve. He had seen you at your best and worst in the time you’d known each other. Your laughter. Your kindness. Your fierce determination to keep his brothers safe, even when it was from him.

Your frustration. Your annoyance. The times when you were unfair - when your love for them was momentarily blinded by your anger.

“Did you really love me?”

He had never thought of you as cruel.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Just for something to do, he rested one hand on your knee. Moved his fingers in slow circles until the fabric rested smooth against your leg only to rumple it again and repeat. Lucifer did not normally fidget, not like some of his brothers, but this was not normal.

“Don’t dodge the question."

Another staring contest that ended with your grip tightening on Belphie and Lucifer's quiet resignation.

"It's not did. I do. I love you dearly. I have said it before and I will say it as many times as you desire. My feelings for you will not change."

Lucifer would say it, but saying it to this version of you felt wrong. Lucifer couldn't be sure if this was a true fear of yours or just something the curse caused you to question to hurt him.

He had to believe it was the latter. After all you'd been through, all he had said, Lucifer couldn't believe you didn't know.

"Then why don't you ever try?"

Lucifer knelt properly now - this conversation was going to take longer than he had hoped, and if he would kneel before anyone, it would be you - even this cursed, cruel creature that you had become.

"Explain."

You narrowed your eyes and Lucifer's body tensed, eyes flicking to Belphegor before he could stop himself - he hadn't had to hide himself in your presence for so long, it was hard to shake the habit of being open.

"If Solomon had never summoned me back to the Devildom... would we have ever seen each other again?"

"Of course." Lucifer answered on instinct. He couldn't imagine a world where he never saw you again. Where he let you go. Where his brothers let you go. But almost as soon as he said it, he second-guessed himself.

Lucifer would've wanted to. Even the time you had spent in the human world before Solomon had returned you was too long - Lucifer's patience was running thin, his self-control reaching his limits.

But there was one major obstacle to Lucifer actually going and finding you.

"Diavolo wouldn't have allowed it, right?"

Diavolo, of course, wouldn't have. Regardless of his personal feelings, Diavolo had to consider the peace between the realms - and kidnapping a human wouldn't work to that. Even if you said you allowed it, the Celestial Realm would have their doubts...

"How much have I done for you and your brothers, Lucifer?"

Lucifer couldn't begin to measure your impact. The way you'd helped his brothers become more confident, become happier. The way you'd healed cracks in their relationships that had existed centuries before your birth.

The way that you had reminded Lucifer that he needed to show his brothers he loved them, not just try and protect them.

"You didn't fight for me."

Lucifer said your name in a whisper.

"And you'll always be his pet before you are my love."

Lucifer bit back his temper. It wasn't you.

It wasn't you.

It couldn't be you. These couldn't be your words, set free by the curse - this couldn't be your true opinion, normally hidden behind your kind smile or your surface-level teasing.

Because if it was, Lucifer couldn't handle it.

"Or…”

There is a look in your eyes, a manic glee that reinvigorated you, made you look both more and less like the person Lucifer loved.

“Are you still following the rules of your father?”

Something cracked and Belphie stirred.

The arm of the couch -the wood hidden beneath the fabric - was splintered between his fingers. Lucifer slowly released his grip.

“I want you to know,” Lucifer said slowly, carefully, holding tight to his control, “I will not hold this against you. I cannot imagine what pain you are experiencing right now. What the curse is doing to you. My love for you is stronger than this.”

Your gaze flickered - or was that a trick of the light?

“Give me one thing, Lucifer. You owe me that.”

Lucifer bit back whatever he was about to say, mindful of Belphie still resting fitfully in your lap.

“Give me five minutes alone with Mammon.”

With his guard lowered and the curse lending you its power, the pact slipped through Lucifer’s defences.

“Five minutes,” he repeated. You could not physically hurt Mammon. And even with his guard lowered, Lucifer could not be ordered to harm his brother.

But Mammon had always been sensitive when it came to you.

Lucifer, in a moment of weakness, rested his head on your knee and tried not to think about the damage that had been done to his family - all seven of them - tonight.

Mammon

Mammon called your name, called Lucifer's name, ran through the house - a growing suspicion egging him on, fuelling his steps.

Mammon wasn’t an idiot.

Okay, he sort of was. Sometimes. On some things. He sucked at expressing his feelings, at Devildom History, and at planning out all the essays he had to write for RAD.

And he got himself into trouble constantly.

Mammon was okay with that. He had his strengths and he had his flaws and he had you, who accepted him for both.

He rounded a corner into the music room and saw you, Lucifer, and Belphie in the planetarium.

You looked up and smiled and for a moment Mammon thought, really thought, that Lucifer had broken the curse - that his big brother had fixed everything.

That hope faded when he met your eyes, the smoke filling them.

Lucifer paled and wordlessly picked up Belphie from your lap - their little brother barely stirred, but one hand clung to Lucifer’s chest in sleep.

Lucifer walked briskly past him, head lowered. Mammon turned to follow after him, torn between his brother’s strange behaviour and you.

“I’m sorry. I’ll come for you in five minutes. It’s not them.”

“Lucifer!”

His brother strained to pause his steps.

“Satan’s in the library.”

Lucifer nodded, and Mammon’s brother disappeared around the corner.

He didn’t hear you walk up behind him. Jumped when you held his hand.

“Come with me.”

The pact wasn’t in effect but Mammon didn’t even think about resisting.

As he walked behind you, Mammon tried to confirm his fears - looked for a mark on you, something that shouldn’t be there, something that would tell him he was right and this was all his-

Valago knew about the Halloween masks. He had too much power for the level of demon he was. His movements were uncontrolled, janky, like he wasn’t acting of his own free will.

And Satan - Satan had told him, told him what you’d said. That the curse was looking to be satisfied. That there might be a target.

Mammon counted down the seconds. Two minutes passed in the time it took you to guide him to his own room, settle down on his couch, and meet his eyes.

Three minutes left. He could do this.

“I finally have you to myself, Mammon.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” Mammon tried to joke back. Tried to keep calm. This curse wasn’t gonna… it wasn’t gonna physically hurt you, even if it drained your energy. And Mammon could handle whatever it was you dished out to him. And then five minutes would be up and Lucifer would find you and they would fix this.

“Why do you look so worried, Mammon?” You leaned against him. The smoke made his eyes water but your warmth was more important and he couldn’t help but pull you closer. Brushing his hands against your shoulders, pulling fabric gently to the side, trying to find what he was afraid would be there.

"Listen, MC," Mammon rested his forehead against yours, meeting your eyes. Mammon knew you - for better or for worse, you two had been thrown together and aside from your time in the human world, rarely split apart. He hated that it was so hard for him to read you now.

"We're gonna fix this, alright? I'm yer- I'm your first man." The words felt a little hollow. The promise too fragile.

But it was one Mammon had to keep.

"My first man."

Your voice sounded gentle, your expression softened - and Mammon knew that look. Had seen it when you pushed an extra serving over to Beel, when you simply watched Satan instead of listening to him read, the look he sometimes glimpsed if he turned towards you fast enough on movie nights.

Mammon was stupid, because he hoped.

"You haven't exactly lived up to that title."

His brothers called him a masochist, but Mammon would never ask for this pain.

"Lucifer saved me from Leviathan and Satan." Before Levi wanted all of your time, before Satan looked at you with gentleness.

"Diavolo and Solomon saved me from Lucifer." You put yourself between Lucifer and the kid and his baby brother without thinking about it.

"No one saved me from Belphie."

Fingers sticky with blood, the way your bones shifted as he held you closer, your eyes closing and you felt cold cold cold cold cold-

Lucifer walking by him in the music room. It's not them.

Mammon swallowed thickly.

"MC, I... I know I messed up before. You've always been good to me." Always been kind to him. Always been patient with him. Always let him hide behind you or take comfort in you.

"You gotta give me a chance to return the favour."

You looked at him and he saw doubt which cut deeper than any words could've. You teased him. You joked with him. But you believed in him and Mammon needed that, needed someone who helped him study instead of mocking his efforts, needed someone who stayed up with him while he thought up ideas for a collaboration with Majolish, needed someone to pick him up when he fell without him owing you more than a dessert at Madame Scream's.

Mammon needed you.

"You gotta believe me-"

"Believe you? You can't even be honest with your feelings."

And that frustration - that heated anger under the cold malice - felt real and Mammon's heart clenched. Maybe you were pissed at him but at least it was you.

"I'll be as honest as you want." Without even thinking, contact between you far too natural, Mammon tugged you closer, one sleeve slipping down your shoulder. "I'll tell ya I love you every hour. Every day. Just come with me and let Solomon and Lucifer fix this."

"It's weird, Mammon," you whispered and Mammon held your arms tighter, pulled you closer. "The curse wasn't like this with the others."

Your neckline slipped down further, a black mark on your chest.

"It wants you."

A witch's mark. One that Mammon knew all too well.

The witch’s note in the mask box. Pay back double what you owe, or I'll treat you to an even nastier surprise.

Valago knew about the masks. A demon like that couldn't cast a curse that would cause any trouble for Lucifer or Solomon - but a powerful enough witch could lend their power.

This was Mammon's fault.

Mammon could see it - the curse and the use of the pacts taking its toll on your body. Your skin had lost some of its shine, your body swaying lightly in his grasp. Your breathing was shallow and it was all his fault.

The realisation finally made tears spill from his eyes.

The curse had been fulfilled, you had hurt him, and now it had no more use for you.

Mammon caught you as you collapsed. The black smoke hid your features, but he was sure he glimpsed an expression of pure pain.

The witch was right. This was worse.

Twenty minutes to midnight.

Lucifer didn't even get halfway up the stairs before Mammon returned to the waiting guests, holding you in his arms. Your head rested against his shoulder. Parts of your hair were wet with his tears.

Lucifer didn't ask. He wanted to. He wanted to know what his brother had been through, he wanted to know what words had spilled from your mouth, he wanted to make a plan on how to mend the damage that had been done tonight.

But Mammon shook his head and merely handed over your limp body.

Lucifer held you tightly and turned to Solomon.

They could break the curse.

Lucifer just hoped it hadn't broken you and his brothers first.

>>Part 2<<

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Jinshi finally realizing his future wife is a cat. We are so back!!

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Barbatos and 23?

Barbatos + 23 | "Cellar Door" - Spiritbox

cw: mentions of Lesson 16/MC death

"Have you ever seen your own dead body before?"

If you had been aiming to catch Barbatos off-guard for once, you may have just succeeded. The demon nearly chokes on his tea, causing him to mutter an "excuse me" before clearing his throat as he regains his composure.

He pats his lips with a napkin, looking at you with both curiosity and understanding. "I assume there is something weighing on your mind?"

"Mm." You find yourself gazing out the large castle window, the moonlight bathing the Devildom foliage. Despite all the time that has passed, there are nights you find yourself there again, staring at your own mangled body at the bottom of the stairs. How, for a moment, two of you existed in one space — one just resurrected, the other at death's door. "…So, have you?"

"…I have." Barbatos leans back in his seat, gaze still fixed on you. "More than once. The benefit of being able to see through space and time, I suppose."

"Right. I guess you get used to it. Or maybe it didn't jar you much in the first place." There is hint of resentment in your voice, a tightness in your chest as you turn back to meet those dark eyes of his. Maybe bringing this up was a bad idea. Why did you think the demon with control over space-time could ever feel the same way as you?

"I wouldn't say that." Barbatos taps a finger on the table, a sign that he was trying to form his words carefully. "I wasn't always the calm and reassured demon you see before you. I used to be quite an arrogant fool, in fact. I have made mistakes, grave ones."

You remember him speaking before of atonement, a past he was determined to rectify.

With some apprehension, he slowly reaches his hand out to cover your own. His voice is soft as he asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I thought I was over it." The words leave your lips before you can even think, as if Barbatos' simple question unlocked something deep within your soul, breaking bindings that had long buried despair. "But I'm not. After all of this time, I still think about it. I went to the past, I was killed, I was … I was brought back to life only to see another version of myself, to see me … bleeding and mangled and dead." Your voice wavers, but you're determined to hold on. Fingers curls into your palm, nails digging into flesh. "And you … you said you just. Changed the timeline. Collapsed it, made it that this was the real one, that I was the one and only me. But am I? Or," a shaky breath, "… did I just slip into another version of myself? Did a part of me really die back then?" Your voice strains. "I have so many questions, and I'm afraid to know the answers to any of them!"

Barbatos is quiet at first, though his hand still covers yours. His expression is unreadable and distant, and you again wonder if he can understand at all. What was one death to a timeless being?

"My first encounter with death, of my own death…is something I will never forget." He squeezes your hand gently, meeting your gaze. "I … won't speak in detail of it, but it was harrowing. The first time I truly came face-to-face with consequences for my own actions." He shakes his head with a somber chuckle. "Would you believe that I still didn't learn my lesson? Yet, despite all the deaths of self I have either seen through visions or came to encounter personally thereafter, it is the one I remember most vividly."

Barbatos moves now to be next to you, taking both of your hands in his. "My dear, I apologize for the role I played in all of this, and I'm not sure if I can provide all the answers you seek. But I can tell you that you are not alone. Time and space are tricky things, and what you went through is something that would break most. But here you are, still standing strong. " His features soften. "And, there is one thing I know for certain. One answer I can provide."

"What?" You hate how your voice cracks, but you lean in closer to Barbatos' warmth.

"There will always be parts of ourselves that die and are reborn. Such is the nature of the universe." He squeezes your hands again. "But you are very much you. You are meant to be here, and that will never change."

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MC choosing the brothers over humanity is the dumbest shit ever actually

Like, damn bitch what did humanity do to you??? What did the brothers do for you??? "MC respects them and doesn't want to use the pacts—" okay well that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Tell me WHY the brothers deserve MC's respect then.

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Maomao is back!

(and Jinshi too I guess)

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dating simulator where it starts normal but it slowly becomes clear that all of the romanceable characters are attempting to cover up an extremely specific murder they committed a year ago before you arrived

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY 13 🩷💚

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75

Thirteen

Thirteen + 75: "Catharsis" - Motionless in White

The dark silhouette casts a long, frightening shadow in the bright light of the window — tendrils of softly curling hair flowing in waves, a slender figure, curving down to the loose fluttering of hanging fabric.

"Are you an angel?"

"Of course not. I'm a reaper." Thirteen shakes her head as she steps forth, trying not to roll her eyes. She gets the question far too often, and she's more than tired of it.

As she steps forward for the old bedridden woman to see better, she sees a mix of emotions cross the frail human's face. There is shock, first. Then confusion, taking in Thirteen's certainly untraditional appearance. Fear, followed by disgust and anger. And then, as it always happens, grief. Deep, despairing grief.

The woman looks ragged, face wrinkled by the pushing and pulling of age.

"You've come to take me, then."

Against her will, a tiny sympathetic part of Thirteen always rises when they do this — and they always do this. Despite humans being defined by their mortality, they never do find themselves truly ready for it when it comes. And no matter how many times she's done this over the thousands of years, it always tugs at her a little more than she'd ever admit. Candy tells her it's best to just do the job without interaction, to just collect the souls and go. But Thirteen thinks that's stupid. She's always preferred the rhythm of rebellion, and doing things her own way.

Her voice softens. "I'm not your enemy. But it is time."

"Will it hurt?"

"Not for much longer. Not the way it hurts here." Thirteen gives the woman a reassuring smile, putting a hand on her hip, the narrow slits of her pupils focused on pulling out the shining essence of the woman as she works. She is drawing the old woman's soul out already, but she doesn't need to know that. It's better for them when they don't realize it. So she keeps talking to hold onto the woman's attention. "It's a place of peace, away from all the noise. A place where you can feel completed. All that you always needed."

The human trappings of the soul fall away as it emerges, emotions and memories sliding off like rainfall until it shines alone, cleansed of its earthly existence.

What remains reminds her of aventurine — an interlacing web of sparkling facets threading through a green as deep as the ocean floor. As the breaths stop in the body below, the last of her life courses across the shimmering shape, a rippling light the texture of crashing waves sweeping over each surface inside, twisting it all up into a small sphere that floats easily into the reaper's hand. A flick of her scythe-charmed bracelet sends it on to the realm where it belongs.

Huffing with satisfaction at another job done, Thirteen pulls out her reaper's list and marks the woman's name off, chewing the tip of the pen as she skims over the rest of the names again. That's the last one for the day, which means…it's time to blow off a little post-work steam.

She smiles to herself as she whips out her D.D.D. to shoot off a quick message to her favorite apprentice sorcerer:

"Hey, are you free now? I feel like going shopping, so let's get Mephisto to carry our bags and hit Black Cat Market! Meet you there?"

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question: is there a way to make edgeworth look good with facial hair or is this an impossible task?

hypothesis: it's just edgeworth's middle-parted boyband bangs that would make it look weird, so if his hair was longer, a beard could hypothetically work

experiment:

conclusion: ?????????

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everyone say 'happy birthday thirteen' right now 🫵🫵

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happy birthday to the best obey me character ever

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sorry I associate Herta dolls with minions now

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How I imagined it all went in Solomon's Devilgram story, The Sorcerer's Lesson (NB)...

(Reference from Howl's Moving Castle)

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Congrats on 100k!! Solomon + 72 would be interesting👀

Solomon + 72: "MONEY" - The Warning

Solomon wipes the poison from his mouth with his sleeve, giving the unconscious demon before him a nudge with his foot.

There's a shallow pool of blood beside him, coagulated purple, which Solomon is careful to avoid stepping in; at a guess, some shard must have cut the demon as he dropped. A matching one, smaller and redder, is smeared across the floor, equally littered with glass where the sorcerer had thudded to the ground a moment later.

Still, Berith doesn't move, deep under the effects of the first command Solomon had issued since their pact was made the previous day: "Sleep."

Good.

It's a cruel thing Solomon has learned to do. It's sad, and it's true, and it hurts that he has to do it this way.

Admittedly, though, it doesn't hurt as much lately — not considering what they've put him through in exchange.

"Being in a pact with a demon doesn't make them your friend. A pact is a pact, and nothing more. Each party has its own separate interests."

Barbatos had taught him that once, long ago.

Back then, Solomon hadn't made any pacts of his own yet. He'd hardly even considered it. He'd believed himself powerful enough, or at least thought that he could be, with enough training. He'd always had a talent for magic. Wasn't that good enough?

But that was before the other two realms had taken notice of just how talented he really was, back before he understood the lengths each side was willing to go to take him for their own ends. Consuming him, controlling him, containing him — whatever they wanted with him, really, and there had been nothing he could do to fend them off.

He was naive then, to think there was such thing as powerful enough. He knows better now.

His skin feels raw where his newest pact sigil sits, stinging at the left base of his neck, just beside where his throat meets his chest — likely near where Berith's poison had gotten trapped. A sick reminder of how the Demon Duke of Alchemy had tried to kill him immediately after forging their pact, and one he'll now carry for the rest of his immortal life.

It may be cruel, what Solomon did to him, and what he plans to do with him in the future. It's also necessary. These are demons he's dealing with. And he's human, after all.

With a short incantation, Solomon reshapes the broken glass into a small vial to hold the spilled remains of his poisoned drink. It had been strong enough to overpower Solomon's neutralizing agent within seconds. It'll be a potentially useful tool for the future.

Another stack of sins he'll be burying himself in.

"That's how it has always been with pacts between sorcerers and demons, and how it should be."

He'll never ask for forgiveness. This is just how these things work.