#NOT BROKEN UP BY LIFE OR DEATH OR HEAVEN OR HELL

[not-the-living-ghost]

IF YOU VOTE PAYNELAND, I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER 🙏🙏🙏

Tragic Gay Men Tournament Finale

please reblog

[emeraldspiral]

The great thing about the new HB short is that it's able to poke fun at fangirls without being patronizing and misogynistic. Like, it's not a cautionary tale that exists to tell women that they're stupid for liking kinky smut fics and fictional bad boys. Emberlynn isn't murdered at the end like the lady from that one Darth Vader comic to shatter the illusion of her fantasy. She's given the agency to CHOOSE death and she's completely happy with that choice. She doesn't even experience pain upon being stabbed in the heart. She doesn't wake up in hell and immediately suffer a thousand torments to make her regret the decision. We never see her get her heart broken by the realization that Blitzo isn't into her and bemoan throwing her life away for him. She's exactly where she wants to be now, surrounded by hot, horny, bangable monsters. Hell to everyone else is heaven for her, so getting sent there is the opposite of a punishment.

[colorlessjay]

Does season16 dean feel bad when he looks at season6 castiel sometimes? Knowing what happens in the future and everything that happens between them?

Ya know, this is something I think about often, but angst is kinda hard to put into words, but I can try:

Life is funny. You spend half your life believing that when the lights go out, they go out dark and empty, that there is no 'after' when you clock out.

Then suddenly, you get proven wrong so hard that it rocks your world view. Everything you've ever believed in gets thrown back in your face, and all you can do about it is get angry. Because that's the only thing keeping you sane. Because it's all you can really do when faced with hell, and heaven, and angels.

Dean regrets being angry.

"It's not your fault." That's what Cas told him. That Chuck was the one that pulled anger out of him to progress his shitty story

"I forgive you" Cas tells him when Dean feels like he's being pulled down by the weight of his guilt

"I love you" Cas whispers to him, when doubt starts creeping in and clawing at his heart

Small words. Short sentences. But they do wonders keeping Dean up-float, keeping the itch of alcohol out of his hands and his mind at rest

The sight of his husband would usually put him at ease. Would shave away those feelings that often crawl up his spine when he least expects them

But Cas - Castiel isn't his husband right now. The man - the angel that's with him now is a curious, rebellious wave length of light and power who would do anything for the Winchesters

and Dean knows too well that it's not just anything, it's everything

And it's only the start of it

Castiel's vessel is still newly his. This is his first trench coat. His hair is still a wild mess. His voice is still hard and monotone. He still radiates angelic power, and stands as though he is an immovable mountain

and yet, in Dean's eyes, Castiel looks like a man yet to experience the true horrors of war

Ironic given what he's going through now

And it pains Dean. He stares at Castiel, knowing how Dean's younger self is going to hurt him, abandon him, kick him to the curve only to drag him back into their bullshit

Knowing Castiel would crawl back to him time and time again, bloody, beaten, and broken

Because of Dean

"Dean"

He snaps out of his dark thoughts, turning his gaze back towards Castiel who stands by the doorway between the kitchen and living room

"You were deep in thought" Castiel points out, his brow scrunching up and his head tilted to the side.

Dean swallows dry and offers a warm smile. He can feel it doesn't reach his eyes "Yeah well, age makes ya think"

"What were you thinking about?"

you

"Nothing you have to worry about right now" With a grunt, Dean pushes himself off Bobby's old couch and shoulder's his duffel bag "Sammy outside?"

"yes" Castiel stares at Dean. He can feel his eyes scanning his soul. He knows the angel can sense his reluctance to speak. Dean expects an interrogation. Expect Cas to call his bullshit. But Dean doesn't want to spill his guts, not when there's work to do

So with a smile and a pat on the shoulder, Dean saunters past Castiel to the door, knowing Cas would follow

It pains Dean to know how far Castiel will follow him

"Through hell, heaven, and purgatory

through every universe beyond and between

through death and back. I will follow you"

His husband's vows echo through his mind, but he looks over his shoulder at Castiel, those words don't bring the same comfort

--------

that was a long one. anyways, honk honk

[jollyhunter]

Beau!Dean x hunter!reader - The Broken Circle

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! ♡

Characters: (mostly) Beau Arlen / (flashbacks, for now) Dean Winchester x hunter!reader, also Denise and Cassie AU: "Supernatural" x "Big Sky" crossover, set after S15 of SPN

One Shot (???)

Warnings: - Major MC death mentioned (end of SPN spoiler), implied panic attack, angst and just buckets of tears (I'm coping with a certain someone's death here) - No use of Y/N - English is not my native language

Words: ~4,050

Setup: "Winchester" - That's the name you applied with at the police department, when you started a new life in Big Sky, Montana, 4 years ago. It's your deceased husband's name. Or rather, meant-to-be husband, since Dean died 2 weeks before he got to propose to you. Today you return from your one month time-out. But a lot has changed since you went to visit Sam; You've got a new sheriff.

And he's the same man you thought you'd never see again.

The Broken Circle

Cold.

In one word, that's your last memory of when you gingerly cupped Dean’s face. How your tender fingers caressed his bruised cheeks and wiped away the dirt from his battered skin. Shakily combed out the rubble from his damp brown hair and scrubbed the dry blood off his fingers.

The last time you squeezed Dean's lifeless hand before it slipped from your trembling fingers. Cold and busted lips scraped against yours when you gently kissed him goodbye for the last time in this life.

...Or so you hoped. Who knew what heaven had in stock for you two.

You just wished you could have been there, in that damn barn. Been with him in his last minutes. Could have held his hand next to Sam. Could have told him how much you loved him. Reassure him that you'd give up the hunting life like you both had planned. That you'd try and live a good life for him... and that you were sure you'd see each other again.

But instead you had to take leave of Dean's lifeless body. Hollow. Drained of everything that made him the man you loved and had planned to spend the rest of your life with.

Dean gave his life for so many innocent people – hell, for the entire world. But he never got to have his own life. Never got to live it the way he wished to.

It just seemed so damn unfair. You had so much planned for your future. Have yourself some rug rats, a dog maybe, a house, a garden with those ridiculous white picket fences. You’d live a cherry pie life once you’d leave the hunting life behind you.

Or so you liked to picture it in your heads. On those rare, peaceful nights where you'd rest in each others arms like an old couple. His fingers combing your hair while your thumb carefully stroked his battered knuckles. Whispers of daring dreams filling the silence.

But reality was cold. Bloody. Like an animal put down. With a last effort, put to rest on his bed in the bunker by Sam and you.

This image will haunt you for the rest of your life, you know it. It already did for the past 5 years. If only you could have —

"Winchester?"

You blink rapidly, your mind thrown off for a moment when you snap out of your spiraling thoughts.

Denise waves with a paper in front of you to get your attention back. "She was mutilated. And it wasn't a bear. Her heart had been cut out."

"Jesus," Cassie breathes with a look of shock and disgust, shifting uncomfortably next to you.

"Yeah," Denise's face grimaces into a painful one. Her eyes are darting from Cassie, down to the report and back up to your still slightly absent gaze. "What do you make of it, Winchester?"

"Sounds like a werewolf." Damn it. The words slipped your lips before you could fully snap out of your memories. “I mean, sounds like a bit far-fetched but I’ll let Sheriff Tubbs know.” You force a wry smile when you grab the piece of paper from Denise’s hands, ready to head out of this messed up conversation.

“Sheriff Arlen,” Cassie calls after you and you stop in your tracks to look back at them with arched eyebrows.

“Sheriff who?” You inquire with a puzzled look. How the hell could you have missed this much in just one month off duty?

“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” Cassie repeats and Denise quickly adds with a teasing hum, “And his ass is just- mmmh-” she makes a chef’s kiss hand gesture while Cassie rolls her eyes with an amused chuckle.

You let out a huff in mock-annoyance but can’t help the faint grin on your face. Maybe, one day you’d dare to befriend them. Maybe, whenever you’d feel ready for letting people into your life again. But not today.

Ready to pick up your work at the police department, your eyes immediately land on the new name on what used to be Sheriff Tubbs office. ‘Sheriff Beau Arlen’ is written in an arched, golden text across the door’s glass.

You raise a sceptical eyebrow at the name. “Beau” you spit out the name under your breath, already feeling a distaste for this new sheriff.

In your defence, it wasn’t personal. It is just in your nature to feel sceptical towards anything new, especially people. Perhaps you gave up your hunting life. But any hunter will tell you between a swig of whiskey and a loaded shotgun that you’ll never lose your hunter instincts, no matter how hard you try. That’s not how it works. You don’t end this business by walking out the door.

It ends you.

In some way you were like trained bloodhounds. Always one chase away of your next kill. Unable to ignore the smell of blood. You were painfully aware of that fact. You could never live a fully normal life without the occasional hunch or a nervous look over your shoulder.

But you’d learned to accept it and make the best of it.

Here you can still help people. Save people. And once in a while nudge the sheriff into the right direction when you suspected something more than a suicide. Or you’d discreetly plant anti-possession charms on people when you had a hunch that demons were involved in a case.

Yet Sam believes you had retired fully from hunting like he did. And you liked to belief so, too. But on some days you weren’t so sure whether you even wanted to.

In some twisted way, hunting will always connect you with Dean. And at the same time it pains you, like a slow poison. Because you know it’s what he hated and never wanted for you.

And what took him from you.

It is a walk on a tight rope, really.

With a little huff of defiance you push the door to the sheriff’s office open. Your eyes dart around the empty room as you lean slightly forward, “Sheriff Arlen?”

Nothing. Oh well. With a quick glance over your shoulder you decide to take the chance and just drop off the report. You step inside, your fingers tracing the edge of the paper as your mind is instinctively drawn back to the case. I’ll have to look into this… bloody werewolf —

“Ah, Deputy Winchester, ain’t it?”

You freeze in mid motion.

And so does time. The paper slowly slides from between your trembling fingers and flutters to the floor. The unmistakable voice jolting through your mind and body like a lightning bolt. Your breath is caught in your throat, your mind and body paralysed.

The world holds its breath.

This is impossible.

“...Winchester, innit?” he repeats as he steps into the office and casually walks up to you, a wide smile spread across his face.

It can’t – NO.

You don’t dare to turn around.

Not that your body would be capable of any movement anyway. Every muscle is tense, your spine’s gone completely rigid. And your heart’s hammering against your ribs like it’ll crack your chest open from the inside.

You stand there like a deer caught in headlights. Headlights of a ‘67 Chevy Impala called Baby.

It has to be my imagination.

“Ya got somethin’ for me there? Oh-” You feel his elbow briefly brush your side as he bends down to pick up the paper next to your foot.

You don’t move an inch and stare ahead.

He straightens up again and steps around you to place it down on his desk. When he finally moves into your view and turns around to face you with his warm smile – your heart stops.

Emerald green eyes look back at you. Deep and sparkling green oceans. Alive.

Your brain freezes. Your mind scrambling for an explanation but failing to come up with anything.

This can’t be.

After a moment of tense silence, the tremors of your bottom lip make way for what your mind refuses to believe in.

“Dean?”

His name slips you in a mere breathless murmur. Afraid that whatever this is, will shatter the moment you dare to breath again.

Beau raises a brow. “Dean?”

He repeats the name with such nonchalance, such valuelessness, like it’s just some random clerk who he’s got no business with. As if that name didn’t mean the world to you once. Still would. Still does.

But the way his name dropped from his lips…

It clogs your airways. And the question mark at the end was him ramming a dagger into your heart and twisting it, without him even realising.

“Uh, no ain’t that.” He gently shakes his head and his lips melt into a cheeky smile as if that would make his next words any less painful.

“I’m Beau.”

Silence. Once again you feel like the air’s sucked out of your lungs. Like someone had pushed you off a cliff.

Someone who is an imposter of your deceased husband.

Beau. Your jaw clenches. And the name bounces off your mind. Your initial reaction being immediate rejection. No, you’re not... Beau.

Your eyes flicker across the man in front of you.

He might look quite… changed. He’s got a beard, neatly trimmed even. His hair is longer and… soft. Gone was the rugged and calloused man you loved. But it is still him. His eyes with their hidden secrets lingering behind those intense glinting, emerald green pools. His bow legs you’d recognize out of a hundred. His voice, his features, his – everything. Everything on him seems much softer but still… in your eyes, it’s Dean. No doubt.

“Why are ya lookin’ like you saw a ghost?” Beau questions with a tilt of his head, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

His voice snaps you out of your intense gaze. Your mouth opens, but no words make it past your quivering lips. All words drowned out in a flood of a million questions. Your focus drifts off, your eyes darting around the office like you’re expecting Gabriel to pop up any second and laugh at you.

But the room stays reduced to the two of you.

You feel like you’re on a tipping point.

Hands clenched, one subtly moves back to your hidden silver dagger – you do what you were trained to do in situations like these; Your mind grips for the lifeline and kicks into hunter mode. You rattle off the list of possible monsters; Shapeshifter? Ghoul? Am I dreaming? Is it some sick game of a trickster God? —

“Darlin’? You alright?” he asks, his voice now more concerned. You look terrified. As pale as a sheet, the blood drained from your face. Close to a panic attack, he guesses by your rapid breaths. Beau reaches out with his hand, gently patting your arm to get your attention. “Hey… Easy, just breathe.”

At his touch you jolt and finally snap out of your state of shock. The hand hovering over the concealed weapon falters. His worried eyes lock with yours.

The life-line snaps. Your mind tips over. Enough to make your stomach twist and turn, about to throw up. With only one shared look, everything’s back; The pain, the poignant grief, the cold skin under your fingertips, Dean’s lifeless expression, emerald eyes gone dull, the stench of decay, of old blood and dirt and his burning flesh and-- it all crashes down on you. All the emotions and memories you had buried in the depths of your mind, now laid open.

Fresh and hungry. Slowly swallowing you whole. Again.

“I- I don’t feel so… good – sorry,” you sputter, your hand clutching your chest in an effort to keep it together. The same second you spin around on your heels and storm out of the office without looking back once.

Beau. His mere presence was suffocating.

You remember the moment you and Sam cleaned up Dean’s lifeless body. How your fingers brushed against a folded paper, carefully tucked away in his jacket’s inside pocket.

Sam’s face had contorted the moment you pulled it out. Clearly, he had known what secret the paper held and before you got to question his knowing look, he suddenly got up. While walking out, he said he’d give you some time alone with his brother.

Once you unfolded the notepaper halfway, your breath stopped. Your eyes slowly shifted from one scribbled word to the next, each of them hitting harder than the next, each of them taking more of your breath. You swallowed past the lump in your throat when the realization of what you’d been holding in your hand slowly set in.

They were notes of Dean. Notes for your upcoming anniversary in two weeks.

You unfolded the rest of it and your eyes widened. The paper began to crumple in your shaking hands while wet stains swallowed some of his jotted down keywords. When your burning eyes reached the last four words, it had felt like whatever was left of your broken heart had just been ripped out entirely.

The raw emotions rolled down your cheeks, your tears mixing with his last unspoken words…

“Will you marry me?”

Beau was left back staring at the slammed door in bewilderment and a little stunned. After a moment, he sighs and pushes off the desk to follow after you.

“Winchester!” He calls down the corridor, watching you stumble out the front door into the outside. He jogs after you, slightly panting, while his eyes dart around the parking lot in search for you.

The rain crashes down on him the moment he steps outside. His head briefly tilts up to face the grey sky with an annoyed groan. The raindrops are pattering against his creased forehead, running down his cheeks to pool at the tip of his beard.

But then he hears a muffled sniffle next to him. Strands of his soaked hair fall into his face when he whirls his head around, spotting you leaned against the wall.

“No- no – it can’t be you – Damn it – it can’t…” you mutter under your rapid breaths, somehow trying to fight your scrunched up, stinging eyes with words of common sense. Your chest feels constricted. Your heart’s hammering in your ears and your breath’s clipped, feeling like you might faint any moment of lack of oxygen.

Leaning back against the wet wall for some support, your mind’s on the brink of a breakdown. There’s no explanation for this. This can’t be happening.

Beau suddenly appears in front of you and before you get to react, he places a hand on your shoulder. You flinch but don’t pull away. His hand feels heavy against your soaked jacket, grounding, gentle – but casual, like you would with a stranger. You are strangers.

“Hey, hey take it easy. You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack. You’ll be okay.” He says as he crouches down to your level. He glances over your trembling body and how your eyes try to avoid his, your expression like you’d just witnessed a murder in slow-motion.

“Look at me, deep breaths.” Beau speaks in a firmer, yet gentle tone, trying to break through your panicked state.

When you refuse to look up, he tilts his head down to meet your eyes behind some soaked stray hair that sticks to your skin. He pushes them out of your face, his intense gaze searching your contorted face for some form of hint for what’s got you so spooked.

He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. While his soothing words just keep coming, his voice now a lower whisper as he’s desperately trying to understand what is going on in that head of yours, “Hey, c’mon… talk to me, Winchester…”

Your eyes are burning from the tears that have been building up until now. Eyelashes heavy and clumped together by the droplets of the rain. And his intense eyes staring into yours, the very same eyes you fell in love with over 10 years ago, do nothing to ease your pain.

You try to tear your gaze away from his, but find yourself caught in them. It’s like you’re staring into a beautiful forest after years of living in a desert. They pull you in, and you feel like you are right back where you’d always longed to be. Home.

But a home that isn’t yours any more. The soul behind those eyes looks familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. You thought you’d never see those eyes again – but those very same eyes hold no memory of you.

The same question keeps repeating in your head, ripping at your heart and soul like a Hellhound.

Dean… is this you?

His voice cuts through your thoughts like a soft knife. “Take deep breaths darlin’, it’s oka-”

“Please- just-” you cut him short, a painful, shaky breath rippling through your voice, “Just stop talking.” Beau’s voice is like a dagger to your heart, twisting it whenever he speaks up. Mocking your memories with that uncanny tone of his.

I’m just tired. You hear Dean’s voice in your head and just like him, you wished you didn’t feel a damn thing.

Beau raises a brow and tilts his head forward, studying your face. For a moment he opens his mouth about to speak again, but when he sees you flinch, he forces himself to shut it closed.

His jaw’s clenched from fighting the urge to talk and feeling a bit overwhelmed with the entire situation. Not knowing where to go with himself or what to do without making things worse. He isn’t sure what it is, but something about you tugs at his heart in a way he can’t quite understand. But he quickly dismisses it, for now.

His eyes snap up to the sky when the rain starts to increase. Heavy drops splatter off the both of you, coaxing a single tear to let go of the corner of your eye. It was like the sky cried for you. Eyes that parched exactly 5 years ago.

Without a word he moves closer, gently wrapping his free arm around your waist. But you stop him before his palm touches your side. Your hand's shaking as it clings to his wrist like a lifeline.

Beau’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t comment on it. His expression grows pensive and his eyebrows slightly furrow, watching your trembling form. Your chest's heaving heavily, like you’re struggling for air. And your eyes are out of focus, like they're reliving some nightmare.

He suddenly feels a strong protectiveness - decides to hold himself back, though, afraid he might make things worse. But it pains him terribly to see you this way, even if he might not know you, yet.

You don’t say anything. Unable to form the right words as nothing could express the storm of contradicting emotions you are trapped in. The wavering grip on his arm is clenching and unclenching subtly as if unsure whether you want to push him away or pull him in.

“Sorry,” you finally croak between shuddering breaths, unsure what you were even apologizing for, “I’m sorry…”

Why were you apologizing? A strange feeling settles in his guts, one of this being a lot bigger than he could comprehend.

Next moment you know, you’re pulled into a tight hug. Both his arms wrapping around you to pull you close and hold you together.

At first you stiffen. Standing there like a fragile, shaking tree. Your arms pressed against your sides, unable to comprehend any more what is happening.

But he keeps you in his embrace, murmuring soothing words, muffled by your hair and the heavy rain. You lift your head slightly, just enough for your wavering eyes to meet his again.

That’s when the realization hits you. He looks so whole. So unbroken. His skin and his hair was smooth and tender beneath that thin layer of rain. He lacks any form of scar, any edges or any memory of the horrors you and he had faced and committed. Your heart twists; This isn’t what a scarred hunter looks like. And at the same time you feel your heart sink at the next conclusion… Beau would have been Dean’s idea of a perfect life, without ever having been born into the hunting business.

And it makes you wonder whether he was granted that alternate life.

Beau feels your trembling body against him and how your gaze is searching his face for something he doesn't know. Why are you looking at him like that? A lump forms in his throat. His hand gently caresses your back in a circle motion, while his other keeps stroking your hair.

“It’s alright, s’okay. You’re okay.” Beau says in a soothing, comforting tone and he tugs you a little closer, allowing you to rest against him.

Your wet hair falls into your face once more when your head drops to his chest. You both stay still, the only sound being the pitter-patter from the raindrops against the hood of his truck and the puddles around you. Your ragged breath’s nearly drowned out by the rain. The world seems to have shrunk to the beat of his heart softly thudding against your ear.

And that breaks the dam. Tears it down as the floods of emotions search their way out. Your shoulders rise and buckle against his chest. The tears finally break free, streaming down your face, mixing with the rain soaking your clothings. Your body wracked with sobs – raw, desperate, painful. Liberating.

You begin to shake uncontrollably, the sobs growing more and more powerful. They start to rack through every fibre of your body. Your legs grow unsteady beneath you, daring to crumble from the weight of every emotion you had buried in the past 5 years released and unloading all at once.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll stay right here as long as ya need me to. C’mere…” He reassures you, and pulls you even closer. His chin comes to rest on top of your head, his facial hair brushing against your scalp and his warm breath wafting down at you. “Just let it out… you’re gonna be okay… you’re not alone, ‘kay?”

You clutch at his jacket tightly, holding onto him like you’re drowning. Like you’re afraid he might be a dream after all. Might disappear from your grasp at any moment. Everything spills out of you, incoherent words bubbling from your wet lips. “Y-y-you’re alive- you’re alive- a-alive- I missed you so much, Dean- so so much-”

Beau can’t exactly make out the words that are tumbling from your mouth, but he can feel you shaking against him terribly. He quickly takes his big jacket off to drape it over you, to try and keep the rain and cold off you.

His heart tightens at the sight of your curled-up body, clinging to him while shivering badly and breaking apart in his arms. He slowly begins to speak again, a hint of an encouraging smile on his face, “Hey, ‘m gonna pick ya up. Ya ain’t gonna stand that cold and rain. Ya’ll get sick.” He then places his arms on your back and under your thighs, before lifting you up off the ground in one smooth motion.

He holds you close against his chest, wrapping his jacket over you for extra warmth. The rain patters against the concrete floor while his boots splash through the puddles, carrying you over to his truck.

You don’t protest as your body was giving in at this point. Like a run down shed in a storm.

Your fingers slowly going numb from the death grip, the wet and cold. You choke on your sobs while the tears keep rolling down your reddened cheeks.

But from joy.

You don’t know whether he is Dean or not. Whether this is real or you finally lost it.

But in this very moment you didn’t care.

You let yourself drift back to the happiest place in your mind. One you hadn’t dared to visit for many years. Locked up and keys buried along your husband. Deep down in your broken heart.

When you close your eyes and press the side of your face against his chest, you can hear his heart pounding. When he speaks, you hear Dean’s voice above you, soft and peaceful.

And you feel his body through the drenched pieces of clothings between you.

He feels warm. Warm.

A/N: it was meant to be a drabble IT WAS MEANT TO BE A DRABBLE

I'M NOT CRYIN'- OKAY FINE I'm still coping with his death - I haven't even watched it since I'm still catching up with the seasons. GAWD I HTE THIS - I JUST NEEDED CLOSURE DAMN IT

Anyway, I just had to get this story off my chest before next year. I don’t know yet whether it deserves more parts but do let me know if you think so!

Tags:

@aylacavebear

[amuseoffyre]

I’m emotionally ruined by the fact that Aziraphale hasn’t broken out of his heavenly conditioning. He still loves doing good. He gets happy when people tell him he’s an angel and says “it’s nice to tell people about the good things you’ve done now that I’m not reporting to Heaven”. He will literally put himself in harm’s way to make sure he does the Good and Right thing.

It can’t be understated how much Heaven’s influence still impacts on him. Aziraphale has been created, ordained and conditioned to believe it and he can’t just switch it off or walk away. Crowley didn’t get the choice. He was Fallen. He was kicked out and - as per the rules of toxic and terrifying cults - Aziraphale was always told for centuries and millennia, Falling was the worst thing that could happen. If you’re bad, you’ll be forced out. If you’re bad, you’re not one of Us. You’re one of Them.

When he did something he perceived as Right (ie. saving innocent children from death), but knew it wasn’t what Heaven intended, he broke down. Crowley found him a crying, shaking wreck afterwards because he was so convinced he was Evil. He was so convinced he was going to be dragged to Hell and that he was now a demon because he did one thing that saved some children but because it wasn’t a specific directive, it was Bad.

It shapes so much about him and it’s why the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it. He’s happy and excited and he’s doing his human-life things and having a lovely time, but he’s also constantly stressed because of the Need To Do Good. From the moment Gabriel turns up, he’s a nervous wreck and is trying to hide it by Doing Good, by Solving the Problem, by Fixing Things, by being so active and reactive rather than letting himself think about it. It’s a sign of exactly how frantic he is that he starts giving away his books and letting humans touch them.

Watch his face when the Archangels show up unexpectedly: that isn’t joy. That’s blind terror. He’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing in Heaven’s eyes, even though he made the active choice to do so because it was the Right thing to do. He’s a Guardian and he will protect, but he is so very afraid of the repercussions, even now. 

At the end of S1, Crowley said “they’re gearing up for the big one” so Aziraphale’s not oblivious. He knows a big one is coming. He knows something worse than the Antichrist will be on its way. And he’s trying so hard to pretend that everything is normal and fine and if he ignores all the looming bad stuff, it won’t happen. If we don’t say anything about it, nothing has to change.

But then the changes come knocking at his door holding a box and the choice is gone. He can keep trying to blinker himself to it, but then there are angels and demons in the bookshop and he’s had to use his halo and everything is falling apart.

So when he realises that he can get himself into a position where he can guarantee those repercussions won’t happen to Crowley? He will absolutely take it. He says himself “I don’t want to go back to Heaven”, but the instant the Metatron offers him a free pass for Crowley, to take Crowley out of both Heaven and Hell’s sightlines, to keep him safe (Another bee inside the hive, if you will), no wonder he grabs it with both hands.

The tragedy is that Crowley thinks that when they saved the world together, that was the end of Heaven’s influence in Aziraphale. When he was cast out the split between him and Heaven was sharp and clean. He doesn’t - he can’t - understand how deeply it has tangled around Aziraphale. It’s built into Aziraphale’s entire being and unravelling it isn’t that simple. Aziraphale’s trauma is a horrible, terrible Gordian knot and Crowley can’t understand that he couldn’t simply cut through it, because that’s just not how Aziraphale works.

[animeshotsh]

Life in heaven | Various x Kid!Reader |

Alternative universe and events - How does kid!reader live in heaven -

Kid!Reader has their memories from their life in earth and hell erased. They only know their name and that they died.

Emily its the one who shows them around, she is soft, friendly and wants to help kid!reader adapt to heaven life. She notices how confused they are so it makes her personal mission to help this soul.

She felt a bump in her heart when they took her hand and called them "big sis" because something in the back of the mind of Kid!reader tells them Emily reminds them of someone.

When showing around heaven Emily ends introducing him to other winners, Kid!Reader has to do a double check in when they notice a pink and white winner....

Emily decides Kid!Reader must meet Saint Peter.

When meeting him Kid!Reader stood there not saying anything, making Peter sweat, Kid!Reader its stuck seeing the blonde hair and light blue eyes.

Next thing they know Kid!Reader has jumped into Peter's arms and huggs him like their afterlife depends on it.

After it, Kid!reader wants to stay at the gates with Peter. No one knows why, and they tell them, they need to rest.

"Then, i will be back tomorrow"

And thats what they do. Its a routine now, when a new winner arrives Kid!Reader its on Peter's shoulders welcoming them. Sometimes Peter has problems fiding the name of the newcomer so kid!reader helps him.

Peter smells like cotton candy and Kid!Reader never tried it before. Peter takes a few hours free to go and enjoy some with Kid!Reader

When walking around heaven Kid!Reader avoid the exterminators, specially one that has no arm and gives them the most cold look ever.

Emily seems to have a sixth sense because she is there to back them up and take them to a safer place.

Emily does not know who kid!reader was in hell, only some high rank angels does, thats the reason they removed their memories and they feel shame for kind of sent a kid to hell when they did mean to go to heaven.

One day Emily tells kid!reader she wants them to meet a centrain newcomer.

Sir.Pentious almost faints when seeing you. But he soons sees that you dont remember a thing and its devasted because of it. He adopts you as his new lil relative. Uses his tail to carry you around, buys you sweet and does go with you to visit Peter.

He also begs that you can live with him (something you accept a full floor was making you feel lonely) and Sir.Pentious its in cloud nine.

The first night he ends cuddling you with his tail. He knows how much you mean to Charlie and the rest, so he is going to protect you and care for you from now on.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Down in hell

Charlie has been depress since you died, Vaggie has tried to cheer her up, to make her continue her dream.

"How can i offer salvation when they killed (Y/N) like they were nothing? They dont care about us"

Lucifer has go back to his castle where he passes his time making ducks, crying and playing the violin. He stares at the photos he took of you and cries more. He cant forgive himself for letting you die.

Alastor its like his old days. Hunting whoever and whatever comes near him. He causes chaos in the city. Decides that he had enough of the stupid TV specially when they show footage of his fight and your death. The empery of the V's its destroyed in one day, and Alastor gets stronger after he consumes their bodies and souls.

No one can mention your name. No one can enter into one of your rooms. They are devasted and broken.

[trashogram]

He Chose You (P. 5)

Lucifer/Reader — Lucifer wants you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for the smut. FINALLY

(Hope none of y’all were planning to actually get off though).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“You want a… baby?” 

Lucifer looked as stunned as you felt. He reminded you of a spooked deer — frozen and wide-eyed as he waited for imminent death. Or more aptly a dying fish as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. 

“… To hang out with?”

Lucifer found himself in your apartment for the second time, milling about beside your coffee table. He internally scolded himself for fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other, but it was either that or burn a hole in your head with his hopeful gaze.

“No!” He let out a pathetic laugh. “Well, yes, b-but obviously not just that! I know there’s more to it than just ‘hanging out’.”  

“I'm not stupid.” He chortled again before glancing at you. “… I’m not that stupid.” 

The King had the uneasy feeling that you might see right through him now; find that inkling of excitement still germinating in his breast, and change your mind. Or worse, you’d withdraw even more and he’d have to feel that dreadful, terrible, no good shame. 

He had practically skipped through the halls of his castle (unbeknownst to you) with the contract held tightly between his claws.  But as soon as he entered your fireplace, the excitement had curdled like milk. It was replaced by that shame when he looked at you and saw your ashen face. 

“Obviously you wouldn’t be doing this for free!” Lucifer gesticulated wildly. “You, you said you wanted to travel right? Right! If you agree, you’d get to travel wherever you want, whenever you want, no strings attached!”

“A-and also! No more costs, period! All your bills and expenses paid forever, in perpetuity, beyond the grave! Capitalism is a bitch? No, capitalism WAS a bitch!”

“No, no! Capitalism will be YOUR BITCH!” 

Your resigned countenance combined with the memory of his pitch made Lucifer flinch. 

——

You were never very good in a crisis. Or under a severe amount of pressure… or a moderate amount, in all sincerity. 

But you’d have thought, even with the prospect of homelessness looming over your head, that you’d have drawn the line at making a Deal with the Devil to avoid it. 

Or at least you would’ve taken more than the time it took to draw up a legal contract to accept your fate.

That time maxed out to 6 days. 

The scroll unfurled before you. It radiated an ethereal golden light, and lined with a litany of official statements occasionally broken up by blank spaces meant for a (second) signature. 

         Lucifer Morningstar was signed here and there, in the same glittery calligraphy as was on his business card.

‘This contract must be interpreted by the Governances of Heaven [Heofon, Himmel, Kem, ἄκμων, آسمان, अश्मन्] and any litigations associated with Hell [Hel, Hallju, Kel]…’

‘… By this contract, Party A agrees to carry the Seed of Party B, hereafter known as “Father”, to the extent of natural gestation as governed by the Law of Nature…’ 

‘… This union shall be recognized only within the parameters listed and not heretofore or after…’

The legal jargon was giving you a headache. You scrubbed a hand down your face, determined to at least read through it all and, if you couldn’t pick out tiny discrepancies, at least find any giant red flags. 

(Even if you’d already reserved the excuse that it was easy to be tricked by the Devil when the Devil was insanely good at presenting himself as a theatrical little man who wore his heart on his suit sleeve).

           Then again, would it not just be easier to sign away your life without regard to the consequences?

Lucifer twitched when you groaned on your seat at the table. “Problem?” 

You rose slowly from your hunched position to make eye contact. “… My pen isn’t working.” 

You demonstrated by scribbling randomly on the sticky notepad beside his scroll. Lucifer responded instantly, left hand flexing in the air and, with a flashy poof, snatching a fancy pen out of thin air. 

“You can keep it” He said, grinning as you accepted it with a sour look. 

“Thanks… show-off.” You began scribbling your name in half-assed cursive on every blank line in sight.

The grin on Lucifer’s face became borderline manic as soon as you’d crossed your ‘t’s and dotted your ‘i’s. His teeth glinted in the light from your cheap-ass lamp and it made you wince as you handed the rolled up document back to him. 

“Um, can we maybe skip the kissing stuff?” You asked. “I don’t really want to cut my tongue open.” 

His wounded expression tugged rather annoyingly at your heart. 

“Sorry.” 

The smile he gave your mumbled apology was strained at best. “No, no I understand. The fangs were daunting to me when I first got them, too.” 

You cocked your head, thoughts materializing like the web of a spider. 

“That’s actually something we should talk about.” You voiced your thoughts. “Are we compatible? Down there?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean — you don’t have teeth down there, too… right?” You asked. “Or some kind of eldritch horror miasma that I can’t touch lest I fall into a coma from ecstasy? Or a tentacle?” 

“No!” Lucifer looked mortified. “Wh-what is wrong with you humans?!” 

“I’m sorry! I’m just asking!” You cried. 

You continued when his expression stayed stagnant. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you but I’m about to become intimately acquainted with… it, and I think I should be prepared!”

Your hellish companion stood, eyes closed, hands folded over his mouth as if in prayer. He breathed in slowly, then out. 

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry it’s… it’s been a while since I’ve been with a human.” He reasoned. “It’s good to ask questions. It’s—that’s a good one. Do you have any more?” 

That made you pause. There were millions of things you could ask the King of Hell and yet not one thing could properly formulate in your brain. 

“Um, I need a second to think about it.” You muttered. “What about you? My setup is pretty basic? I guess? I have a womb. At least I did, at my last physical a year and a half ago.” 

Lucifer’s lips twitched upward in a half-smile and there was an answering flutter from your stomach. “I know.”

Your eyebrows shot up and he immediately started babbling. “I mean! I know because the contract went through! The ink would’ve turned red… or disappeared… To be honest, I don't know. I haven’t made a deal in a long time, ha ha. But I remember something happens when there’s a technical issue!” 

“Ah,” You felt better with that explanation. 

Kind of. 

“I thought of a question, actually. Sorry.” You shrugged sheepishly. “It’s probably in the contract but…”

You swallowed down your trepidation. “… I won’t die, right?”

Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, you faced the floor and missed the way Lucifer’s face fell. 

“Barring the normal risks that come with being pregnant, nothing else is gonna happen, right? Or if it does, it won’t be agonizing?” You asked quietly. 

A moment of silence passed before the ex-Angel’s fingers curled under your chin. Your head rose and you saw Lucifer's eyes soften from something sharper and more determined. 

“I will do everything in my power to protect you and the baby.” He said firmly. “Nothing terrible will happen to either of you. I swear.” 

It was strange, the effect his words had on you. The jittery feeling in your chest slowly disappeared, and the tears forming in your eyes didn’t fall. 

“Okay.” You nodded with a barely there, watery smile. 

——

“I’m gonna turn off the lights, ok?” You said over your shoulder. 

Lucifer was undoing the last of the buttons of his dress shirt, vest and overcoat already laid neatly over your desk. He met your gaze, eyes bright. 

“Of course.” His close-lipped smile struck you, but you flipped the light switch before you could think on it. 

A lack of light did very little to suppress Lucifer. He seemed to glow like the star of his namesake, flourishing in the dark and hard to miss. You simply hoped, as you pulled at your sleeves, his shine wouldn’t illuminate the terrain of your body. 

Cold air hit your skin, goosebumps rose along your bare arms and shoulders, but you persisted. When everything was shucked save for your underwear, you moved to your bed and realized Lucifer was still standing at the baseboard. 

With arms crossed, you assumed the same position at the side of the bed. “Um?”

“Ladies first!” He chimed, as if reading your mind. 

You sighed, then slowly climbed onto the mattress and awkwardly pulled the comforter from under your butt. You settled and patted a spot in front of you. 

Hesitantly, Lucifer accepted the invitation, and he was sitting next to you before you could blink. 

No going back now. 

You shifted in your spot uneasily. Fuck, it had been a long time since you had sex. 

How did you start this shit again? 

No kissing — per your own request. You had half a mind to take it back while you sat there floundering, trying not to let the tangible awkwardness break your resolve entirely. 

You could do this. For a lifetime of no work, no bills, no cares. 

You could do this.

A bit of movement in the dark caught your eye. You glanced down and realized that Lucifer was twiddling his thumbs waiting for you. 

The laugh came bubbling from your throat before you could stop it. Reaching out, you grabbed one of his hands and tugged him forward.

You could see his throat constrict as he swallowed and smiled questioningly. “What?”

Lucifer yelped when you laid back, taking him with you. 

——

“Ah! F-fu — Slow down!” You scolded, words muffled as you were repeatedly pushed down into the pillows. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you just,” Every word was punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips against the flesh of your ass. “Feel. So. Fucking. Good.” 

Lucifer moaned loudly as he continued to lose himself in the sensation. You could only groan, irritation building as your partner refused to give you even the most basic attention. The frustration peaked quickly, then unraveled as his pleasured moans and squeaks caused your stomach to somersault over and over again. 

You clenched around his cock when he whined, thrusting into you so deeply you felt the base of him stretching your hole that much wider. 

Well, fuck you for finding the sound of a masculine voice cracking the hottest thing in all of creation. 

But it was actually getting you there, so what were you complaining for?

          Eyes closed, you focused on the feeling, trying to jump off that precipice with only penetration. It reminded you of when you were a teen, awkwardly feeling around down there. Of trying to find the appeal in your fingers inside of somewhere so sensitive against the fear of hurting yourself. All while you worked yourself up with your own imagination. 

In a perfect world, you would’ve moved on from that stage of life with no repeat performances. Hopefully, it could still be salvag—

You gripped the pillows that hadn’t tumbled off the juddering mattress when Lucifer’s claws dug into your hips. He pulled you as close as humanly possible with a strangled yelp, shivering, shuddering, stammering incoherence as warmth flooded your insides. 

Fuck’s sake.

——

You were disappointed, but not surprised. All you could do after the fact was bury yourself in the covers and watch Lucifer catch his breath beside you. 

Not finishing aside, exhaustion from the entire ordeal made you indolent and your thoughts hazy. You studied your partner as he calmed down, clearly trying not to be too close to you now that the deed was done. 

Lucifer’s hair was in disarray, the space between his eyes and across his cheeks rosy like the blots parallel to his smile. 

“Hey.” 

Lucifer looked at you innocently, waiting. You could physically feel your walls crumbling down despite yourself. 

“Come here.” You murmured, hand sliding beneath the covers to touch that poreless skin. 

Damn you and your soft heart. 

‘Actually…’ You had Lucifer in your arms, his body still warm. Once he was in your grasp, the King melted against you. 

He looked a little afraid as you tilted him up by the chin to look at you. The Devil had surprisingly soulful eyes, questioning whatever you had in store. 

The tiny thought that he was being way too vulnerable drew a taut, uncomfortable feeling your chest. 

“Kiss me.” 

Lucifer blinked in rapid succession — surprise, wonder, confusion and hope bloom all at once on his unusual face. 

It made you laugh in the quiet, comfortable darkness of your room before you yourself leaned in and met his lips with your own. The line of Lucifer’s mouth trembled, but he reciprocated with only minor hesitation. 

* Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1,

Please let me know I missed tagging you!

[cryptidghostgirl]

Alastor x Reader Master List

My Alastor list is getting crazy long so I am giving it it's own post just so my big Hazbin Hotel Master List doesn't get too confusing.

Other Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

List of Things I Won't Write

Series are marked in purple

Requests are marked in pink

Suggestive are marked in orange

NSFW are marked in red

Make You Wish Master List -> Y/n has known Alastor since she first ended up in Hell. When he disappeared? She thought her life was over. Seven years have passed since then and slowly but surely, the 1950s housewife turned murderer has made a life for herself, full of good decisions and some bad ones. What will happen when Alastor turns back up again, sending the world as she has made it into chaos once again?

What Can I Do For You (Alastor x Reader) → What if the deal Alastor made that is controlling his power was with Y/n?

Understand (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n has been using the exterminations as a way to try and search for the soul of her earthly husband for years. What happens when she actually succeeds in finding him?

→ Caged Bird (Dark!Alastor x Exorcist!Reader) -> Reader wakes up in Alastor's room at the Hotel after the events of Understand.

Wrath (Alastor x Overlord!Spouse!Reader) → Y/n’s anger in finding that after seven years, their husband has returned to Pentagram City and decided not to tell them.

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader) → It is too late for him to change things now. It doesn't matter what else has happened, that he's gotten to know her, seen her light. Some broken things can never be fixed. 'You came' 'you called' but make it sad.

→ Unrequited Pt. 2 -> Reader steps in when Alastor is attacking Husk.

→ Unrequited Pt. 3 -> Alastor refuses to let Y/n be present for the battle against Heaven and will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if she hates him for it.

Fuel and the Fire (Alastor x Wife!Partner-in-Crime!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have a deal with Lilith where until a soul is redeemed at Charlie’s hotel, Y/n is under her control. Alastor will do whatever it takes to get his wife back, but that doesn’t mean he won't get a little sad a lonely along the way.

Loving You (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Valentine's day special :) The story of how Alastor and Y/n realized they had feelings for one another.

Sweet (Alastor x Chubby!Reader) → Hurt//comfort. A random demon insults the reader and Alastor comes to comfort her, later dealing with the demon in a typically Alastor way of handling such a crime.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader) → Fake dating trope. Y/n and Alastor met when they tried to kill one another, how could they not end up at least a little bit in love?

-> Cover Up pt. 2

→ Cover Up pt. 3

Till Death Do Us Part (Alastor x Mad Scientist!Reader) → Y/n just wants to watch the world burn. Being married was a boon at first but later, rather inconvenient. When she died, she did everything she could to avoid her husband and continue her work but fate had other plans.

→ Till Death Do Us Part pt. 2

→ Till Death do us Part pt. 3

Prepare for Battle (Platonic!Alastor x Platonic!Cat Demon!Reader) → Alastor and Y/n have been engaged in a prank battle for decades. What happens when just a few days after Alastor reappears in the Pride ring, Y/n joins him at the Hazbin Hotel?

Rhapsody Master List → Gn!Reader. Alastor and Y/n have been taking down the overlords of Hell together for years but Y/n has had a secret and Alastor knows it. They each go their separate ways because of this but what happens when years later their paths intersect once again. Loosely inspired by Raine and Eda in The Owl House.

The Guilt (Alastor x Reader) → Y/n was the one person he never meant to kill, but Alastor didn't have a choice. Years later, much to his surprise, they run into one another in the depths of Pentagram City.

Pretty Bunny (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor catches Angel and Y/n getting ready for a night out and stops Y/n from going. Hurt/comfort.

I Myself am Strange and Unusual (Alastor x Living!Addams family!Reader x Lucifer) → Y/n is bored and summons some demons. 

The Love (Alastor x Reader) → Alastor is drunk and Charlie asks him if he has ever been in love.

Frostbite (Alastor x Reader) → History repeats itself in odd and uninvited ways. Life cycles on even in death.

→ Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy (Alastor x Reader) → It wasn't love. Alastor didn't feel love, not anymore. He'd lost that part of himself the day he died so it couldn't be love, could it?

→ Humanity's Most Favored Fantasy pt. 2

Mishap of Magic (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Alastor’s magic backfires and Y/n is there to help. Who would have guessed that a situation such as this would give him the last push he needed to tell her how he felt? 

Destruction//Creation (Vox x Alastor's Ex!Reader x Alastor) → Alastor refuses to let the past die and Y/n would rather pretend it never existed.

The Thing (Alastor x Gn!Reader) → Alastor meets his shadow.

Masquerade (Alastor x Angel!Exorcist!Reader) → Y/n is sent to the Hazbin Hotel as a spy.

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Rabbit Demon!Reader) → Y/n see’s Alastor talking to Rosie and thinks she is what he wants in a woman. Little does she know, he was meeting with Rosie to ask for advice on how to talk to Y/n.

What it Means to be a Person (Alastor x Cyborg!Reader) → Y/n gave an arm and a leg to the fight against the exterminators and feels she has lost her humanity by the bionic replacements Lucifer and Charlie gifted her in return. Alastor reminds her that not all is lost, she can still dance, after all.

Spicy Sienna and Berry Naughty (Alastor x Chubby!Gn!Reader!) → Alastor likes the fact that Y/n has begun matching their lipstick to their nail polish -- loves it, in fact. What he doesn’t like is that other people have started noticing. (this one is a bit… weird so I am marking it as suggestive.)

Burn (Human!Alastor x Human!Gn!Reader) → What happens when Alastor spots his ideal target, Mimzy’s newest hired talent? What happens when they evade his capture? What happens when, slowly, he begins to realize -- Alastor doesn’t want to kill them? At least, not anymore.

Drawing Down the Moon (Alastor x Ancient Roman!Witch!Reader) → Alastor reencounters an old friend.

[voxslays]

Can I request headcanons for sinner!Adam with a sinner!s/o dying in his arms? How would he react and how would he move on, if at all?

hi! thank you for requesting. i love angsty tropes so much—especially the ‘dying in someone’s arms’ trope. i also included a Lucifer segment (mostly because I can’t help myself…) and I hope that’s okay with you! thanks! <3

ARMS TONIGHT

Adam and Lucifer with a sinner S/O who is fatally wounded during one of the exterminations and dies in their arms. Very angsty.

Adam

Adam wasn’t afraid. After the last extermination he didn’t think things could get worse. In fact, they seemed to be getting better. I mean, he met you afterall, didn’t he? He was learning to adjust to the life of a ‘lowly’ sinner. And slowly, he began to realize maybe not all sinners were bad. Don’t get me wrong, Adam still hates sinners—especially the ones at Lucifer’s bitch daughter’s tacky hotel…but then he met you. And you were always such an Angel.

Adam knew the extermination was coming up again. But the girls he raised and trained (and was like a father figure to) wouldn’t kill him. Adam knew they couldn’t even if they tried. He may have been harsh but he was really the only family they had growing up. And Lute specifically would never order his death.

But you were a different story—you were a sinner and always had been. In the angels eyes, you were a worthless piece of trash just waiting to be put out of your misery. So when extermination day rolled around—having gone through decades of exterminations, you begged Adam to hide out with you. But he refused—saying he needed to do ‘something’. So you waited for him to return.

You waited and waited until an exorcist found your hiding spot. The angel slowly impaled you with her spear. Your death was not only slow, but extremely painful. You cried out for your loving boyfriend in your last moments, but received no reply—only the muffled screams outside—And then everything went black.

Adam would return shortly after, to see your lifeless body lying in a pool of blood, a spear still lodged in your now cold chest. He would run to your lifeless body and cradle it while holding back tears. How could he be so stupid? Of course the exterminators would go after you. And Adam would forever be cursed with the knowledge that he was too late to save you from your fate.

I honestly think it would take Adam a long time to move on. It definitely did with Lillith and Eve. This man was already broken as is from the trauma of his two past wives leaving him for the same man. And now his almost third? He still has the ring he would’ve proposed to you with in his back pocket—and will now carry it with him for all time, thinking about what could’ve been.

Lucifer

Lucifer was afraid. His family had always been very important to him (that’s why he went into a depressive slump for seven-ish years when Lillith left), so of course when he had the chance to sign an agreement with heaven, stating that only sinners could be harmed by the yearly exterminations if he stayed out of their affairs and stopped causing a commotion, he signed immediately.

Luci had also never really cared for sinners. He went through all the trouble to give them free will—even getting cast away from heaven, into the dark abyss of hell—and they just chose drugs, sex and violence!? He has a long ongoing grudge against them until he meets you. You were one of the sinners looking for redemption in his daughter’s passion project—the Hazbin Hotel! And Lucifer was truly happy you wanted to support her as much as you did. You were almost a better mother than Lillith without even trying—which is truly an incredible feat.

The two of you grew closer, eventually finding reasons to meet up outside of the hotel. Lucifer was extremely nervous and closed off before, but quickly opens up to you. And somewhere inbetween the months you spend so close together, he asks to court you, which you obviously say yes to. Yay!

Anyways, before you knew it—it was extermination day. The angels had already made it loud and clear that they would attack the hotel first, and everyone was busying preparing. Alastor had made a huge green shield around the property, and everyone else was getting suited up and ready for battle. You were busy fighting an exorcist. You hear Luci call your name and you turn your head only for a split second, which is enough time for the exorcist to brutally stab you in both the thigh and through the chest.

Lucifer runs over to you tears clouding his vision as he takes out any exorcist within twenty feet of you (wow!) and cradles your dying body. The worst part is he knows he can’t save you. You’ve already lost too much blood—and while he tries to use his powers, it doesn’t help one bit. Like Adam, Lucifer is also cursed with the knowledge that he couldn’t save one of the people he loved the most in this hellhole (besides Charlie ofc).

Won’t be able to move on and will be stuck in another depressive slump for a few months at best—a few years at worst. But at least this time he has Charlie and the rest of the hotel gang (besides that radio freak Bambi) to help him through it.

A/N: I might write a part two with Alastor and Vox!

[simphornies]

Angst! I choose you! (That was cringe I'm sorry 😭)

Can I please request a Vox x Female Reader where Reader protected Vox from Valentino

(PS: Val killed Reader in the process)

And because of that Velvette has to take care of a Depressed Vox

A/N: My friend and I were going back and forth on ideas for this because we love angst. I hope you guys enjoy! A part 2 will be made for this because I love you guys

Word count: 1.6k (1,611) Warnings: ANGST, valentino being a FUCKER, descriptions of violence, death, there is no mention of y/n but it's f!reader

My Beloved [ Vox x F!Reader ]

Vox got into another argument with Valentino. Both overlords had anger issues so their arguments always end up becoming explosive with glassware being thrown around. You came in as soon as you got word of their fight. When you ran into his office, it was clear that it was about you again. Valentino shoved you out of his way, glaring at you, seething with anger. He slammed the door shut but you couldn’t care any less. You ran to your lover’s side and held his hand.

“Vox? What happened?” You frowned, seeing all the broken glass. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“It’s…” He hesitated and planted a gentle kiss on your hand, “It’s nothing, baby. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll always worry, my beloved.” You held his hand close, “Is it about the shoot again?” He sighed and nodded.

“He came in here demanding I convince you to be in one of his movies. I told him no and well,” He gestured to the shattered glass that littered his office, “You see how well that fucking turned out. Fucking moth just won’t stop. I told him that there’s nothing he could ever offer for your body! He ju-” You gently tighten your grip on his hand, cutting him off. He looked at you and the worry in your eyes melted his anger away. “I’m sorry, baby. It just makes me so angry when fuckers like him think they have any right to a sweetheart like you.”

“I’m sorry I’m causing this much stress.” You said softly, “I’ll talk to him if you need me to!”

“No!” He said as his screen got brighter with his increased panic, “No, babe. It’s fine. I got it handled. I promise, okay?”

You knelt next to him, your head on his lap, “Okay. But if anything happens, I’ll always be here for you, my beloved.”

He smiled, gently caressing your head, “Of all the souls in Hell, I know that the most, my dear.”

Your relationship with Vox seemed to come out of nowhere to those that didn’t know the past he shared with you. Velvette was the first to learn about his life with you before he died. He confided in her. At first she just wanted tea on his life before Hell but it ended up with her showing genuine interest. He had been pining for you even after his death. He wanted so desperately to confess how much he loved you. You never left his mind in his final hours and when he found himself in Hell, his heart broke. He feared that he would never meet you again. This fear pushed him into trying to get into relationships with people that had the smallest of reminders of you. You were an angel to him, the gentlest soul he’d ever met. He was sure that you would go to Heaven but when he saw you aimlessly roaming the streets of Hell, he rushed to meet you. You didn’t recognize him at first glance but the moment you heard his voice, everything fell into place. He, honestly, didn’t understand how you ended up in Hell. You had to remind him that you ran his “business” with him. His love for you blinded him from your heinous crimes, almost erasing it from his memory just out of adoration for you. He got such a massive ego boost when he learned you went on a bit of a rampage after his death that led to your execution.

It wasn’t long after your arrival that the two of you entered a honeymoon phase, constantly out on dates and always being at each other’s sides. After months of flirting, teasing and a multitude of dates, Vox finally asked you out. He was bad at romance more than he’d like to admit. Without Velvette’s help, he was definitely going to change his mind. The way he asked you out made you think he was going to propose. He had petals scattered on the floor and held the sweetest flowers he could buy in Hell. He was a nervous wreck waiting for you to arrive at the location he sent. The sight of him standing disheveled in front of a giant “Will you be mine?” neon sign made you burst out into laughter. But you said yes nonetheless.

Days passed after the argument. You were walking up to Vox’s office and as you got close you heard yelling. It was Valentino starting another fight. You started to run as soon as you heard glass breaking. When you reach the doorway you see Valentino aim a glass cup at Vox.

You grabbed his arm to stop him and raised your voice. “Stop! Valentino, that's enough!”

Valentino got angrier at your attempt to stop him and he pushed you off of him, knocking you down to the ground. “Don’t fucking touch me, bitch. You’re lower than me, don’t forget that.” He hissed. Vox ran to your side and helped you up.

You scowled at him as you held your head high, “I don’t give a single shit who you are. You’re a little bitch baby that can’t take no for an answer.” You spat back.

“What the fuck did you call me?!” He yelled and began to step closer to you. Vox blocked him from getting any closer.

“Val. Fuck off. I said no and my decision isn’t going to change.”

You saw Valentino raise his hand to hit Vox. Without thinking, you pulled Vox out of the way. You barely dodged his swing, his claw scratching your cheek deep enough for it to draw blood. You growled at him and slapped him across the face. It shocked all three of you. Your confidence faded once Valentino opened his wings, his face shrouded in rage.

In the blink of an eye, he had you by the throat. You instinctively held onto his hands, trying to pry his tightening grip on your neck. His hold alone left bruises on your neck. Before Vox could reach him, Valentino flew through Vox’s balcony. He used your head to break through the glass door, making you scream from fear.

“Valentino! What are you doing?!” Vox yelled, running after him.

“Aw, what?” He teased, “You’re telling me you really give a fuck about this bitch?” He laughed, menacingly. You struggled against him and managed to get a glimpse of how high up you were. “You loved me too, remember? Before her.”

“Put her down, Valentino!” He screamed, glitching from both fear and anger. His pleas received laughter.

“You’re turning out so pathetic and soft, Vox.” He grins, blood dripping from the side of his mouth. “I’ll put her down, just for you~”

Your eyes widened at his tone and knew exactly what was coming. You looked at Vox with tears in your eyes. The fear in his eyes broke your heart. His hand reached out towards you as if he could reach you. THe only thing you could do was smile at him. He couldn’t get himself to smile back, he could only stare at you. This exchange only fueled Valentino’s rage.

“V-Vox.” You croaked out, your voice hoarse from Valentino’s grasp. “I love y-”

Before you could continue, you were suddenly pummeling towards the concrete below you.

“No!” Vox screamed at the top of his lungs.

You heard his cry for you. You heard Valentino’s cackle. As you got closer to the ground, you relaxed your body and shut your eyes, accepting what was about to happen. And then you no longer heard anything. You didn’t hear the way Vox screamed and cried. You didn’t hear the hums of electricity that came before his power outages. You died from Valentino’s rage.

All power was cut off in Pentagram City. He heard your last words. He knew what you wanted to say. After the time you shared together, you had never told him “I love you.” because of your personal past. He didn’t need to hear you say it, you both knew how much you love each other. He didn’t know that you were finally ready to tell him you love him. He didn’t know he helped you get over your past. And he’ll never get to hear you say you love him. He’ll never hear your sweet voice again. He’ll never get to make up the time he lost with you. The only time he’ll be able to hold you again was to collect you from the ground.

His heart was shattered. It was obvious to everyone around him. Vox never left his security room. He locked himself in there and drank his pain away. He played the videos he had of you, looked at your photos and longed for your smile. He’ll never hear your songs, your jokes, your laugh or see your smile. He was alone again.

The only person that managed to get into his security room was Velvette. She did her best to comfort him and get him to clean up. Everytime she went in there, the entire room would reek of alcohol and grief. As cold as her heart was, the sight of him crying at your photos and videos broke her. She grew close to you when you first came. Her first impression of you was from Vox’s lovestruck stories and meeting you was a different ride. She understood why Vox loved you the way he did. She never spoke of it but she cried with Vox when you died. She was enraged. The only thing that stopped her from killing Valentino herself was the grief.

None of the Vees spoke to Valentino for months and that pissed him off.

Tag list: @froggybich @baizzhu @dickmastersworld @matrixbearer2024 

[daycourtofficial]

Hell was the journey but it brought me Heaven

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 1.9k | warnings: blood, gore

Summary: in the immediate moments following Beron’s death, Eris is determined to see to the needs of his court. His mate insists he takes a few moments to himself and bathe.

Note: this is a part of my gingerfucker series. The events of this fic follow in the immediate aftermath of ‘Cold was the steel of my axe to grind’

Author’s note: happy day 3 of @erisweekofficial !!

The sun had set, but just barely so. Your chest thrummed with the mating bond, but it felt different somehow, as if the new power radiating off of him leached into you.

The dawn of a new court.

You could feel that heaviness settling over your mate. The expectations, the guilt, the reservations. You didn’t know if the news had spread yet - to the outskirts of Autumn, to the other courts, to Rhysand. How did Rhys feel, now that Beron was dead? Did it change anything?

Eris looked different now. Exhausted, yes, but not the way you had come to know. As if the world had finally rolled off his shoulders to become someone else’s problem. He was radiating so much heat it was nearly impossible to stand too close to him.

Marigold and her sons had taken Flint’s body, moving him down into the cellars so they could clean and prepare his body for mourning. Eris had been upset that you had refused to allow him to go with them, using your body as a shield anytime you thought he might turn around and run.

“Er, you have to change. You have to be less bloody.”

Eris was unfazed at your words, annoyance in his chest at not seeing Flint’s body any longer. He’d get over it eventually.

You led him through the halls of the Forest House - once an immaculate display of wealth, not a speck of dirt or dust to be seen, now was a state of chaos. Broken chairs, overturned shelves, ransacked armoires. It was chaos incarnate - which made the site of Eris’s chambers even more startling.

They were pristine, the ward still effective at repelling anyone from entrance. It felt too clean. Everything had changed since this morning when Eris’s neurotic movements woke you. The only disturbance in the room was the unmade bed from when you had gotten up, as if the occupant had just gone about their day to day life.

Prythian has changed, your life has changed. But this room stayed the same in spite of it. Something about the room sobered Eris up, pulling him from his trance, as if the walls echoed with an itinerary.

“There is so much to do - advisors to speak with, we must send word that Beron has fallen-”

Your hand on his forearm gave him pause. “You may take a bath, High Lord.”

His mind quiets at the title - you were the first to officially call him by it.

High Lord of the Autumn Court.

Not merely a dream anymore. He had never played with the words before, never practiced how they felt on his tongue. It felt too much like a jinx, a childish superstition he couldn’t seem to shake. The name coming from your lips felt incredible, but it didn’t make him swell with pride the way the word ‘mate’ does.

“Sit, Er.”

Your hand pressed against his chest, right where an etching of a leaf adorned the armor. He sat on the edge of the chair, his muscles tensing and then immediately relaxing as they found the first sign of rest in hours. Eris felt unsteady in the chair, as if the furniture couldn’t hold the weight of all that he had done.

You knelt before him, quietly removing each plate, undoing each tie and gently laying the copper colored armor down beside you. He sighed at the relief, unaware or unfeeling of how tight each plate had been on his skin, the leather straps leaving indents in his skin.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, peeling each section of armor off as if it were glass fused to his skin. Each piece removed allowed for parts of him now visible, despite the layers of clothes, to be met by your fingers. You spent several minutes on each of his limbs, your fingers making slow, deep movements into the skin, as if you could reach to the bone and heal him.

He groaned at the ministrations, his body growing weary and aging as you sat before him. This night alone aged him a century it seemed. Despite his desires to rest, his body was buzzing with energy. It felt nearly impossible to sit still, as if every piece of his body were being removed and replaced with a newer, better version.

You slowly removed his gambeson - a deep green fabric that cushioned his chest from any harsh blows to his armor. You reached for the hem of the tunic beneath, pulling it over his head as he raised his arms. His skin was untouched beneath it, not a single bruise littering his pale chest. Removing the garb made his skin even warmer - you were practically sweating being near to him.

Your fingers moved lightly down his chest, making a jagged line tracing from mole to freckles as you slid down his torso toward his pants - you slowly pulled them down his legs, watching his face for any reaction. Once the pants reached his ankles, you tapped each ankle so he’d lift his feet, allowing you to move the pants away.

The armor did an incredible job at protecting his body - the only part of him that showed any hint of what happened today were his hands and his face. Maybe the new powers thrumming through him saw to his injuries.

You moved toward the bathroom, turning on the faucet for the tub before returning to your mate. He hadn’t moved, staying completely still, undeterred by his naked state.

“Eris, you need to take a bath.”

His head turned to you, a lethargic movement that offered no grace you had come to associate with Eris. You reached out a hand for him, hissing at the contact of his skin, but not letting go. You led him to the bath, which had filled in the slowness of his movements.

The bath was dark, the entire room devoid of light, Eris’s powers too drained to light it. No matchsticks laid anywhere in the Forest House - why would they? The bathtub was a dark pool of water, inviting the new High Lord as you led Eris into the water, stabilizing his arms as he put his legs in before sitting down. The water was cold, a shock to his nerves that had him suck in a breath through his teeth.

The cold sank into Eris’s bones, as if this bath was a renewal. He let himself slip beneath the water, everything so dark he finally felt free to let through the scream that had been building in his lungs. Becoming High Lord rewrote his entire body, every cell within him changed, but it was this bath that felt like the birth.

A liminal space. He was stuck in the in-between. Beneath the surface of the water, he was still in the before. Some part of him knew once he came back up, everything would be different.

His blood was boiling inside him, unsure how his organs weren’t being roasted from within. His scream echoed through the tub, emitting so much heat he was surprised he wasn’t on fire at this point. He was sure the water was boiling, the pain in his body almost too much to bear.

Until he came up for air. The second his head hit the surface, the screaming stopped. The pain stopped. He was glowing in that dark room, a deep blue color blinding in the darkness.

Blue flames burn the hottest.

Eris turned to find you moving about the bathing chamber, his entire existential crisis unnoticed by you. You were silent as you moved about the bathing chamber, grabbing all the necessary products and towels before returning. You checked the water, pulling your hand away quickly at how hot it was.

He watched as you quietly drained the water, allowing the first coat of grime and heat to be washed away down the drain before refilling the tub, your mate staying still the entire time.

With the tub refilled, you grabbed a cloth and gently began working it across his skin, inspecting him as you moved. His skin began growing cooler, the water and rags you used to clean him grounding him.

He was Autumn’s new High Lord, but he was still Eris, still your mate.

You hummed as you worked, a song the trees had been singing earlier that night. He smiled as his accompanying hum startled you, filling in the gaps of the song where your harmony laid.

He felt reborn, a lightness surging through him as if the Mother herself were giving him new life.

Before you could drain his second bath, before the two of you had to face the consequences of the past twelve hours, he shot his hand out, circling your wrist. There were a million things to consider - a coronation, official statements, word to the other courts, the family all being on the same page about what to say publicly. It would all wait.

“Thank you.”

A gentle smile was all he got in return, as well as a sharp tug on the bond between them. A million questions circled his mind, only realizing as you brought him back into his chambers that you were wearing a servant’s uniform.

What had the day brought you? Or, Eris corrects, what had you brought to this day? His beautiful mate, his equal in every way. Two sly foxes, except you never wanted the predatory title to be attached to you, always preferring to be false prey.

Gods help the fools who underestimate the two of you.

He searched through his wardrobe, finding exactly what he wanted: a bloodred jacket, the collar raised made his jaw look like a knife.

Now was not the time to appear too soft. The most turbulent time in a High Lord’s position is the first few weeks, and while he ached to just come out and say he intends to be different, he couldn’t in good conscious risk the people of Autumn like that. He intended to prove that he was different.

But to do that, he has to first appear strong.

He found a white shirt, quickly throwing it on before hopping into a pair of dark brown trousers, tucking the shirt in. He didn’t have time for a corset, opting for a red vest with gold embroidery instead.

After lacing his boots, he sat up in the chair ready to go, but your fingers in his hair stopped him. He felt you put the crown atop his head - he hadn’t even realized you had pulled it off - the thing practically sinking back into Eris’s skin, happy to be reunited with its master.

Eris stood up, the crown and regalia reminding him of who he was. It was like Eris had been underwater the whole day, stuck in a trance, only now coming up for air, the question slipping from him without his intention.

“Why are you in servant’s clothes?”

“I will tell you all about it once you return.”

The new powers coursing through his veins reinvigorated him, while you felt yourself crashing with each passing moment.

He nodded, knowing full well whenever he returned you’d likely be asleep, tucked away in his bed chambers. The thought pulled a smile from him as he bent down, placing a kiss on your lips.

It was soft and sweet, full of a promise he knew he could make: I’ll be back.

Millions and millions of small decisions had brought him here, to a life he never thought possible. He stood on the precipice of his future, looking out over the edge, no idea of what was to come. With his first step from his chambers, he walked off, trusting for once that everything had a way of working out.

One cannot appreciate Heaven without having lived through Hell.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears 🫶🏻

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

[iaure]

𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2: 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 CW: self-awareness, stalking, obsession, delusion, ptsd, mention of a brother's death, thoughts of kidnapping. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N. Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ heaven have mercy on my simple soul. we might have another dearest series on our hands, but for miguel. god. jesus. i made this in one (1) day. it's two am.

wc: 1.7k

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.

Miguel knew that feeling all too well. Gabriella faded away in his arms, a flash of technicolour and geometric shapes. An entire world, falling away and escaping from him, like grains of glass as fine as sand but still so colourful. That's what kept him moving. He never wanted someone to make the same mistake. But he was only a man. he couldn't be alone in the isolation of his own making forever. He built up those walls, praying he'd have the sense to never knock them down. But brick by brick, other people did. First was Jess. She was his friend, his sister in arms. Then Peter, then a thousand other faces and names and hearts and morals and everything that made Spider-Man, Spider-Man. They each took a brick, as though it was nothing. It was just by pure chance that she was the one to take that last brick. She was a new addition. Friendly, witty, quick on her feet. Just like everyone else. Another Spider in another place and another time. Another in a million, another clone, another warm body as fodder. But when Jess brought her to him, Miguel knew; she was one in a trillion.

She had stood next to Jess, firm, with a thousand yard stare like she'd been digging around Miguel's soul and yanking out her favourite bruises. Harrowing was a good word for it. Her estranged brother, a captain in the police, had died. She looked like she'd seen Hell. Fresh bruises, scarring, her suit torn in some places...and she stood tall.

"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."

Jess spoke softly, a hand on Y/N's shoulder. Her breathing was steady but her eyes had glazed over, completely tapped out to the situation. Miguel felt his heart tug. He knew what it was like. Everyone did. Most Spiders were sad, upset, but she simply seemed...angry. Furious, even. Like if Miguel made a move towards her, she'd chew him up and spit him out. He'd seen people try to tame horses before, ones that would buck and kick and neigh until someone's leg was broken. It was like Jess was doing that. The one hand on Y/N's shoulder, keeping her in place.

"Miguel?" Jess spoke up, and he came out of his haze. "Are you listening?" "Yeah." He nodded, quietly clearing his throat. "Sure. Get her a watch." Jess shared a look with Y/N, one that he couldn't quite tell the reasoning behind, but the glance of her eyes was enough.

Spider-Woman of Earth 7290 took the last brick.

He'd see Y/N around, walking around the Spider Society and speaking with other Spiders. She seemed to hold that anger close to her heart, despite the other Spiders telling her that it'd get better over time. They'd healed, or got over it, or pushed it out of their mind. But not Y/N. She stayed mad. She stayed angry. Miguel understood that more than most. Mourning took time. So many had gotten over it after years. It wasn't fair to expect Y/N get it over it so fast. He didn't think so, anyway. After all, it was an anomaly that took her brother's life. A mistake. It had fallen off the proverbial map, but according to Jess, Y/N had 'handled it her own way'. Whatever that meant. Miguel didn't really care. All he worried about was her. Rather than just taking the brick off his walls, she smashed it in with a hammer and ran it over with a bulldozer. She had a wrecking ball to smash a single blue and red brick. And he hated it. Because what about Gabriella? What about his wife? Did their deaths mean nothing now? And how was this healthy? Granted, Miguel wasn't a healthy person. Not like that. But the sudden way his mind dedicated himself to her was absurd. Did it have to do with his DNA? With the spider mutation? Rapture? Mating season? There had to be an explanation. A cure.

But there was none.

Now, Miguel's mind was rotting away. He wished he could pry it open and take to it with tweezers, to prod out the parts that he hated. But his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, and he knew he didn't stand much of a chance anymore. It was all Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. Even just the faint, passing scent of her was enough to drive him up a wall that very much shouldn't exist. Passing word of her wellbeing made him tune into conversations he was never part of. He began to develop a seventh sense: touch, hearing. sight, smell, taste, spidersense, and Y/Nsense.-the uncanny ability to know when she needed help. Trademarked, owned by Miguel O'Hara exclusively. Peter once teased him about how Miguel would suddenly jump up and scoot over to the cameras, checking in on Spider-Woman 7290.

The teasing didn't last long when given way to the severity of the situation.

Gradually, Miguel leaned into it. If he couldn't fight it, then join it. Revel in it. Let his eyes linger on her frame. Let his waking hours resort to thinking of her. Let him suffer. He deserved it. He began to follow Y/N around. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. And sometimes, Miguel would see enemies-a Vulture here, a Doc Ock there-and he'd help when she wasn't looking. Little favours here and there began cropping up. Getting her groceries. Taking care of her cat. Fiddling with the gas for the car of the one creep that kept following her around that was so sure she was Spider-Woman. Granted, the creep was right. But he didn't know that.

(He did. Love comes in many shapes and forms.)

Y/N never seemed to notice. She was off, battling her own demons and fighting the good fight in her own world. She was good and kind and still angry but she used that anger so well, and Miguel loved her for it. She burned with the anger of a thousand dying stars. She was everything. When Y/N would stop by the Spider Society, Miguel made sure to look good. Brush his hair, brush his fangs, make sure his eye bags weren't too obvious, or if they were, then they looked good. He was trying to get her to like him, after all. Check to make sure his suit didn't have any tears or holes. Because Y/N was gorgeous. She could drag herself in with her guts spilling out like roadkill and he'd still think she's the most beautiful thing to grace the multiverse.

The beauty of delusion, he supposed.

He was aware how delusional this was. He knew how absurd it was that he saw her and fell immediately. Was this what happened in fairy tales? Is this what Prince Charming felt when he saw Cinderella? The world completely spinning the moment there's even a hint of her? The complete dedication of his heart to this woman that barely acknowledged him...someone who would only glance his way if it was a requirement. Y/N was cordial to him, but little more. And it made his heart ache. She spoke to Jess more than she spoke to him. It felt wrong. It felt cruel, like a tease, trailing up and down his spine but never providing relief. One word to him was ten to Jess.

Miguel refuses to admit it, to accept that he was willing to stoop so low. But there was a brief moment where he thought about hurting Jess. Or getting her on some mission that would take forever. Breaking her bracelet when she least expected it so Y/N would have to come to him.

He'd never act on it. He was sure of that.

If there was one thing Miguel was proud of for himself, it was his restraint. He had the unparalleled ability to simply...hold off. Another day, he'd tell himself. Next time, he'd self-assure. Then another next time. Then another. Until heaven knows how many next times it's been, and he's aching for her to even look at him, but why won't she glance his way? Why was she so cold? He's done everything he could. Just look at him! For god's sake, just fucking look at him! That's all he wanted! Five minutes with your eyes on him, your undivided attention.

But no. Another day, he said. Next time.

But maybe he could simply...take Y/N away. Her world was inconsequential. It'd be easy to take care of any villains. He'd do it for her, single-handedly. She were everything. He could just keep her there, in his office, never allowed to leave. He could come back after a long mission to her loving arms, her warm embrace, flush to flush to flush to flush. He'd do unspeakable things just for her to trace the vague outline of his body with her eyes. If Y/N told him to kill, he'd do so without question anymore. Miguel barely had any control over himself.

The next time he saw her, it was while dealing with Miles. It was so much, all at once and never at all and undying and swarming his senses. It was so much that he didn't realise how much she'd been smiling at the two teenagers, how sweet her gaze got, the gentle touches and warm laughter and how Gwen and Miles looked up to her.

He didn't know Y/N had a soft spot for kids. And he found out most vividly when she was the first one to help Miles escape, blocking off what must've felt like half of the Spider Society with the same undying rage, now spent on protecting her new friend, the child she called such sweet things. That she saw as her own.

Miguel felt his heart shatter when he had to take her down. The way she fell into the floor, limp and dangling like she was nothing more than occupied space. His heart was wounded, wailing like a dying dog. She picked the newcomer, the anomaly, over him. Him, her one true love. Did it matter that she'd known it yet? No. It only mattered that she helped Miles escape.

Lord, he thought. I worry that love is violence.

[kentoavenue]

grateful - gojo satoru

"whatever you're thinking of, save it for tomorrow. go to sleep."

you release a heavy exhale, before pulling your arm from under your pillow and flipping over, eyes meeting stark blue ones.

you've always been mesmerized by how sky-like his eyes are, but even more so when even with the lights off, they still manage to glow. as if heaven itself lied behind those orbs.

satoru is blessed, you think. but you feel even more blessed than him for being the only one who gets to see him like this—so at peace and laid bare for you.

"you're not asleep either," you reply with half-lidded eyes.

you're tired, sure, but there was no way you'd find sleep anytime soon. not with the war waging in your head right now.

"tell me what's going on in that beautiful head of yours," satoru says, bringing his hand up to tuck back a lock of hair behind your ear. he rests his hand there, too.

you suck in a quiet breath, not sure how to proceed.

ever since he came back, you've been holding him more dear than usual, afraid he'd slip past your fingers again. you don't tell him that, though. sure, he knows it anyway, but saying it out loud seems like it'd jinx everything to hell again.

"i'm thinking of you."

he blinks up at you, silver eyelashes fluttering against his eyelid. god, he's beautiful.

"what about me?"

you should be grateful.

grateful that you have the strongest as your other half. grateful that he doesn't need to look over his shoulder. grateful that you never had to truly worry if satoru was going to make it home some nights.

grateful that unlike most other sorcerers, satoru never had to walk hand-in-hand with death. grateful that death hasn't knocked on his door even when the world fell to chaos. grateful that he's still here with you, breathing and warm and alive.

but you're not grateful tonight. not with the battle he's announced in several hours.

you don't want to say it, but you say it anyway, "don't be a hero."

a silent pause, before, "baby, you—"

"no, let me say it, satoru. i have to say it out loud," you whisper.

his hand leaves your cheek and slides down to rest above your waist. you relish the feeling as much as you can, commiting to memory the weight and warmth of it. you wish you two could stay like this forever.

"okay," he nods, shifting closer.

it's quiet enough that you can hear your own heartbeat, maybe even his, and you hope he can hear them too.

"i would never tell you not to go and save megumi," you start. you hesitate for a moment, but continue, voice quivering ever so slightly. "but you have to remember your life means just as much."

satoru's listening, but doesn't say anything. instead, his hand finds yours and he brings the back of your hand towards his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"thank you for worrying about me, but you can stop now."

"are you hearing me, satoru?" your fingers grasp his tighter, a silent demand for his full attention. he gives it to you. "i'm asking you to please come home tomorrow night."

"i will, baby." he plants a quick kiss on your nose. "i'm the strongest, or have you forgotten?"

you clench your jaw slightly, wondering if you believe him or not.

you decide you don't. not enough.

but you're not going to ask him to promise you anything either. not when he already carries so much burden alone. not when you know how easily promises get broken as of late.

"i just—." you pause to look at him, really look at him. and you pray to god that you remember each and every delicate feature of his. every flaw, every dip, every scar. "i just want you to remember that i love you, always. and i won't make you promise it, but i hope with every piece of my soul that i see you tomorrow. and the day after. and the day after that, too."

satoru huffs out a short laugh, lips pulling apart to form a smile.

"you underestimate me, again." he plants another kiss, to your forehead, now.

"i'm not," you murmur.

"yeah, you are." he raises both your hands, fingers intertwining in the air. "you're underestimating my abilities, you're underestimating how much i love you, and most of all, you're underestimating the lengths i'd go to just to come back home to you."

it's not often that the satoru gojo shows raw emotion, but... here he right now doing so. he's offering you his still beating heart in his hands—and you take it. you swear you'll keep it safe with you forever.

"just—when you're out there, remember i love you, more than anything."

you're holding satoru's gaze intently, before his' drop to your lips, then back up again.

"and i love you even more than that, my girl." satoru presses one last kiss, to your lips this time. “i’ll make it home to you, i swear it.”

[burningembers91]

Keeping Hope Alive - Baek Kang-Hyuk x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

War-Torn Love

Synopsis: Baek Kang-Hyuk can see you've lost hope. But he never gave up on you, and he's not about to let you give up either.

Please note this storyline will deal with issues of PTSD, and negative body image issues.

Kang Baek-Hyuk couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d spent two years tirelessly searching for you, dreaming of your face almost every night. He tortured himself every day over the decision to let you leave, to allow the medical helicopter to transport you to safety without him on board. He’d needed to stay behind, to provide support to the soldiers and refugees still on the ground. But the choice had broken his heart, ripping him in two as he watched the helicopter leave with you.

He’d closed himself off after that, refusing to open up to anyone else. He’d never had the chance to tell you how much you meant to him, had never been able to tell you that he’d fallen in love with you. Despite the constant violence, death and bloodshed, he’d found a slice of heaven in the midst of hell. But it wasn’t meant to be then, and apparently it wasn’t meant to be now.

He didn’t know why you were ignoring him. Why, after you’d both been searching for each other, you decided you no longer wanted him. He supposed he couldn’t blame you; two years was a long time to go without seeing someone, and circumstances change. Maybe he didn’t mean as much to you as you did to him. But you seemed cold and distant, and Kang-Hyuk wondered if you despised him for letting you go.

He'd tried to talk to you so many times, but you’d give some polite, generic excuse and walk away. He noticed that you walked with a limp now, and that some days were worse than others. He could see the pain contort your features; your beautiful face screwed up in agony. He’d known your injury had been bad, had seen firsthand the severe blood loss and trauma to your leg caused by the car bomb. He knew it would be an injury that would stay with you for life, but he didn’t realise you’d still be suffering like you were.

You found it hard to avoid to Kang-Hyuk; he seemed to be everywhere you were. You’d lost count of the number of times you’d had to hide round a corner or shuffle off to the bathroom when you saw him coming down the hall. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him, didn’t want him to see the shell you’d become.

But he noticed. He could blatantly see you were still suffering both with the physical and mental scars your time in Afghanistan had left. he wanted to ask if you were getting help, but he could never keep you around long enough to ask.

It was a mercifully quiet day in the hospital when Kang-Hyuk found you struggling with a pile of boxes. He was supposed to be attending a budget meeting, but you were more important than a bunch of bureaucrats arguing over money. “Let me,” he smiled, picking up two of the boxes with ease. “You don’t need to do that,” you huffed, annoyed that you’d been caught looking weak. You hated people thinking you needed help, even when you clearly did. You felt like people pitied you, the silly, frail girl with the limp.

Kang-Hyuk ignored your protestations, carrying the boxes into your office while you sulked in after him. Putting them down next to your desk, he turned and closed the door. For the first time in two years, it was just you and him, alone. “What the hell are you doing?” you snapped, “open the door!” The last time you’d been in a room this small together, you’d come so close to making love, your hands tearing at each other’s clothing, his lips trailing softly down your neck. But that had been in another lifetime, one that didn’t exist anymore.

“I just want to talk,” he begged, “please. Why wont you talk to me? You won’t even look at me.” “It’s complicated,” you whispered, slumping down at your desk. You didn’t even know where to begin, didn’t know what to say to him. Kang-Hyuk had been everything to you once upon a time. “Then tell me so I can try and understand. Are you angry with me? Is it because I put you on that helicopter? I did it to save you!” “What?” you shook your head, your heart breaking at the sadness etched onto his chiselled features. “No, it’s not that. I could never be mad at you. you saved my life, and I am forever grateful to you. It’s just…” You looked down at your leg, and Kang-Hyuk slowly began to understand.

“I’m not the person you knew anymore,” you whispered, a single, fat tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t even recognise who I am anymore.” He wanted to hold you, to take all the pain you were feeling and shoulder it himself. He hadn’t realised the pain you’d been in, and seeing you cry broke him. “I want to get to know you, I want to know the person you are now,” he pleaded. “I loved you so much, I still love you.” “You don’t know me,” you whispered, “not anymore.” You shifted in your desk chair, the movement causing pain to shoot through your leg. You cried out, gripping the table as you waited for the wave of pain to pass. “Does it still hurt?” he asked, crouching down next to you. “May I take a look?”

“No!” You turned away from him, embarrassment and shame suffocating you. “I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine,” he said softly. “Please let me help.” “Kang-Hyuk.” His name on your lips was the sweetest sound, reminding him of the times you’d whisper his name as he kissed you in the darkened hallways of the makeshift hospital. “I really don’t want you to look, ok? My leg, it’s beyond repair. And so am I.”

“Don’t say that.” He hated seeing you like this, so shattered and fragile. “I can help you.” “You can’t fix everyone, Dr Baek,” you smiled sadly. “Some people are just broken.” “But you don’t have to stay that way,” he insisted, “If you won’t me look, let someone else take a look at your leg.”

You laughed bitterly. “What, so they can see how fucked up I am and tell everyone else? No thanks.” You opened an email and started replying, hoping that if you ignored him, he’d get the message and leave. But he didn’t. Kang-Hyuk was stubborn, and he wasn’t giving up on you. You sat in steely silence until his phone rang, calling him to an emergency in the trauma centre.

“I’m not giving up on you,” he told you as he turned to leave. “I will never give up.” You might have lost hope, but Kang-Hyuk knew he could save you. He just needed to bide his time.

[vidavalor]

This is the face of an angel who just realized that his oppressors are afraid of him and his friends because, together, they are a force that threatens the regime.

This is the face of an angel that just realized all of this Metatron nonsense is to separate them and keep him-- the best strategist-- from starting a revolution. If they are split up, The Second Coming goes off without a hitch... but if Aziraphale unites them, then Heaven will fall. Crowley & Aziraphale alone are enough trouble together to stop Armageddon. Crowley & Aziraphale with the eons-long leaders and commanders of Heaven and Hell in Gabriel and Beezelbub, though? That is a coup.

How little would it take to overthrow it all at this point? How long until it's Crowley & Aziraphale & Gabriel & Beez... & Muriel & Eric & Furfur? How til they get Michael and Dagon on their side? How long until it's actually most of the demons and a sizable portion of the angels teaming up against what's left of Heaven?

Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. Aziraphale took the coffee. The Metatron thinks it means subservience. He thinks it means he's tricked Aziraphale and that he's won and he was almost right, so is the level of trauma these beings have suffered. He didn't know, though, that coffee is already coded as liberty. He handed Aziraphale a cup of symbolic freedom and didn't realize how so very true that was going to be. Just like a certain empire once did when they gave some of their people the option to form some colonies, thinking that the empire would always remain in control, and now we call those colonies not part of Great Britain but The United States of America.

"Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks leap out"-- the Job quote on the matchbox. The matchbox containing the fly, containing Gabriel via Beez. Out of Gabriel's mouth goes burning lamps-- Gabriel lights the way. He's the path forward. He is first shots fired in the rebellion...

...and sparks leap out.

Some Boston Tea Party stuff afoot, you guys.

That is the face of an angel that just realized that he and Crowley were both wrong: the solution isn't running away but it's also not taking over a broken system that doesn't want to be fixed... it's fanning the spark that Gabriel lit into a flame and then into an inferno and burning this entire mother to the ground.

Aziraphale is no longer headed to Heaven to run it.

He's headed to Heaven to *overthrow* it.

He's headed to Heaven to *liberate* it.

No idea how much of a chance he will get to succeed alone but this is Aziraphale. He will give them hell if it's the last thing he ever does-- for Muriel and all the angels like them. For all the persecuted demons. For the humans Heaven wants to destroy. For Gabriel.

Most of all, for what they did to Crowley and the 6,000 years of fear and pain they've put them through.

That is the face of an angel who just realized that he had almost been drawn back into Heaven's web of darkness again, only to hear that Heaven wants him to oversee the destruction of 8 billion people and the Earth he calls home and the stars the love of his life built and he has reached his absolute last remaining straw.

They've taken his home and hurt his friends and they took *Crowley* and at this point, Aziraphale no longer gives one flying fuck what it might be that God wants because God can go fuck herself if this it is. The elevator scene is Aziraphale saying Crowley was right:

That angel is *untethered* with barely controlled rage. They nearly played him for a sucker. He might die doing this and they fooled him and he broke Crowley's heart and they've taken too. Fucking. Much. It's just utter destruction. There will be no system of Heaven and Hell done when Aziraphale is through with it.

Aziraphale is about to go from not sure if he should stop Armageddon in S1 to being the angel that destroys the system of Heaven and Hell in S3.

Yes, you can save everyone, Aziraphale, but not alone. You need Crowley's imagination and Gabriel's leadership and Beez's intelligence. That's what they're afraid of. You finally got it in that elevator, so get up there now, get your gang back together, and make some trouble.

[starsofang]

soul collector ghost x reader || pt.2

more thoughts on reaper ghost!

just as ghost's job entailed, he took you to the so called paradise that one achieves after death, but he found himself doing it begrudgingly. ghost was absolutely not one that formed attachments to souls, much less so quickly. his job was to deliver the lost souls to what humans liked to call heaven, or in some cases, hell, and it had been that way for centuries.

so why was he hesitant to send you off to the very place you'd rest in peace, and with that little cat of yours you had requested him to take with you?

it was a dangerous game that his mind was playing. soul collectors didn't have feelings, nor did they have the ability to grow fond over souls they encountered on their jobs. yet when ghost took you to that oasis, leaving you behind to spend your days in content, he found himself mulling over you as the days went on.

visiting couldn't hurt, right? so that's what he did. and boy, it was a mistake.

he was falling for you. you, a dead woman with an entire life that got stolen from her, where you were residing peacefully with the company of your beloved cat. the supposed heaven was much like regular life for humans, except without the danger, the angst, the pain, the love.

what would the gods think of little old him, a reaper with a skull for a face, all bone and no skin, falling for a soul that belonged to them? it had never been heard of, and for him to feel the way he did, he thought perhaps he was broken. he'd spent centuries in this line of work. hell, he didn't even know if he, too, was a living person before he was what he is now. maybe time had eroded away his cold, dead heart, and he just wasn't fit for any of this anymore.

how could he not fall in love with you, when you danced around in your newfound home, cat bundled in your arms as you sang a song he didn't know the tune of?

how could he not love you, when you always greeted him with a blinding smile that could melt away the coldness in his heart, and a voice as sweet as candy giving him a "hey, ghost!" every time he came?

just like now, while you sat with your cat in your lap and your eyes staring in awe of the heavenly skies with him standing rigid beside you, he knew there wasn't a single thing in his mind that could ever convince him that he didn't have the heart to fall for you.

ghost knew he was royally fucked, both with himself and with the gods. he wasn't meant for this life of falling in love, and his creation was made solely against that. yet somehow, you managed to crawl your way into his body and soul, nesting there permanently with no plans of evicting.

you were like a virus that was slowly rewiring the workings of his mind, burrowing yourself so deep, it'd be near impossible to recode you out.

"are you enjoying it here?" he asked you then. while your eyes remained focused on the golden rays that filled the sky, his were locked on to you. he took in the slight shimmer in your eyes, one he had never seen before in someone dead. he noted the quirk of your lips, the way they curled at the edges and exposed perfectly aligned teeth.

"oh, absolutely," you told him back with that damned smile of yours. "but I enjoy it a lot better when you visit."

ghost had never felt his chest flutter before, but he swore, it was as if a cage of butterflies had been released, filling him up with the foreign feeling of giddiness.

"that so?" he hummed, continuing to plaster on the void of emotions he had grown to do over his time as a reaper. "suppose I'll have to visit more often."

and when you turned to finally look at him, it would've taken the breath out of his lungs if they functioned.

"I'd like that," you agreed, and just from that confirmation alone, ghost decided he was willing to risk everything he had, everything he had ever been created for, just to see that smile everyday of his eternal life. gods be damned.