zacharyleigh316 - Tumblr blog

zacharyleigh316 · 7 months ago

Text

Reblogging this with more tags in hopes more people see it 🙏

Radio Healed the Morningstar

Radio Healed the Morningstar | M | 3.7K | Read here (or below cut)

Lucifer remembered falling like it was yesterday. It was emblazoned on the back of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. Lucifer wished he could remember what it was like to get a full night's sleep instead. Perhaps a little 'radio' is just what he needs.

Lucifer woke with a start, heart pounding like a beast against the cage of his ribs. He let out a sad, pathetic whimper, muffled by his palms, as he buried his dampened face within his hands. It wasn’t the first time he had awoken suddenly in the middle of the night over the course of several days previous, the dark bags underneath his eyes—a stark contrast from the porcelain color of his skin—evidence of just how little sleep he was actually receiving, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. The remnants of that dream flashed on the back of his eyelids, and Lucifer knew what it truly meant to be haunted.

He tossed the covers aside, hooves softly clicking against the wood finished floor as he swung his legs over, just barely stumbling out of bed, and made his way over to the balcony doors. Each step was like trudging through molasses, his body screaming in protest, singing an unholy chorus of phantom pain, each and every one of his limbs dissonant and out of tune with one another. He still remembered that day like it was yesterday. Could still feel the flames licking and biting as it crawled up his arms and legs, engulfing him and singeing every last bit of hope he had left, as his holiness, too, went up in flames. The day Lucifer fell.

At least back then, he had Lilith. They were both tossed into Hell together, a couple of lost sovereigns cast out of their only home, meant to rule over a broken world with people just as broken as they were. Or so, he first thought. Those first few hundred years weren’t great, but they were good. They were together, a family. They still had love. And Charlie being born was one of the best days of his life, and he’s love a long fucking time. He could easily recall the feeling, seeing her for the time, hearing her beautiful cry, could imagine watching her grow and accomplish great things, and yet…it only made it all the more blatantly obvious at the deep rooted sadness that seized his heart, even back then. Maybe Lilith could tell, maybe that’s why she left. Left Hell, left them…left him.

Lucifer swung the balcony doors open, the curtains flapping in the breeze, and collapsed under the weight of it all. He clutched desperately at the rungs of the railing to catch his fall, and sobbed as he looked heavenward, up at the dark red night sky of the Pride ring. The concrete beneath his knees was warm, even in the twilight hours as it was, because this was Hell, they were in Hell, not Heaven, and oh how he ached.

He pried his fingers from the railing, and curled into himself, claws digging into the pale flesh of his upper arms, from where they were wrapped around his stomach. The flash of pain was a relief as much as it was a reminder of where he was, and everything that had transpired to get him here. More images flashed through his head without permission, and if he hadn’t the constitution of an angel, Lucifer would’ve been sick. Even now, he was overcome with nausea from the overwhelming grief, and throwing up would have been letting himself get off easy.

No, instead he had to be addled with the picture of his burnt, damaged body crumpled onto the ground of this hellscape, like a meteor shooting through space, just before it catches into earth’s orbit, and begins to plummet into its atmosphere. A falling star, a morning star.

The absolute terror he experienced, especially as his body transformed. It had all happened so fast, but in the moment, for Lucifer, it felt like an additional lifetime. Fingernails growing into claws, ash like charcoal fur up his arms and legs sullying what was once all white, like he was fucking dirty, feet morphing into hooves, bright, crimson horns sprouting from his head…it hurt, it hurt so much, both mentally and physically, and clearly he was never the same afterwards. In more ways than one.

It wasn’t the first time, either, that he asked himself ‘why’ or ‘what did he do to deserve this, truly’, but Lucifer refrained from speaking those aloud anymore. After all, he was a prime example of what happened when you started to question things, when your ideals, your values, your very hopes and dreams, were against Heaven’s.

And now he was alone. He had nothing. Heaven may not have killed him, but they succeeded in taking everything that gave him life. Sure he was staying at his daughter’s hotel, and sure he could be wasting away back in his own home where there were only memories to keep him company instead of the guests and staff (read: Charlie’s friends) at the hotel, but he didn’t share the same faith in the sinners as she did. He couldn’t see the good in people with free will, and perhaps that was Heaven’s design, their ultimate goal, but he couldn’t help the longing, the homesickness. He missed it. He had no wife, no dad, no brothers and sisters…and when it came down to it, Charlie didn’t really need him either.

Being the King of Hell was, in actuality, a punishment, a mere flashy title with no real substance and born from circumstance, rather than the glamorous role most people assumed it was.

In fact, most days, Lucifer felt like he was drowning.

Most days, he let himself sink.

He brought his upper two wings up and around his shoulders, the lower two sets draped along his back and lying down flat behind him on the balcony floor, like a heavy, weighted blanket of down feathers. It was only a slight comfort, however, the barest hint of light in the dark despair of his solitude, a less-than-holy angel damned to a hellish plane…how fucking poetic. Such was his life now; forever seeking whatever sliver of salvation allowed him a moment of relief, of peace.

All this shit was always on his mind, millennia of time compacted into this pea sized vessel, it was no wonder he was in a near-constant state of being overwhelmed.

Which is probably why, as Lucifer cried and lamented, he didn’t notice the tall, slender shadow creeping up the wall behind him, his guard considerably lower given the vulnerable state he was in.

“My my, what do we have here!” Spoke the voice of the literal last person Lucifer wanted to hear from right now, radio static crackling, and drowning out the sound of his sobs.

“A king who’s feeling down and out when everyone is asleep. Are you lonely, sire?”

Lucifer tensed as Alastor stepped closer, now acutely aware of the demon who emerged from within the shadows, and tightened the hold he had around himself, feeling more traitorous tears slip from his golden eyes.

Alastor, the prick, was leaning forward, angled toward Lucifer, head cocked with that permanent, shit eating grin on his face, arms behind his back, and Lucifer had no doubt he was probably relishing in this depressing image, feeling awfully smug at his less than ideal appearance.

“Oh dear, seems like I’ve hit the nail on the head! Hmm, how sad!”

Lucifer’s eye twitched, the stupid radio filter, and that equally as stupid accent, already starting to grate on his nerves. Everything that came out of that fucker’s mouth practically dripped condescension, and he was positive Alastor made it that way on purpose. He loathed it.

“Was Husker a naughty pet, and got your tongue, your majesty?”

“Why are you here?” Lucifer muttered, not rising to the bait, nor having the energy to.

Alastor’s eye twitched then—good, thought Lucifer, at least he had a similar effect on the other—not getting the reaction he was hoping for, but, aside from the flare of radio static, the smile stayed firmly in place.

“Oh you know,” the Radio Demon shrugged, standing back up straight, “just making my rounds of the hotel, sire! Need to make sure everything is in tip top shape for our darling Charlie, and all the guests.”

Alastor blinked, pausing for another reaction from Lucifer, and then, and only then, when he didn’t get the reaction he wanted for the second time, did the smile drop slightly, showing just how much he, too, had gotten under the Radio Demon’s skin.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed, and Lucifer couldn’t help the little swell of vindication at the slight screech of radio.

“Pardon?”

“I asked why you were here. In my room.”

“Why, of course! My apologies, your majesty. I was simply passing by, when the sounds of your blubbering made it to my ears, that’s all.”

Lucifer snorted. “So what? You decided to be a creep and enter my room without permission?”

“Certainly not, my king, I would never! Besides, this is technically the balcony of your room, sire.”

“Right.” Lucifer sniffed, and glanced over at Alastor, before rolling his eyes.

Wasn’t that the same thing?

“Well you can go now. Unless you feel like gloating some more, or whatever. But if you want to use this as blackmail, you’re shit out of luck.”

“And are you aware that it’s well past the witching hour, your majesty? What does the King of Hell have to be sad about I wonder?”

Lucifer laughed bitterly, and looked over at Alastor with thinly veiled contempt, not even caring that, at this angle, his damp, tear streaked face was on full display.

“Is that a serious question?”

“It was.”

At the lack of radio filter, Lucifer’s eyes widened, properly taken aback by how earnest it made Alastor seem; they didn’t do this, talk. Not about anything, and certainly not about feelings. Their ‘relationship’ was founded upon passive aggressive jabs and insults thrown back and forth and made to sting. Not whatever it was that the demon was offering to the fallen angel. They didn’t care about each other, or share pleasantries.

“Oh.” He said rather dumbly, at a loss for words.

Alastor took a few more steps forward, heels clicking against the cement as he went, and leaned his elbows on the top of the balcony railing, looking out at Pride City down below. Lucifer followed his gaze, and imagined all the depravity and debauchery that could be taking place, even as late (or early) as it was.

“This,” Lucifer began, voice small, “was not what I had pictured when I gave people free will. It seems ridiculous now, that I’ve managed such a vast oversight, but I believed in them too once.”

“Do you feel they’ve let you down, sire? That we’ve let you down? Us wayward sinners?”

“Uh, you’re literally a serial killer.”

“Mm, true!”

“But out of all the shitty things sinners have done to get down here, no one has fucked up more than I have. I thought I was doing a good thing, and Heaven cast me out for it.”

Alastor chuckled, the radio static flaring up again, and Lucifer shot him a glare.

“What about any of that was funny?!”

“Apologies, your majesty, but am I correct in assuming that you’re so…out of sorts because you feel that you’ve failed Heaven somehow?”

“Uh, I did fail Heaven, and that’s why I’m down here, you dick. What part of that did you not understand?”

“Oh, I understand!”

“Really? Well sorry if I don’t believe you, because I don’t think you do! Besides, it’s more than that.”

“Hmm, that so? Enlighten me then.”

“Maybe I will!” Lucifer snapped, furiously wiping away his tears.

For the second time that night, he thought about how good of a laugh Alastor was probably getting at his current state; Lucifer figured that, with his red, puffy eyes, and his more than rumpled appearance, from where he was still curled up on the ground, he must have looked pretty pathetic, even to, if not especially for, a psychopathic murderer who wore way too much red literally always.

“I don’t expect you to understand, sinner, but it wasn’t just my home that I lost. I lost my family, my brothers, my sisters. My wife left me, and my daughter? My daughter is this brilliant, kind hearted, amazing woman who definitely doesn’t deserve to have a terrible father like me. She doesn’t need me! Not like I need her maybe? And that’s just worse! I-I mean,” he laughed hysterically, shaking his head.

“A parent is supposed to be there for their kid, and I can’t even be there for myself! I’m lonely, and depressed, and it isn’t just about Heaven. I’m a failure. At being a father, a husband, a king…an angel.”

He blinked away the fresh tears welled up in his eyes, and pulled the upper two wings over his head.

“I-I can’t seem to do anything right.” He whispered, wondering if he sounded as broken as he felt, not sure if Alastor even heard him.

But in the quiet of twilight, the Radio Demon heard, and hung onto, every word.

“I can’t even sleep half of the time, or if I do get some sleep, it’s only a couple of hours at best, because I’m always constantly thinking about everything and I don’t know how to turn it off!” Lucifer continued, raking his fingers through hair and tugging.

“I inserted myself into my daughter’s hotel because I’m desperate for connection, and yet, I don’t want her to know how much I’m fucking dying inside. I didn’t see or talk to her for years because I intentionally isolated myself, since that was somehow easier than the alternative of her realizing how much I actually suck, so she rejects me, before leaving me too!

And I, haha, get this, I make rubber ducks to fill the void of emptiness that Heaven left behind when they cast me out, and it’s like, what the fuck is this all even for?! I’d like to know! I created free will, because I had hopes and dreams and believed in people, and somehow that was so wrong that now I’m stuck in this limbo where, I’m too holy for Hell, yet too damned for Heaven, and talking to anyone about anything makes me anxious so that’s a no-ho-oh can do!”

Alastor raised a brow, and it was then that Lucifer realized he had somehow transformed into his demonic form at some point during his rant. He flicked his now crimson, albeit still tear-filled, gaze up at the Radio Demon, and the radio static hummed, Alastor’s ears twitching curiously, as if he was contemplating what to do with such a sorry, miserable sack of shit.

Alastor’s own red eyes glanced up at the flame between Lucifer’s horns, and then further up still, to the serpent and apple. Lucifer couldn’t help but shift under his piercing gaze, feeling naked and raw and ripped open, flayed beneath hot coals, and it made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being the center of Alastor’s attention…at least, not when they weren’t at each other’s throats.

That was normal. Lucifer was used to that.

The movement brought Alastor’s eyes down, down, to where Lucifer’s tail was thumping anxiously against the ground, in a soft, quiet, rhythmic patpatpat, and he was loath to admit that the twitching of Alastor’s ears was kind of endearing. It was a strange thought, not that this whole interaction thus far wasn’t, but the rest of him was so…creepy and off putting that those fluffy deer ears stood out in stark juxtaposition.

Not that Lucifer had any right to comment, given his current state.

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed aloud, suddenly breaking the silence, startling Lucifer out of his thoughts, “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you, sir.”

“What?”

“I think you fit in here quite nicely, your majesty. Sure Hell is hardly the nicest place to be, nor is it where you thought you’d end up, but that’s exactly why you belong!”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, and Alastor continued.

“I’m looking at quite the formidable enemy, and regardless of your station in…Heaven,” the Radio Demon shuddered, vitriol mixed with crackling static in his voice at the word, “you’re revered here in Hell! That’s not nothing, my king.”

“You…y-yeah?”

“You may look down on us sinners, but most of us enjoy being here, and having you as our king. You, whether it was your intention or not, granted us the freedom to belong somewhere, where we might not have otherwise fit. Sound familiar?”

“That…actually does.” Lucifer agreed, and though Alastor looked smug, smile and all at the confirmation, it didn’t bug the fallen angel like it usually did.

Alastor was making him…feel better. In his own, round about, fucked up way. But fucking hell if it wasn’t effective.

“Indeed. And your daughter, she’s doing a great thing here, sure, but it only works if your people actively seek redemption. And there are those who don’t belong here, but that’s hardly on you! After all, you’re as much of a victim to the system as the rest of us. The hotel only works to ensure that those misjudged are returned to the proper place! You aren’t special.”

There was a pleasant buzz in the radio filter, and Lucifer couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sound. Alastor was far too pleased at the king’s receptiveness to his…god forbid pep talk, though Lucifer surmised Alastor was mostly proud to have gotten an insult in there, and gotten away with it.

“Never did I think that you of all people telling me I’m not special would actually work, but somehow it does.” Lucifer snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hmm, why of course, your majesty! I’m here to serve.” Alastor grinned, doing a little bow, but it was anything but out of respect; Lucifer supposed there were limits.

“You are a guest here after all, and it’s my duty as this hotel’s faithful hotelier to make sure all its residents are happy and their stay is satisfactory.”

“Right…”

Alastor extended his radio staff out toward him, and Lucifer took it, having the other help him up, and guide him to the balcony railing.

They stood beside each other, in complete silence at first, but it was, dare Lucifer say, amicable. Charlie would be so proud.

“You may sovereign over Hell, and it may be terrible most days, but there’s a beauty in it, even, if not especially, despite the circumstances.” Alastor continued after a moment.

“Good cannot exist without bad, nor can light without darkness. You happen to be the bridge between both.” The filter was barely there, and Lucifer was once again surprised by how much of himself Alastor was showing him.

“And without one or the other, how would one be able to tell which was which, I wonder? If someone was good, and truly well and good, how could we decide that, if there weren’t people who were, in turn, wholly bad? We all have that potential in us. That is true free will. You gave that to us.”

Lucifer looked out at the expanse of Pride City, and could honestly say he was seeing it in a whole new light.

“Wow.”

Alastor chuckled. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

Lucifer looked back at the Radio Demon, only to find him already looking back. Their eyes met, and Lucifer swallowed against a lump of emotion in his throat.

What the fuck… he blinked, and slowly his demonic form receded, back to his original form.

Alastor cocked his head to the side, a much more gentle, and less tasteless, smile on his face.

“Feeling better now, sire?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so? Yeah.”

“Perfect! You know, your majesty, for someone who embodies the Sin of Pride, you ought to show it more! It’s hardly any fun to make fun of you when you do it yourself.”

“Thanks…?”

“You’re welcome! You just need to give yourself more credit, sir. Look upon the last several minutes, for example: you had an entire conversation with someone, me: the Radio Demon, and proved to yourself that, although you may feel like you’ve been abandoned, you are not alone. Congratulations!”

Lucifer grimaced. “Ugh, you’re so weird.”

“Mm, maybe so.”

“But, you…did help. So thank you.”

“Anytime!”

“What? You’re actually offering to keep me company?”

“Perhaps.” Alastor shrugged, smirking.

Lucifer sighed, exasperated at the, rather annoying if he said so himself (and he did), vagueness in Alastor’s answers. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just be straightforward, but that was just one of the Radio Demon’s quirks, Lucifer supposed.

A jaunty, jazzy little tune started then, and before Lucifer could question it further, he yawned, and felt his eyes droop, growing heavy with oncoming sleep. He’d almost forgotten how tired he was before all this.

Lucifer stole another glance over at the Radio Demon, and realized that it was him who the music was coming from. Alastor was humming.

The King of Hell couldn’t name it, the particular song, but it sounded so nice, a word he hadn’t thought he’d ever associate with Alastor in the same sentence. But if this night told him anything, it was that there was more to everything than met the eye.

Guess he just needed to look harder. Maybe he could even apply that to himself. Hell, if Alastor saw the good in him, he could too.

“You should get back to bed, your majesty.” And, not for the first time that night, Lucifer had to agree with Alastor.

With a small, sleepy wave goodbye, and a tired, muttered goodnight, Lucifer trudged back into his room, got into bed, and promptly, uncharacteristically, fell back asleep.

Alastor disappeared back into the shadows once the King was settled, and when Lucifer awoke the next morning, an old timey, but beautifully antique, radio sat upon his nightstand.

‘For your insomnia’ the note on it said. And Lucifer fucking smiled.

He played it for himself at bedtime that following night, and, for the first time in a long time, sleep came, gloriously uninterrupted.

#radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer #lucifer x alastor #asexual alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel

1 note · View note

zacharyleigh316 · 7 months ago

Text

Radio Healed the Morningstar

Radio Healed the Morningstar | M | 3.7K | Read here (or below cut)

Being the King of Hell was, in actuality, a punishment, a mere flashy title with no real substance and born from circumstance, rather than the glamorous role most people assumed it was.

In fact, most days, Lucifer felt like he was drowning.

Most days, he let himself sink.

All this shit was always on his mind, millennia of time compacted into this pea sized vessel, it was no wonder he was in a near-constant state of being overwhelmed.

Which is probably why, as Lucifer cried and lamented, he didn’t notice the tall, slender shadow creeping up the wall behind him, his guard considerably lower given the vulnerable state he was in.

“My my, what do we have here!” Spoke the voice of the literal last person Lucifer wanted to hear from right now, radio static crackling, and drowning out the sound of his sobs.

“A king who’s feeling down and out when everyone is asleep. Are you lonely, sire?”

“Oh dear, seems like I’ve hit the nail on the head! Hmm, how sad!”

“Was Husker a naughty pet, and got your tongue, your majesty?”

“Why are you here?” Lucifer muttered, not rising to the bait, nor having the energy to.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed, and Lucifer couldn’t help the little swell of vindication at the slight screech of radio.

“Pardon?”

“I asked why you were here. In my room.”

“Why, of course! My apologies, your majesty. I was simply passing by, when the sounds of your blubbering made it to my ears, that’s all.”

Lucifer snorted. “So what? You decided to be a creep and enter my room without permission?”

“Certainly not, my king, I would never! Besides, this is technically the balcony of your room, sire.”

“Right.” Lucifer sniffed, and glanced over at Alastor, before rolling his eyes.

Wasn’t that the same thing?

“Well you can go now. Unless you feel like gloating some more, or whatever. But if you want to use this as blackmail, you’re shit out of luck.”

“And are you aware that it’s well past the witching hour, your majesty? What does the King of Hell have to be sad about I wonder?”

Lucifer laughed bitterly, and looked over at Alastor with thinly veiled contempt, not even caring that, at this angle, his damp, tear streaked face was on full display.

“Is that a serious question?”

“It was.”

“Oh.” He said rather dumbly, at a loss for words.

“Do you feel they’ve let you down, sire? That we’ve let you down? Us wayward sinners?”

“Uh, you’re literally a serial killer.”

“Mm, true!”

“But out of all the shitty things sinners have done to get down here, no one has fucked up more than I have. I thought I was doing a good thing, and Heaven cast me out for it.”

Alastor chuckled, the radio static flaring up again, and Lucifer shot him a glare.

“What about any of that was funny?!”

“Apologies, your majesty, but am I correct in assuming that you’re so…out of sorts because you feel that you’ve failed Heaven somehow?”

“Uh, I did fail Heaven, and that’s why I’m down here, you dick. What part of that did you not understand?”

“Oh, I understand!”

“Really? Well sorry if I don’t believe you, because I don’t think you do! Besides, it’s more than that.”

“Hmm, that so? Enlighten me then.”

“Maybe I will!” Lucifer snapped, furiously wiping away his tears.

He blinked away the fresh tears welled up in his eyes, and pulled the upper two wings over his head.

“I-I can’t seem to do anything right.” He whispered, wondering if he sounded as broken as he felt, not sure if Alastor even heard him.

But in the quiet of twilight, the Radio Demon heard, and hung onto, every word.

That was normal. Lucifer was used to that.

Not that Lucifer had any right to comment, given his current state.

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed aloud, suddenly breaking the silence, startling Lucifer out of his thoughts, “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you, sir.”

“What?”

“I think you fit in here quite nicely, your majesty. Sure Hell is hardly the nicest place to be, nor is it where you thought you’d end up, but that’s exactly why you belong!”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, and Alastor continued.

“You…y-yeah?”

“That…actually does.” Lucifer agreed, and though Alastor looked smug, smile and all at the confirmation, it didn’t bug the fallen angel like it usually did.

Alastor was making him…feel better. In his own, round about, fucked up way. But fucking hell if it wasn’t effective.

“Never did I think that you of all people telling me I’m not special would actually work, but somehow it does.” Lucifer snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hmm, why of course, your majesty! I’m here to serve.” Alastor grinned, doing a little bow, but it was anything but out of respect; Lucifer supposed there were limits.

“You are a guest here after all, and it’s my duty as this hotel’s faithful hotelier to make sure all its residents are happy and their stay is satisfactory.”

“Right…”

Alastor extended his radio staff out toward him, and Lucifer took it, having the other help him up, and guide him to the balcony railing.

They stood beside each other, in complete silence at first, but it was, dare Lucifer say, amicable. Charlie would be so proud.

“You may sovereign over Hell, and it may be terrible most days, but there’s a beauty in it, even, if not especially, despite the circumstances.” Alastor continued after a moment.

Lucifer looked out at the expanse of Pride City, and could honestly say he was seeing it in a whole new light.

“Wow.”

Alastor chuckled. “Beautiful isn’t it?”

Lucifer looked back at the Radio Demon, only to find him already looking back. Their eyes met, and Lucifer swallowed against a lump of emotion in his throat.

What the fuck… he blinked, and slowly his demonic form receded, back to his original form.

Alastor cocked his head to the side, a much more gentle, and less tasteless, smile on his face.

“Feeling better now, sire?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so? Yeah.”

“Perfect! You know, your majesty, for someone who embodies the Sin of Pride, you ought to show it more! It’s hardly any fun to make fun of you when you do it yourself.”

“Thanks…?”

Lucifer grimaced. “Ugh, you’re so weird.”

“Mm, maybe so.”

“But, you…did help. So thank you.”

“Anytime!”

“What? You’re actually offering to keep me company?”

“Perhaps.” Alastor shrugged, smirking.

Lucifer stole another glance over at the Radio Demon, and realized that it was him who the music was coming from. Alastor was humming.

Guess he just needed to look harder. Maybe he could even apply that to himself. Hell, if Alastor saw the good in him, he could too.

“You should get back to bed, your majesty.” And, not for the first time that night, Lucifer had to agree with Alastor.

With a small, sleepy wave goodbye, and a tired, muttered goodnight, Lucifer trudged back into his room, got into bed, and promptly, uncharacteristically, fell back asleep.

Alastor disappeared back into the shadows once the King was settled, and when Lucifer awoke the next morning, an old timey, but beautifully antique, radio sat upon his nightstand.

‘For your insomnia’ the note on it said. And Lucifer fucking smiled.

He played it for himself at bedtime that following night, and, for the first time in a long time, sleep came, gloriously uninterrupted.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel ficlet #radioapple #lucifer x alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #queer platonic relationship #asexual alastor #depressed lucifer #explicit language #emotional hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #my work

1 note · View note

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

Pickle Fic Links

Links to pages of a fancomic about Blitzø getting his hand stuck in a pickle jar. Also featuring Stolas.

oh dear

Have you been crying?

I don't want to be alone right now.

That's what she said!

Fuck these pickles

If there's something you want to talk about...

OK!

I wish you would tell me

I'm ok.

Horse show

185 notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

my new otp 🤭. human stolas and blitz as utena and anthy from revolutionary girl utena!

remember that i do commissions. speedpaint of this picture below follow me on linktr.ee/ginny.wings

459 notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

This idiot be thinking he did/will change everyone’s life for the worst. Not realizing he did actually changed everyone’s life for the better.

9K notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

No not all 👀 in fact I hate it 👀

I don’t think I care for Pansexual man X horny Twink that invades his boundaries

2K notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

Next time you're listening to "Look My Way" and fighting back tears at the sheer scope and beauty of the song, remember that Stolas is sobbing and absolutely pouring his heart out about this guy:

6K notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

it’s been a long time since i last posted here and honestly i didn’t think i would come back to it but here we are! i’ve draw this little fella and it was so fun! i used his sister as a reference and tried to analyse and mimic the show’s character design! I am no professional but i did my best!!

8K notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

A Moment in the Sun

[This is my first attempt at helluva boss fic, so please enjoy a soft, short little thing about sunlight, rest, and trying something new <3 it was inspired by this beautiful artwork, and my constant need for soft stolitz]

“Man, I didn’t know sunlight could feel this good,” Blitz said, leaning back on his hands and turning his face upward.

Stolas shielded his face with one hand and looked at him affectionately. The light was almost blinding to his eyes, so well-suited to studying more distant stars.

“Darling, you're up here every week,” he said.

Blitz waved this away, eyes closed as he enjoyed the warmth of the living world's sun. “Yeah, but I'm always trying to kill someone. Kinda hard to smell the roses when some asshole is trying to shoot your dick off.”

Stolas smiled. “I suppose that's true.” Blitz did look more relaxed than he'd seen in a long time. The discomfort of the searing sunlight was a small price to pay for that.

He smoothed out a corner of the blanket they were sitting on and looked around at the earthly greenery around them. He'd been lucky to find this secluded little spot, a grassy hill that rose high enough above the surrounding trees to afford them a beautiful view of the sky. He’d brought Via here a few times to stargaze, and he was happy to share it with Blitz now.

He turned back towards Blitz to find him halfway through stripping off his shirt. Color rose immediately in his cheeks as he watched the movement of Blitz’s back muscles under his skin.

Blitz noticed him looking. “Don't get any ideas, birdbrain. I'm not getting grass stains on my ass for you.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, letting the sun warm his back. He really was lovely in the sunlight–the dark gloss of his horns and spines, the striking contrast of white and red–and Stolas couldn't help but stare.

He stroked one finger down Blitz’s spine, slow and deliberate, enjoying the way Blitz relaxed under his touch. Then Stolas just brushed the base of his tail, and he felt him go very still.

Oh? That was something new. He started again, this time tracing from between his shoulder blades to a few inches down his tail. There was no mistaking it this time. The moment he reached it, Stolas heard his breath hitch.

“Is everything alright, darling?” he asked innocently, one finger still drawing short, delicate lines along his tail's base.

“Yep, fine,” he snapped, too quickly. Stolas fought back a smile. Blitz liked to think of himself as cool and hard to read, keeping his true feelings hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and thoughtlessness. But there were moments when he fell open like a book, secrets exposed to the world. Stolas cherished every one. He drank in the sight of Blitz’s spines lifting along his back, his cheeks flushing faintly, his head tilting just slightly back as Stolas continued to run his hand further down his tail.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, his fingers circling around Blitz’s spines, “it makes sense that imp tails would be rather sensitive. I'd never thought of it because my own is just feathers.” Blitz had turned half-around now, watching Stolas with his mouth slightly open.

Happy to have his attention, Stolas lifted Blitz’s tail into his hands and began to wind it between his fingers. “But yours is functional, rather than simply ornamental.”

He could hear Blitz carefully pacing each breath, trying and failing to seem unaffected. Stolas let another few inches slip through his fingers and smiled at the way his next measured inhale became an unsteady gasp.

“It grasps and curls,” he continued, “it probes and responds.” He reached the very end of Blitz’s tail and gently cupped its pointed barb in his hands.

“It can bristle in anger…” His voice was reverent as he bent his head down.

“...or shiver in ecstasy.” He pressed a kiss to the center of the barb and felt a thrill run through Blitz’s whole body, mirroring the excited flutter of Stolas's heart.

The next thing he felt was his back colliding with the ground as Blitz tackled him. Stolas laughed, his breath only slightly impeded by the imp now straddling his ribcage.

“Fuck you.” He tried to look stern, but he was already fumbling with the buttons of Stolas's shirt.

“Darling, I believe that's your job.”

Blitz’s tail flicked a sharp reprimand against Stolas's thigh. Then he tangled his sun-warmed hands in Stolas's hair feathers and swept him up into a kiss.

66 notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

If I had a nickel for every time a Hellaverse father was a depressed, lonely, wacky little guy, who is sort of alienated from his daughter due to circumstances but is trying his best, then I’D HAVE THREE GODDAMN NICKELS GODDAMMIT VIV I’M ALREADY SO ATTACHED GIVE ME A BREAK

15K notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 9 months ago

Text

the haunting cry of a hollow heart

the haunting cry of a hollow heart | E | 8.6K | Read here (or below cut)

Castiel, despite his interest in all things other, despite his favor for the fantastical, his love for reading stories and fairytales, despite his faith and religion, he didn’t believe in the supernatural. --

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. --

He believed in the afterlife, believed in God, angels (he was named after one, after all) and demons, Heaven and hell. But that was where his belief both started and ended. He didn’t believe in those creatures the very stories he loved to read warned him about, the creatures that shape-shifted, or sucked humans dry. The creatures that feasted on dead flesh, or came from other lands, other universes.

Though, regrettably, much to his chagrin, perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have been so unprepared. However, less regrettably, it did put him in the position of crossing paths with a man who, by all accounts would have never known he’d existed, a handsome athlete who ran in completely different crowds—or so he presumed originally—a man who he only knew in name until the very object of his disbelief brought them together.

Castiel was working late in the library that night, when he heard Charlie’s bright voice greet him from a distance.

“Yo, what’s up?” She had a grin on her face, of which he could hear before he even saw her.

Not that it was very hard, even over the stacks of books he was carting around, and through the thick bindings of ones already shelved, her bright red bob could be seen coming across campus.

“Charlie.” He said in lieu of a proper hello, but his tone was no less fond.

“Look at what I found.”

Castiel didn’t have time to ask before she was thrusting a piece of paper to his chest, a smug look on her face.

“And by found, naturally you mean…” he asked skeptically, pulling the paper away from himself and reading it.

“This is a flyer for the gala. The same flyer that’s been posted to the events billboard since the beginning of the semester.”

“Okay, so I might have taken-“

“Pilfered-“

Charlie playfully shoved his shoulder, and shot him a glare, without any of its usual bite, had it been directed toward anyone but him.

“-Taken,” she repeated, purposefully ignoring his correction, “from one of the boards, yes, but there’s so many of them, it’s not like they’ll miss one.”

Castiel hummed disapprovingly, but let her continue.

“I thought we could go!”

At that, Castiel furrowed his brow. “Go? To the Valentine’s Day gala?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it'll be fun. We’ll stuff our faces with free food, and watch people get shitfaced and make fools of themselves on the dance floor. Think of all the blackmail.”

“And with whom are you thinking of bringing as your date?”

“You, silly, duh! We’ll go together. As friends of course. Because you’re dreamy, but definitely not my type. Seeing as you’re not a girl.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You’re not my type either.” He muttered, handing her back the flyer.

The ‘seeing as I like guys’ went unsaid, but Charlie smiled anyway. They both knew this of one another of course, having been friends since freshman year, when Charlie bounded into his life uninvited but no less welcome, but Charlie liked to bring it up every now and then, “as a reminder” she had said once, flourishing it with a wink. Though, it was her odd idiosyncrasies that made her so likable by even someone like Castiel himself—not that he was entirely lacking in those either, except, people usually steered clear of him for his.

“And who knows, maybe there’ll be some hot people there we can hit on. Wins all around the board.” Charlie added jovially, taking the flyer back, only to wave it about the air as she gestured excitedly.

“You make it sound like we’re already going.”

She smiled at him guiltily, and Castiel couldn’t help but sigh.

“Charlie…”

“Don’t be mad, okay? Promise you won’t be mad?”

“That depends. What did you do?” He asked, though by the look on his friend’s face, he was certain he already knew the answer.

“About that…I…might have already…bought us tickets. To go.”

“Charlie…” Castiel said again, not bothering to hide the weariness in his voice.

“You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“Actually I said it depends. But that’s not the point. You never asked if I would want to attend.”

“Well, that’s because I knew you’d say no.” Charlie snorted, not looking all that sorry for it.

Castiel knew she wasn’t.

“You don’t do anything fun unless we make you, and this is me making you. Besides, you can’t say you’d rather be working late hours in the library of all places, all by yourself, again, when you can be hanging out with the coolest people on the planet! And you know I’m right.”

Castiel sighed again, this time in, albeit reluctant, acquiescence. Not that Charlie would take no for an answer, anyway.

She grinned at the droop of his shoulders, knowing full well that was him giving up the fight. The queen, per usual, proved her right to the title; Castiel was no stranger to loss when it came to arguing with Charlie. He was certain no one was. She got her way in the end, eventually.

“Fine.”

“Yes! No one deserves to be alone on Valentine’s Day, Castiel. Even jaded history majors with a work study in the university library, such as yourself.”

“I’m not jaded,” he defended, turning back to his long since forgotten task of shelving the returns. “My people skills are just…rusty.”

“Unless they learned to talk back, which would be super cool by the way, burying yourself in work with books as your only company isn’t going to help.”

That, Castiel surmised, was a lesson he knew all too well.

Ever since her reveal that they would be attending the gala, courtesy to none other than herself, Charlie hadn’t shut up about it. Every chance she got she talked about it with the excitement erring on that of a small child, that Castiel couldn’t help but allow it to bleed into himself, despite his earlier grievances. He still had his doubts of course, feeling rather under qualified for a social occasion such as a dance, but it really did beat staying in library, or worse, in his dorm, all by himself, with nothing to do whilst his friends had fun living life—he’d also rather not have to hear the couple in the room beside him have raucous sexual relations all night. He, too, has learned that lesson the hard way.

“We should go shopping this weekend, make it a whole thing.” Charlie suggested to the table, before stealing some of the fries off Castiel’s plate, having finished her own minutes prior, and popping them into her mouth.

Gabriel snorted. “What makes you think we don’t already have outfits?”

Meg, who was pretending not to listen, but so clearly was, looked up from her phone with a smirk. “We’ve all seen inside your closet, that’s what.”

“I’ll have you know that everything in there is peak fashion.”

Meg raised a manicured brow. “To whom exactly? The dead guy you inherited it second hand from?”

“Hey! Thrifting is very efficient, and cost effective. You know, for a college student.”

“You’re a graduate student, mastering in business management, I hardly think you need to be frugal.” She argued, and Gabe crossed his arms, pouting.

“Cassie, you’re just going to let her be mean to me?!”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Meg didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Gabriel gasped, looking thoroughly offended. He shook his head, and sullenly turned back to his own food.

“Don’t worry, Gabe, we’ll pick something real nice for you. Oh, we can even do a montage!”

“Sorry, Red. You may be able to get me to tag along at the mall with you, but I’m not going to be participating in that.” Meg said defiantly, her mind already made.

“But…montage.”

Gabe scoffed, muttering into his lunch. “Forget trying to convince this one, Charles, she’s stubborn. Like a mu-OW!”

Meg glared at Gabe, who was now rubbing his shin, from across the table. “Finish that, and die.”

“We’ll be there.” Castiel said suddenly, interrupting his friend’s antics. “Unless you’d rather show up naked.” He said this to his brother.

“Ew. Don’t give him ideas.” Charlie scrunched up her face in disgust, and Gabriel let out a laugh.

“Hey! There’d be a lot of people who’d enjoy that kind of show.”

“In your dreams.” Meg said, at the same time of Castiel’s, “not if it got you kicked out.”

“You lot are so boring.” Charlie whined, finishing off Castiel’s fries too. “Regardless of whether or not you guys are doing a montage, I’m making you watch me do one.”

The four of them set out that weekend to go shopping for outfits, and, although they shared their initial reluctance at lunch all those days prior to their outing, Charlie did, in the end, get her montage(s). Castiel, despite feeling foolish whilst modeling his various selection of outfits—all chosen meticulously for him by Charlie and Meg because he “couldn’t be trusted to put together a coherent look that both fit properly and wasn’t a boring color”—couldn’t have denied his red headed friend in the first place. By the two additional shows they got alongside his and Charlie’s, he figured it was much the same for Meg and Gabriel too.

Castiel wouldn’t be incorrect in presuming that Charlie already knew this, but he’d be damned if he told her that she was right, that he had fun, of course he did, in time that would have otherwise been spent in solitude brought upon by no one but himself, lest he inflate her ego any further.

With four new outfits under their metaphorical belts, they left their shopping spree in good spirits. It was only natural then, that the overall good mood wouldn’t last, and the playful camaraderie established between the friends would change the second they got back to campus, to blue and red flashing lights.

“What…do you think happened?” Charlie asked, her expression mirroring what Castiel was sure all their faces looked like in that moment.

He shook his head in lieu of answering, and swallowed down the bile rising in his throat.

As they neared the quad, they merged silently with the ever growing group of onlookers, most of whom were peers and faculty, whispers amongst the sea of people seeming all too loud over the eerie blanket of quiet. The cops, separated from them only by a thin barrier of police tape, stood just along edges of the area they cordoned off, no doubt keeping the crowd at bay. They offered no explanation, though Castiel could barely make out the murmured “stay back”s over the dread in his gut.

He did hear the sharp inhale beside him, however, that was Meg, he was certain, closely followed by a gasp, Charlie, and when he looked over, he saw why.

There, lying just beyond, was a body.

The grass was dark, no doubt stained crimson from blood, and the large gaping wound, from where the skull was bashed in, from which could be none other than its source, was still seeping, still fresh. The eyes stared out, wide and unseeing, as Castiel stared back in abject horror.

That was when he saw him. Jaw set and arms crossed, just across the way on the other side, stood Dean Winchester.

The man looked determined, not surprised at all to see the dead body of a classmate, in fact, and Castiel couldn’t help but watch, watch as Dean seemed to assess, seemed to study the crime scene in front of them, as if he was filing it away for later. Castiel recognized that look, because it was one he shared whenever he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Dean looked up then, like he could feel Castiel’s gaze on him, and their eyes met. The moment they did, Castiel remembered—albeit rather shamefully—the way stomach flipped for an entirely different reason than the horrific sight before them. Gabe’s iron grip on his arm was the only thing able to pull his attention away, and so he took the time to check in on the well-being of his friends, but by the time Castiel got the chance to look back, Dean was already gone.

To say the suicide—it was classified as a suicide—stirred up the atmosphere on campus, would be an understatement. Castiel couldn’t remember a time where he’d felt so shaken in his faith, so rocked to the core, raw and open and vulnerable. It was on everyone’s minds, and on everyone’s lips, and it was all anyone heard about the next few days. They didn’t cancel classes, or work, the world still went on—even though their fellow classmate’s’ was cut short, Castiel reminded himself—everything proceeding as normal, as if someone hadn’t just died, and perhaps that was worse.

Castiel didn’t know what he expected, or why he thought it would go differently, but he prayed and prayed and prayed for peace for the lost soul. Still, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Nor could he get a certain cutting figure, but that was neither here nor there.

The very little information he had was acquired secondhand from the tail-ends of gossip, at work in the library. Apparently, or so the running theory was, the young woman, in a bout of madness, bashed her head against the tree until she dropped. Another student on their way back to their dorm found her and called the proper authorities. Castiel couldn’t imagine being the one to find the body, and he’d seen it for himself that night. He also heard that the woman’s boyfriend was beside himself with grief, most understandably, that not even he believed she would kill herself, that they were happy. She’d begged him to take her to the gala and he’d agreed.

Castiel also heard that her brains had been sucked out, but he was certain that was just hearsay; she had severe head trauma, after all, it probably only seemed like her brains were gone, when in reality they were just…well.

Shaking his head from his musings, if they’d even be called that, he got back to work, trying to lose himself in the repetitiveness of routine. Charlie had been unnaturally quiet the past few days, the dance quickly overshadowed by the recent events that transpired, and none of them felt it right to change the subject either. Castiel understood, for he was much the same, but he relished in being able to escape feeling for however long his shift was.

“Uh, hey, do you have any books on Gaelic mythology and folklore?”

Castiel paused what he was doing, and turned to greet the voice—definitely not Charlie this time—only to meet a pair of recently familiar, but quite beautiful up close, green eyes.

“Oh. Hello, Dean.” He said dumbly, but was rewarded with an amused smirk.

“Heya, Cas. Well, do you?”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “What.”

Dean chuckled. “Have books. On Gaelic folklore.”

Castiel inwardly cursed his ineptitude, and allowed himself to blink, forcing his basic motor functions to, well, function.

“Yes. We do. You know who I am?”

Dean regarded him curiously, brow raised. “Well, yeah. You’re friends with Charlie. We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting before, but she does talk about her other friends.”

“Oh.” He said again, finding himself at a loss for words.

Dean didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he still seemed rather amused by it, much to Castiel’s displeasure.

Instead of dwelling on it, however, Castiel abandoned his cart and gestured to Dean for him to follow, leading the other man to the section where he’d find what he was looking for.

“If you need anything else, let me know.”

He didn’t ask why an engineering student would need a book on Gaelic folklore, nor did Dean offer up an explanation.

“Awesome, thanks Cas.”

The nickname stole Castiel’s breath away with a familiarity he wasn’t aware they had, because they didn’t, not really—Dean was just friendly it seemed—also did he say he knew Charlie, she never said anything why didn’t she say anything—and he stood there, lingering longer than he should, awkwardly shifting in place.

“I’m…going to go��now.” He announced unhelpfully, and Dean had the decency not to comment on it.

“You do that.” He replied with a smile, and turned his attention to the shelves.

Castiel, released from whatever hold the other man had on him the second his gaze was elsewhere and no longer pointed at him, quickly made his way back to finish his work, lest he embarrass himself further.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Dean Winchester.” He grumbled to Charlie at dinner that night.

“Dean? He’s my handmaiden, of course I know Dean.”

Gabriel snorted. “Handmaiden?”

“There’s a story to that, I can tell.” Meg said, amused.

Charlie chuckled, a welcomed sound that the group hadn’t realized they missed until they heard it.

“There is, but I’m not telling. A queen’s gotta have her secrets.”

Meg clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and Gabriel groaned, complaining about “being edged, and not in the fun way” which promptly earned a smirk from Meg, a loud, boisterous laugh from Charlie, and a look of disgust from Castiel.

There was another ‘suicide’ reported that night.

Castiel was in the hall heading to his religious studies class when he next ran into Dean Winchester. He couldn’t fathom how he went his entire college career without so much as seeing a glimpse of the man, and now he saw him thrice in a matter of a few days. All because their peers appeared to be being picked off one by one.

There were now an accumulated three deaths since the first, and Castiel’s doubt had steadily increased right alongside the creeping uptick in body counts. He detested his wavering faith in the police, but there was only so many ‘suicides’ exacted in the same manner that they couldn’t be categorized as ‘suicides’ anymore. Two could possibly pass a coincidence, but three was a pattern; he knew that much. He had pondered, however, the reluctance in which the police seemed to label the ‘suicides’ as ‘murders’, but was only met with unease. For there to be murder, which Castiel was already (mostly) convinced was the case, would naturally mean for there to be a murderer.

But wouldn’t he want to know if his life was in danger? He wasn’t sure which option was scarier, but he was positive he’d rather be afraid and knowledgeable than ignorant but afraid anyway. So it was a dangerous doubt, Castiel surmised, since the only conclusion it led to was the authorities withholding the truth, regardless if it was due to their own incompetence or ulterior motives.

Dean looked furious, expression blazoned with a fierce determination, fiery and bright, even from the distance where Castiel stood. It was a devastatingly beautiful look on him, he noted sourly, seeing as his stupid heart couldn’t have picked a worse time to seek out another, and form a ridiculous infatuation that, Castiel knew, would go nowhere, regardless of their connection with Charlie.

He was talking with a much younger man, though, with the boy’s height, one wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, and immediately Castiel knew this was Dean‘s little brother, Sam Winchester—a freshman in pre-law. Castiel recalled seeing him about, since a lot of their classes were in the same building.

“I’m pretty sure I know what it is, I just don’t know who it is.” Dean growled, crossing his arms in a posing figure, much like the one on the night they first met.

“We’ll figure it out, Dean. We always do.” Sam reassured, looking all the worse for wear as he said it, however.

Like he was trying to convince himself too.

“Yeah, but how many people have to die before then, Sammy?” Dean replied wearily, a horrifying dark look casting a dark shadow across Sam’s face.

Castiel’s chest seized in terror as he witnessed it; he’d never seen such a look on anyone’s face before, a look that, with resounding clarity, should not have ever had a place on the younger Winchester brother’s face.

“Oh hey, Cas.” Dean greeted as he noticed his approach, shooting a look at his brother before his face slipped into an easy grin.

Castiel noticed he did so with practiced familiarity, as if he was used to putting on a mask, but didn’t mention it.

“Cas?” Sam questioned, at the same time Castiel himself said, “hello, Dean. Sam.” With a cordial nod.

Were they actually investigating the incident? What business did two brothers have in a series of deaths? What could they do that the police already weren’t?

He didn’t think it wise to ask them any of these questions either.

“Hey, Castiel.” Sam said with a little wave, a small, friendly smile smoothing out his expression the same way his brother’s did.

“Just dropping off my baby bro to class.” Dean lied, just as easy as the rest of him, and reached across to ruffle Sam’s shaggy hair.

Sam squawked indignantly, knocking Dean’s hand aside with a rising blush to his cheeks. Dean chuckled at his brother’s embarrassment, which was an action definitely more genuine than anything else previously had been. Castiel had experience with this, after all, being a little brother himself, to Gabriel especially.

“You heading off to one of your smarty pants classes too, Cas?”

Castiel raised a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I’m heading to my religious studies class, yes.”

Dean chuckled. “‘S’nothing, Cas. Just teasing you. Y’know, cuz you and Sam are both nerds, attending all your boring nerdy classes.”

Sam shot a glare at his brother, and Cas tilted his head to the side, curiously.

“Interesting. You seem to regard us as nerds, but you too are one. Perhaps not in the same way, but I would consider you a nerd most of all, considering your area of expertise.”

Sam snorted, his glare morphing into a smug grin as Dean spluttered. Apparently he had not expected Castiel to come back with such a lethal rebuttal.

“Damn, Cas.” Dean whistled, and Sam nodded his agreement.

“I’ve been telling him that for years.”

“Unfortunately I’ll be late if I stay any longer. Goodbye, Dean. Sam.”

He nodded his apologies as he said goodbye, and passed them by on the way to his class.

“See ya, Cas.” Dean said after him, before grunting in what Cas could only assume was an elbow to his side from Sam.

“Cas, huh?” He asked, amused.

“Shaddup!”

“I can’t believe we’re still going to this damned dance, after everything.” Meg mused, wrapping a long, thin section of her brunette hair around her curling iron.

Gabriel snorted, adjusting the cuffs of his creme colored blazer, as he stared at himself in the mirror. They were all getting ready in Charlie’s room, their hangout spot more often than not, since she bought out the double as a premium single (which meant more space and privacy), and could reasonably, and comfortably, fit them all. Though, Castiel shared the sentiment, and often wondered too, why they still planned to go.

It made him uneasy to think that it was just another excuse to sweep things under the rug and pretend everything was normal by the administration, since, aside from the plethora of grief counselors at their disposal, they hadn’t really done much in assuaging any actual grief by divulging in some sort of explanation why people were dying (read: being murdered, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, because people didn’t experience the same bouts of madness that drove them to suddenly kill themselves, all in the same exact manner as the one that succeeded them). He wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it himself.

Safety, Castiel thought sullenly, apparently came second to whatever the reason was for the university’s decision to proceed as if nothing happened.

He was also still unsure what the Winchesters had to do with any of it.

“You don’t sound too displeased.” Gabriel commented, smoothing invisible creases on his maroon turtleneck.

Meg shrugged. “Do I like that people are dying? Of course not. But I suppose being distracted by a dance is better than focusing on the fact that life is short, and death is inevitable.”

Gabe groaned, and Charlie made a sound of discontent.

“Okay, yeah, bummer. I mean, at least we have each other, right? It can still be fun…”

Meg grinned, cat like. “Oh I definitely plan to still have fun.”

“Get laid you mean?” Gabriel teased, which only emboldened her.

Meg turned around, arms opened wide as she presented herself, devastatingly gorgeous in a satin crimson dress, with a black, mesh overlay, and a, in Castiel’s opinion, leg slit dangerously close to her upper thigh. It left little to be desired, but he couldn’t deny she looked amazing in it. Of course it wasn’t a surprise to any of them, since she’d chosen this particular dress during their shopping trip, that seemed so long ago now, rather than just last week.

“Have you seen me? Getting laid is half the fun. The remaining survivors won’t know what hit ‘em.” She all but purred, and Gabriel shook his head.

“Can’t believe you’d think about sex during these hard times.”

“Oh, and you aren’t?” Charlie quipped back, and Meg laughed.

He was glad his friends could find light in the darkness, but it didn’t sit right with him to participate. He did have the heart to. It didn’t feel right, when a guy lost his girlfriend, and then another girl lost hers. When another person lost their partner right after. And then, just the other day, another guy lost his boyfriend. It didn’t seem like the right time for anything, let alone love.

“Clarence, you okay? You’re awfully quiet over there.” Meg asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I know it sounds kinda fucked up, but the situation is kinda fucked up.” Charlie added, reaching over to pat shoulder.

He loathed to be the one to bring down the mood so he forced a smile. “I know, it’s alright. I’m…okay.”

It was a lie, on every account, and they all knew it, but thankfully none of them pressed him further.

“Well, it’s settled then. We’re gonna go to the gala, just like planned, and we’re gonna have fun, stuff our faces, make fun of drunk people, and maybe get our flirt on.” Charlie said with a determined air of finality, and the rest of their group nodded.

“Are we all ready?” She asked, having been the first to finish, but looking nothing less than graceful in her fuchsia pantsuit.

Castiel looked down at himself, feeling a bit self conscious in black, slim fitting slacks, and a dusty rose colored dress shirt, his blazer a matching black with light, pink floral patterns, but both Meg and Charlie assured him when he tried it on, that he looked ‘hot’ in the outfit. He wasn’t all too sure he would have used those words, nor did he have desire to look ‘hot’, but he accepted the praise for what it was, and bought it with encouragement from all three of his friends.

He nodded reluctantly, and they all filed out of Charlie’s dorm, looking ready to take on the night. He tried not to imagine the walk to the campus ballroom as a death march to the gallows. Tried to ignore the impending doom settling deep in his gut, to think positive thoughts, about spending time with his friends having fun at the dance, what had been Charlie’s original selling point, when she approached him at work—which seemed like forever ago now—and proposed the idea of going to the dance in the first place.

He failed.

Castiel didn’t know precisely when it happened, but, at some point during the night, he and his friends got separated. He had excused himself to get some air outside in the hallway, away from prying eyes and warm bodies, tightly packed together on the dance floor, at cocktail tables, and hidden in not so secret corners.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, when the sound of distant thudding reached his ears, just under the sound of the music, like an undercurrent to the pulsing bass of whatever was playing in the ballroom.

At first, he attempted to ignore it, truly he did. But it continued, louder and louder and more aggressive; it was too far to discern anything, so, in what must have been a fit of insanity, for the serious lapse in judgment, he pushed himself off the wall and walked toward the sound, curiosity getting the better of him.

What Castiel witnessed then was no short of terrifying. He rounded the corner, and nearly lost all his breath, watching in frozen terror as someone bashed their head repeatedly into the glass window of a classroom, his knees almost buckling at the wet crunch of their skull cracking against the surface of the glass, icy fractures running up and out like veins in a splintered web as it, too, broke under pressure.

The person was crying, screaming really, hands cupped over bloodied ears, begging for someone to “make it stop, please just make it stop!” When, seemingly all at once, it did.

With one last sounding thump, they slid down to floor, smearing blood and brain matter against the pane of glass, and Castiel was helpless to do anything but watch, an unfortunate bystander to such a vile display, like an out of body experience that rattled his very soul, whilst his real, tangible body, this corporeal form, stay firmly rooted where it was.

But nothing, and he meant nothing, would have ever prepared him for the absolutely repulsive, ghastly looking, free-floating creature that materialized out of nowhere, before it stuck its long, equally repulsive tongue into the stranger’s head, and (honest to god) slurped their brains out. If Castiel thought what had just transpired was hard enough to stomach, it was nothing compared to watching this…this thing feast on someone who, only minutes prior, had been a living, breathing human.

Eyes wide and full of fearful tears, mind screaming at him to “move, just move, get out of here, run!” Castiel managed to take a step back. Unfortunately for Castiel, the movement was enough to rouse the monster from its food, dead, milky white eyes zeroing in on him and once again stealing his breath away. Choking on a silent gasp, Castiel had just enough time to see it unhinge its jaw, before he finally forced himself into a sprint back the way he came, stumbling only when an ear piercing shriek sounded from behind him, so loud it shook the walls.

An unnatural mist he hadn’t noticed before, sluggishly seeped from the tiled floor, surrounding his ankles, pouring endlessly up and out, creeping along the walls and pooling across ceiling, and out of it came the screaming beast, somehow right in front of him, blocking Castiel’s path. He cried out in pain as it screamed even louder, the sound reverberating in his skull, causing his vision to blur. He reached up to cup his ears, his heart lurching at the warm fluid he felt trickle against his palms.

He realized that, and perhaps a bit too late, but again with resounding clarity, that this was what had killed all those other people. That this was what was going to kill him.

“Hey, you ugly son of a bitch!”

Castiel snapped his eyes open—when had he closed them, he couldn’t remember—and watched the creature tear its attention away from him, snarling toward the intruder.

“Get away from him!”

Castiel flinched at the sound of a shotgun round, heard the shells clatter to the floor as the shooter reloaded, but was unable to look away from the thing in front of him as it dissolved into whatever before his eyes, just as quickly as it appeared. And yet, Castiel dared not take a breath, in fear that it would return because he had.

“Is…is it dead?” He asked, realizing the screaming had stopped, despite the residual ringing in his ear.

“Unfortunately, no. Only pure gold can kill these things.” Dean answered, guiltily.

“Right.”

“But not to worry. Rock-salt rounds are enough to stall them for a bit. Banshees take longer to recover than other spirits, so we have some time.”

Castiel said nothing, and Dean looked over at him, worry in his expression. He reached out, a comforting hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“You okay, Cas? I know that can be…a lot your first time.”

“First time?” Castiel muttered, brow furrowed.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean had the gall to appear abashed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Y’know, your first encounter with the…supernatural.”

Castiel hated how he noticed how good Dean looked, even like that.

“The supernatural…” he parroted, as if trying it on for size.

And suddenly it all clicked in place. He glanced down at the gun, a sawed-off shotgun to be precise, in Dean’s hand, the one that had been used to blast away the banshee. He’d called it a banshee, a spirit, a malevolent fae spirit, from Gaelic folklore. Dean came to the library asking for a book on Gaelic folklore. He’d caught Dean and Sam talking about the murders after that. He remembered the ease at which Dean wore his mask then, how the lie came as free as breathing. The fierce determination radiating from both men, a look that Dean held close to his heart the very moment their eyes locked across the quad on the night of the first, and one Castiel noticed every time they ran into one another thereafter.

“Cas?”

“Dean.”

“Y-yeah?” Dean furrowed his brow, looking a bit put out by the lack of tone in Castiel’s voice, probably because he couldn’t read the situation anymore, but mostly concerned for, and about, Cas.

“You were investigating. The deaths.” A statement, not a question.

“Uh, kinda? Me and my brother we…hunt the supernatural.”

Castiel recalled how comfortable Dean looked when using the shotgun, the speed in which he reloaded after taking a shot, and hummed.

“A banshee. Did you hear it too then? You knew what it was.”

“Not exactly. I knew what it was because of the nature of the kills. Only its targets can hear its scream.”

Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I heard it…”

“…”

Castiel opened his eyes, taking in the knowing look on Dean’s face, seeing the guilt and concern and anger—the latter not directed at him—there, all at once, wrapped into one gut wrenching expression.

“Am I going to die?”

“No.” Dean snapped immediately, sounding so sure that Castiel couldn’t help the flare of hope in his chest.

“Their screams are usually a death sentence, Dean. I watched…I watched that person get their brains sucked out. After they…killed themselves. It’s how the others died too, isn’t it?

“Fuck,” Dean cursed, shaking his head, “sorry you had to see that, Cas. It’s true I was too late to save them, but I will save you. I promise.”

Castiel didn’t feel like reminding Dean not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He really hoped that he could.

Castiel was in the middle of contemplating how mad his friends would be if he didn’t get to say goodbye, if he just left and disappeared without a word, when the walls of the hallway he and Dean retreated to (further, and at a safe distance, away from the ballroom) began to rattle. The lights flickered angrily, and the same mist from before returned, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Castiel heard its screams before anything else, however, and already knew it was back.

It materialized behind them, and all for Dean’s fast reflexes, he was still a tad too slow to react, and certainly felt it as his back made contact with the floor a good few feet away, after the banshee tossed him aside without even touching him.

“Dean!” Castiel called after him, only to be brought to his knees by the shrieking to his left, its rancid breath curling against his skin, and raising the hair on the back of his neck.

He grunted in pain, his ears ringing anew, and blindly struck out with the iron poker Dean had lent him, slumping when it, just as Dean said, disappeared. The relief was momentary, and it quickly reappeared beside Dean, who was still trying to grasp his bearings, looking downright pissed at being thwarted again.

“Son of a bitch-“ Dean’s curse was cut short, or rather, drowned out by another rattling screech, right in Dean’s face.

It reached out and pinned him down, and he turned his head, trying to wriggle out of its grip.

“Ugh! Ever heard of breath mint, lady?”

“Dean…” Castiel breathed, exasperated. He never ceased to be amazed by Dean’s tenacity to joke in the face of danger (literally).

Dean knocked their foreheads together, catching the banshee off guard, and managed to toss it off him, quickly grabbing his shotgun and taking a shot before it had time to recover. It exploded in a fiery cloud of whatever it was made of, and Castiel managed to pick himself up off of the floor, helping Dean up after making his way over to him.

“Thanks.” He said breathlessly, giving his hand a squeeze.

Castiel nodded, and didn’t fail to notice the way their hands lingered, before they dropped back down to their collective sides.

“Did you and Sam ever figure out why it’s here?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Our friendly neighborhood banshee is killing people because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous? Of whom?” Castiel asked, trying to make sense of it.

“Us. You know. Lovers, halves of a pair. Whatever. Guess Valentine’s Day stirred up some resentment, some bad memories.” Dean clarified with a shrug.

Castiel knew it wasn’t what Dean meant, when he said ‘us’, but he tried not to blush all the same.

“That’s why they were all people in a relationship?”

“Bingo. Banshees hunt in a particular place until there’s nothing left, and a college campus is basically a feast of couples, so our friend would have been well fed on us for a while, if it wasn’t for Sammy and I.” Dean sighed.

“Just wish we figured it out sooner.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, Dean. But if what you said is true, why is she after me?”

“Eh, you got in her way. That, or you’re in love.” He said wryly, and at that Castiel did blush.

“Plus Charlie told me she signed you all up for the gala. Everyone who died so far was on that list. Could be a coincidence but…” Dean trailed off and shrugged again, but shot a smile over to Cas.

“You look really good by the way. Sorry you got caught up in all this. You got all dressed up and now you’re missing the dance, trying to hunt a banshee with me. You didn’t even know this stuff existed until now, and all you’re getting out of it is a ruined outfit.”

Castiel snorted. “And my life. I think surely that’s worth more. Along with everyone else’s life. I couldn’t care less about an…outfit. It was nice though.”

Dean chuckled. “Makes sense.”

“Besides, I didn’t even want to go. To the dance. Charlie made me. My only regret is that I didn’t let her know where I would be. But would you believe me when I’d say I’d rather be hunting a banshee with you, than in there with all those people?

“What, not a people person, Cas?”

Castiel shot him a deadpan look that made him laugh, and, despite himself, Cas found himself laughing along.

“Yeah. M’not either. Not really. Sure I talk a big game, but there’s only a few people who I can be real with, y’know?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, when the light above them exploded, and the banshee flew into them, dragging them across the hall and throwing them into the wall on the opposite end of where they had been standing. They crashed into each other, the impact stealing all the breath from his lungs, and they tumbled to the ground in a pile, the banshee’s resounding cackle rumbling the building like an earthquake.

Castiel rolled off of Dean, looking sullenly at their weapons that had clattered to the ground and skidded across the tile just out of reach.

“Damn, this bitch is really getting on my nerves.” Dean grunted out, almost a growl.

“I think I’m starting to share your sentiment.” Castiel managed, glaring at the imposing figure of the banshee, as she floated above them.

This time, when she screamed, both Cas and Dean cowered away from the sound.

“Really wish I had a golden blade right about now.” Dean joked, and Castiel groaned.

“Dean!”

“Sorry.” He apologized, though he didn’t sound that sorry to Castiel at all.

The banshee reached out and grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket, as if reminding them she was there, and picked him up off the ground. He scrambled for purchase, struggling in her tight grip, but his efforts were fruitless, and, as she raised them higher, her screaming never faltered.

Castiel reached up, wincing as the pads of his fingers pressed against the weeping wound at his forehead, and shakily lowered them again.

“If you wanted a dance, all you had to do was ask.” Dean quipped, which worked well in keeping her distracted.

“But any more than that I’ll have to politely decline. Don’t believe the rumors about me, I need to be wined and dined a least once before I put out.”

With a vindictive screech, Dean went flying again, but this time he was expecting it, and tumbled out of his fall. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but it still impressed Castiel.

He managed to grab the poker, his shotgun stuck between him and the banshee, and swung it as she charged at him. The moment she disappeared, Castiel scrambled up and tossed the shotgun to Dean, before ducking behind him.

Grateful that the attention was off him, he got to work, as Dean wildly swung at the banshee, her attacks becoming more ruthless as his hits became more predictable. He glanced up at the two of them, the mist acting as a smoke screen as she disappeared and reappeared, swirling around the poker as Dean used his baseball prowess to hit her every strike and lunge. It was ineffective in the long run, and hardly a long term solution, especially as Dean’s stamina wore out, but it helped Castiel by keeping her distracted once more.

When he finished, he stood up, fixing the banshee with a hard glare, the movement drawing her gaze to him.

“When it’s two against one, make sure to have eyes on both enemies.” He growled out, and as she charged after him, knocking an exhausted Dean off to the side, Castiel slammed his hand down on the blood sigil he made, activating both it and its copy on the opposite side of the hall.

It glowed bright, and in a matter of seconds, the banshee was dragged backward, and trapped against the wall, bound by the line of sigils. She roared, struggling against her invisible tether, mist swirling angrily, lights flickering like crazy, but she remained trapped, her fretting useless against the Celtic blood trapping spell.

“Holy shit, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, both pride and awe in his tone.

“You may be a hunter Dean, but you’re not the only one who reads.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome. How did you know that would work?”

“To be fair, I didn’t. But I figured if banshees were real, then the magic used to trap them must be too. So, while you kept her distracted, I drew the sigils with my blood.”

“Awesome.” Dean repeated, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile back.

Then, startling both of them out of whatever moment they were just about to have, the banshee suddenly burst into flames with a cry, crumbling like burnt paper into floating, ashy debris, until there was nothing left.

“What-“

The trill of Dean’s phone signaled an incoming call, interrupting whatever Castiel was about to ask, and he looked over curiously as Dean fished the device out of his pocket.

“It’s Sam.” He explained before picking up. “Sup, bitch. Took your sweet old time salting and burning the body, didn’t you?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Salting and what-ing the body?!

“Yeah, fucking thing almost took out me and Cas…” he blushed and glanced over at him, before quickly looking away, and lowering his voice.

“Uh, yeah, that Cas. I mean there’s no other, is there? Anyway Sammy, don’t change the subject. What took you so long?”

Dean snorted. “Excuses, excuses. What? Oh…uh…I don’t know if he’d be up for that.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Well would you if you just got attacked by a banshee?”

The features then smoothed from his face, and he grinned once more. “You shoulda seen him Sammy, he used his blood to draw these badass sigils and trap the banshee, it was awesome.”

Castiel felt the heat rising in his cheeks, unsure how he felt about the Winchester brothers talking about him whilst he was right there, and only able to hear only half of the conversation, but mostly he was just embarrassed.

“Yeah yeah, alright, I’ll ask him. Bye, bitch.” Dean hung up and fondly rolled his eyes, before walking over to Cas.

“Sorry about that. Sammy had only just finished digging…uh well, you don’t need to hear about that, haha, the less you know the better, but the banshee is banished for good now, and he should be on his way back, thank fuck, but he suggested that after we clean up, maybe we catch the end of the dance together, if you-mmph!”

Castiel surged forward, most likely encouraged by the adrenaline still pumping through him—if not for that, he’s certain he would not have been that bold—and sealed their lips together, cutting Dean’s rambling short.

“Yes.” He whispered between them as he pulled away, Dean blinking away the surprise as his brain rebooted and processed what just happened.

“Uh…yeah?” Dean said dopily, a smile tugging at his lips.

Those lips Castiel just kissed.

“Yes.”

“Even though you said you’d rather be fighting a banshee than go to the dance?” Dean asked, sounding amused.

“We fought the banshee.” Castiel replied rather seriously, earning a chuckle from Dean.

“True. Guess we do deserve a reward after that.”

“Besides,” Castiel started with a sigh, “I disappeared without saying anything earlier. I’m sure Charlie, at the very least, is worried about me.”

Charlie was indeed worried about him, but so was Meg and Gabriel, in their own way. After he and Dean cleaned up, including making themselves semi presentable, they entered the ballroom only looking slightly rumpled, and no less for wear than they had already. The trio bounded up to him right away, once they found him, but Charlie couldn’t admonish him for long without acknowledging the man beside him—rather excitedly, might he add.

She jumped up and gave him a hug, which Dean happily returned, only wincing slightly as his sore muscles tugged and flexed to compensate for the weight and movement. He put her back down not too long after, and the second her feet touched the ground, the three of them were on them like a pack of hellhounds.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel asked, smirking.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell us?” Charlie punched both of their arms lightly, and pouted.

“You two came in together?” Gabriel said again, looking even more smug, if possible.

“We looked everywhere for you and couldn’t find you! We thought you might have left, but then you didn’t say anything, or tell anybody if you got back to the dorm safe or not!” Charlie continued, shaking her head in blatant disapproval.

“You two came-ow!” Gabriel rubbed the back of his head, and pouted at a smirking Meg.

Castiel, who was scowling at his brother, felt his face smooth out, and Meg rolled her eyes rather dramatically.

“We get it, Gabe, they came in together. Did you fuck?”

Dean laughed, and shook his head. “No, we definitely didn’t. Cas is too good for a quick fuck like that, anyway.”

Meg nodded her approval, and Castiel groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Gabriel and Charlie both grinned.

“He just went out for air, when I happened to pass by on my way back from the auto-shop. I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to the dance, but then I saw Cas standing there looking like that, well.”

Charlie squealed excitedly, waving her hands in the air. “This is so awesome! I told you the dance would be fun, did I not say the dance would be fun?”

Castiel and Dean shared a look, a brief moment of silent conversation only they would understand, and Castiel let out a sigh.

“You did.” He confirmed, though ‘fun’ was a vast understatement, and certainly not how he would describe the dance—not that he’d experienced much of it, fighting a malevolent Gaelic fae spirit, and all.

“Aw man,” Charlie said with pout, as if she had a sudden revelation, “Cas is way ahead of us you guys! He wasn’t even here and managed to bring a date. Wait, you guys are here as a date right?”

“Yes, Char, we’re here together, as a date.”

Charlie squealed again, muttering how she “totally shipped it” whatever that meant, and turned back to their group with more fervor than ever that they “needed to catch up”. This time, however, when they separated, it didn’t bring the sense of dread it did when Castiel first encountered the banshee, and thought for certain he was about to die, without ever having said goodbye.

“I never did thank you, Dean. For saving me earlier. I truly thought I was…well. I didn’t think I would still be here, and I probably wouldn’t have been, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Dude, don’t thank me. You held your own against the banshee too. It was pretty hot.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but smiled. He caught Charlie’s eye across the dance floor, and she gave him a thumbs up. Gabriel caught his eye next, but made a rather lewd gesture that would have appalled him, had Dean not also caught it and snickered, finding it amusing. Meg shoved him, and Castiel smirked as Gabriel flailed about, silently thanking her for once again reprimanding his brother on his behalf. She winked at them before turning away, and Castiel tilted his head to the side, thoughtfully.

“It’s strange to think that not too long ago we were fighting a supernatural creature, and now we’re back at the dance, spending time with our friends like it didn’t happen. There’s literally a body down the hall.”

“Eh, Sam’s got that taken care of. And nobody will know you were there, or what we did at all. They’re safe, and that’s what matters. That’s the job.”

Castiel hummed, and turned to Dean with an appreciative look. Dean looked back, blushing slightly at the attention, but smiled softly regardless.

“What?” He asked, and Castiel shook his head.

He kissed Dean in lieu of answering, and Dean eagerly kissed back.

5 notes · View notes

zacharyleigh316 · 10 months ago