#anon m

The truth leaked out to everyone eventually – and eventually seemed to crash into you like the final domino in an elaborate setup. The most knowledgeable and observant of the bunch couldn’t keep quiet for long. It’s hard to bite your tongue when someone you love is suffering.

You were hardly prepared for the talk they all felt was necessary. Barbatos called for a meeting with you “to discuss a personal matter of utmost importance.” To be fair, they all made the decision not to overwhelm you by not allowing everyone to take part in the meeting.

When you arrived at the castle for the meeting (mostly to prevent nosy eavesdropping), Barbatos escorted you into a room with Simeon, Solomon, Lucifer, and – surprisingly – Mammon. Initially, Lucifer had no intention of allowing Mammon into the meeting, but “being MC’s first” and the fact that he had been the one to alert Lucifer to your struggle held enough sway to expand the meeting size to six.

On your long walk back home, during which you were escorted by Lucifer and Mammon in a miserable, awkward silence that Mammon made multiple attempts to alleviate, you couldn’t stop clinging to their words during that meeting.

You couldn’t remember who spoke first – who had the guts to interrupt such a solemn, all-knowing silence. Lucifer or Barbatos? No. They planned this, so maybe they pushed the softest approach on you – forced a tender heart to confirm that the time had come to talk about your eating (or lack thereof). In that case, it was probably Simeon. Your memory was already so hazy. Maybe you shut down and dissociated. Maybe you would remember if your body wasn’t going through hell. Then again, if it wasn’t, maybe you wouldn’t have had to have that conversation.

– Got bad enough for them to notice, I guess?  That was a shitty thought to have. The sooner it gets addressed, the better. No one should have to get “bad enough.” You knew that. –

In truth, they had planned ahead, and Simeon was supposed to ease you into the conversation. Mammon couldn’t let him, though. “Ya know, I don’t care how strong ya get. I still think it’s my job to protect ya. You’re sick right now. All tha signs are there. Ya keep hurtin’ yourself doin’ shit like this. I’m doin’ an awful job keepin’ ya safe, so we’re gonna get ya some help. And we’re gonna be right there with ya the whole time. I’m gonna be there – whatever ya need.”

Simeon was relieved that Mammon spoke first – even if it wasn’t the perfect, delicate approach. Simeon had been something he hadn’t been for a very long time: afraid. They all were to some extent – if not afraid, then nervous. However, with Mammon’s interruption, the structured plan crumbled, and they all spoke in cautious yet clumsy intervals. It seemed suitable, then, that the rest of the meeting only existed in messily cut up pieces that you shoved together. Your brain was the young, sickly protégé of Victor Frankenstein and your recall-creature arose as a bloody, poorly constructed monster. There was no chasing this monster off. It clung to your waist and shadowed your every step. It was a sad, hurtful little creature, but there was love in every bone and mass of flesh.

Lucifer had promised to assist with doctors’ orders, keep an eye on your condition, and accommodate you while ensuring his brothers fell in line. What you remembered was the scent of Demonus that lingered on him when he pulled you against him and told you, “Whatever will ease the burden during the hardest parts of your recovery, you’ll have it.” He had had a drink or two to settle his nerves before you arrived.

Barbatos had promised to get you good human doctors – medical and psychological – who specialized in your particular condition. What you remembered was the unfamiliar look of sorrow on Barbatos’s face as he held your hand and promised, “We will prioritize your comfort – no matter how many doctors you have to go through. You’ll get the treatment you need.”

Solomon had offered his magical skills to assist with your commitment to recovery and to ease any pain or side effects that your eating disorder had and would cause. You remembered him gently holding your face and telling you, “I’d never let anyone hurt my adorable apprentice – and that includes you.”

Simeon had offered you a constant and understanding ear to listen. He was the best alternative when you wouldn’t or couldn’t turn to a professional. Simeon had even promised to help Luke and Raphael navigate your recovery as best as he could. You remembered the grave concern on his face – almost frightening – as he told you, “We love you, and you’re hurting. Please let us help you however we can.”

They hadn’t pressured you to explain everything you were doing or understand all of it on your own. They hadn’t even forced you to respond right away. Everything else they had said – and anything you had said – seeped out your ears until you were left with the sound of your own voice giving them one ashamed and heartfelt “okay.”

The conversation probably hadn’t even happened in that order, but it was a hard one to have, and you couldn’t be faulted for jumbling it up.

“Here, take it.” Mammon interrupted the cacophony in your mind by throwing his jacket over your head and gently petting you through the fabric.

You felt something wet running down your cheek. It must have started to rain while you were thinking. No, wait, am I crying? When did that happen? It wasn’t a lot, but a few stray tears escaped you. You tried to blink them away, but now that you had a way to hide, they flowed easier. “Thanks, Mammon.”

You were scared that you would never like yourself no matter what happened, but they loved you, and that was a start.

When you returned to the House of Lamentation, you hid yourself away in the attic where you could cry alone without the protection of Mammon’s jacket. It was getting hot under there, anyway. Despite their attempts, you still felt overwhelmed by the confrontation, and you just wanted to hide from everyone – well, maybe not everyone.

It was a comfort when you heard a soft knock at the door and saw that fluffy orange hair peeking in. “MC, can I come in?”

He found you, and something about that melted your heart, even though you thought you wanted to be alone. You wiped any stray tears from your eyes and cleared your throat. “Yeah, you can come in, Beel.”

Surprisingly, when he sat down next to you on the bed, his lashes stuck to his skin like he had been crying, too. There was a long silence, during which he just stared at you. Sometimes, you liked it when he looked at you. You’d see all the affection on his face and recognize the love behind it. Other times, it made your skin crawl as insecurity squirmed around through your veins like a parasite. You saw everything you deemed wrong with yourself, and there was no way to hide it. This time, it felt different – some slow-cooked stew of guilt and sorrow. You imagined an inflated, tainted feeling of pity in that look where it was absent. In reality, “pity” from Beel used that word in its purest, sweetest form; there was no negativity or disregard – only sympathy and compassion.

Beel leaned down and bonked his forehead against your shoulder, leaving it there. His breath was slow and even, finding comfort in the physical touch, as he built up the courage to speak.

“Do I make your eating disorder worse? I’m always eating and talking about food.”

“No . . . well yes – but no.” Beel pulled back to look at you, doing everything he could to not look hurt and sorry. You felt the cracks in the dam begin to burst. Either you patch them up now, or you lift the gates and relieve some of the pressure. You chose the latter. “You made it easier to hide it. I could give you my food whenever I was restricting, and you were so happy to be fed that you never worried about me being hungry. Then, I got to watch you eat. It was cathartic – watching you do something I couldn’t do. You made it easy to cover up a binge, too. No matter how out of control I felt, I couldn’t make a dent in the amount of food you ate. That kind of made me feel better, but it enabled me. The extra food I ate, the snack boxes and wrappers, the disappearing food – everyone assumed it was all you most of the time. It saved me a lot of embarrassment, I guess, but it didn’t take away the shame. And to be honest, I’m kind of jealous of you. You’re out of control when you eat sometimes, and then you have all the control in the world to work out. But you look amazing, and you seem happy. I can see my impulses in you, and I think, if it was just a little different – maybe if I was better and more disciplined, I’d be more like you and less like me. I know that isn’t how it works; it’s just how I see things.”

You hadn’t expected all of that to come rushing out. Then again, neither did Beel, but he sat there firm and strong through it all. For a brief moment, a cruel and twisted feeling popped into your mind. What is he doing? Is he one of those idiots who stands in the path of a tropical storm because they think they can take it? He’s going to get hurt. Just move out of the way. You knew better than that train of thought. Beel would make himself an immovable structure through all of this if you’d let him. Hell, he’d make the effort even if you didn’t.

You cast your eyes down to the bedspread and the way Beel laid his hands down on it in front of him, with one cradled in the other while he ran his thumb along the side of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Beel interrupted. “It’s a lot to process, but thank you for telling me.”

Beel let out a calm, steady breath before standing up. He offered you his hand with a rueful smile.

“What is it?” you asked with your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Do you want to dance for a bit? I know we don’t have music, but I think better when I move.” Beel was embarrassed by the admission – but more embarrassed by the strangeness of his request. He added, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“We can dance.” You took his hand and let him make the clumsy attempt to lead. He wasn’t close enough nor graceful, but he was trying.

“I’m not very good at this, but I want you to get better. I hope you don’t mind learning together.” He had never had to help someone recover. You had to learn how to get better, and he had to learn how to support that.

“I don’t mind.”

“Even if I mess it up?” Even if he said the wrong thing or accidentally triggered you? Even if he couldn’t protect you every time? Even if you found a new place to hide and he didn’t come find you right away?

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

“Neither do you.” Beel had sharpened his words for that one, and all you could do was give him an apologetic chuckle. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t –”

“– I could, and that scares me. I love you so much. I will still love you during recovery. I’ll love you through relapses. I’ll love you when – and if – you fully recover. There’s nothing wrong with your willpower or your body. You’re sick and hurt. We’ll be okay.” Beel had added the last part for his own comfort before he pulled you closer. He stopped trying to dance and just held you against him, as if to remind you that he was there.

With the professional help came the personal support.

Lucifer keeps track of you and your meds. He checks in with you and your doctor and ensures you take your medication in a timely manner. He removes scales from the house or keeps them safely hidden from you. He keeps his brothers up to date on your recovery plan (with your permission), so that you don’t have to deal with it. He gently pushes you along when he catches you staring in a mirror unfavorably.

Mammon magically removes all the nutrition information – barring ingredients and allergy information – from groceries and snacks whenever someone does the shopping. He also walks you to all your medical and psychological doctor’s appointments. More importantly, he keeps you distracted when you feel bad – movies, games, dancing in clubs, you name it. However, he won’t take you gambling with him anymore, horrified that you might jump from one maladaptive behavior to another.

Leviathan, whose entire existence is antithetical to normie values, musters up the courage to remind you that he thinks you look amazing and that you don’t have to worry about what normies think. He is almost always there to play games with you or read manga or watch anime – especially when binge urges come. He’s happy to spend time with you, so don’t be ashamed of the reason you need a distraction. He makes and buys cosplay outfits for you and spends half an hour hyping you up so that you feel confident – even if you never end up wearing it outside.

Satan helps monitor your nutrition and plans meals that will help you avoid malnutrition. He works especially hard on this during the first few months of recovery and after relapses when it’s the most critical. He reads up on eating disorder treatments and studies anecdotal success stories so that he can help equip you with more tools to ensure your full recovery. He also offers distractions when you need them. Sometimes, he even reads to you.

Asmo compliments you endlessly – almost daily if you let him. He finds cute clothes for you that fit you in ways that make you feel comfortable and look amazing. He does your makeup and hair if you want it – anything to make you feel better about yourself. He’ll take pictures of you if you let him. Hell, he’ll arrange a full boudoir photoshoot for you if it boosts your confidence. Asmo has always been able to find beauty in anyone, so he tries to lean into body positivity and prove to you that there is beauty in every body because being alive is majestic all on its own. It’s equally important what Asmo doesn’t do, though. He stops body checking and talking about diets around you. He diets less, and when he does, he keeps the details of it away from you. This isn’t exactly supportive, but he will offer to praise you in bed and make you feel so gorgeous and so good that your mind has no room for self-doubt.

Beelzebub eats meals and snacks with you – especially when you are having trouble eating. He’s great to have around when you want to try eating something or multiple things off a menu, but you’re worried about feeling the need to keep eating after you’re full. He’s always happy to eat the leftovers. He constantly tells you how happy he feels when he sees you enjoying food with him. He also exercises with you – taking special care to ensure that you aren’t pushing yourself too far. He just wants you to get the movement that supports your health. He probably also teaches you something like boxing to help you release anger and anxiety during your recovery. Additionally, it’s hard for anyone to make you feel weird or bad about your exercise levels when Beel is around to level them if they so much as look at you the wrong way. Alternatively, he also accommodates you by helping you exercise in private (a home gym or body weight exercises; if your mind is in the gutter, that’s fine too).

Belphie walks you home from all your appointments. Mammon could do it, and it’s a lot of effort for him to walk you home, especially when he wasn’t already out and about, but he wants to show you that you are worth the effort. He threatened to curse and beat up Mammon if he didn’t let him walk you home. He likes the idea of you knowing that after a check-up or a draining therapy session, you can expect to see him waiting outside for you. He’s never late, either. He watches the stars with you and reminds you that you are beautiful to him but in the vastness of the universe, your body, your weight, your sense of control – none of it matters as much as you think it does. He is also an anarchist, and that especially includes diet culture. “Fuck society. I just want you to be alive and to take naps with me.” Also, he thinks your body is incredibly comfortable to nap on, but he tries not to actually say that.

Diavolo employs the best doctors he can find for you – with help from Barbatos. He adores complimenting you, so you can expect him to continue reminding you how amazing you are – both mentally and physically. He doesn’t have as much time to spend supporting you, but if he can provide you with any services, he’ll do it. His favorite thing to do is to take you shopping and buy clothes and accessories for you. If you like it and wearing it makes you feel better, he’ll get it for you. It’s a good distraction, and seeing you smiling in outfits that he got for you warms his heart. When he does have spare time, he’ll try to spend it with you so he can check in and see how you’re doing – but also so he can just be around you.

Barbatos offers to make lunch for you sometimes. Once he gets your permission, he makes adorable and appetizing dishes so that when you see them, you’re actually happy to eat them (usually. Some days will just be bad, and there’s nothing more he can do). He listens to you without judgment. He’ll pour you a cup of tea, offer you something to eat, and let you pour your heart out. He also sews outfits specifically for you, using it as an excuse to both provide personal attention and to tell you how incredible and breathtaking you look.

Luke has a surprisingly good grasp on the situation thanks to Simeon, Solomon, and his own reading. He offers to accompany you to the store when you have to buy groceries. He also does activities with you that don’t involve food – mostly games, puzzles, and going on walks. However, if you’re okay with it, he brings you into the kitchen to cook and bake with him (and sometimes with Barbatos, Simeon, and/or Beel). Maybe it’s because he’s younger, but unlike Simeon or Barbatos, Luke has more courage to invite you into a potentially stressful situation for your eating disorder in an attempt to help you establish a healthy relationship with food and cooking.

Simeon is always there to listen – especially once he figures out how to make a proper video call. He also provides you with plenty of distractions. As the author of the bunch, he’s obligated to encourage you to write or journal to help process your recovery (and just for fun). Consequently, you have a lot of chill writing dates. Sometimes that means relaxing in Simeon’s room with him while you both quietly write your own things. Other times, he invites you out to pretty or interesting locations. When you go out, he does everything he can to ensure your comfort. You’re free to bail whenever you feel the need to.

Solomon, like Satan, does extensive research on eating disorders. He’ll go so far as to interrogate other sorcerers about any magic they might know that will help your chances of a full recovery. If a solution exists, he’ll find it. If it doesn’t, he’ll try whatever options he has to improve your chances of living a long, happy life. However, his studying usually happens behind your back. One of the most important things Solomon does is treat you like normal. It can be a comfort. Unfortunately, on the occasion that Solomon offers you food he’s made, when you refuse, he gets worried about your eating disorder. My guy, it’s not the eating disorder; it’s your atrocious cooking.

Thirteen monitors your candle closely, looking for faster or slower burning rates to gauge your health on her own. If something seems off, she knows it’s time to speak up. She brings you adorable and delicious food and drinks – with your permission – and eats with you so that you can try to enjoy food. If you have concerns about drinks and liquid calories, she will try to help you ease that by offering you sips of her drinks and reminding you that it’s okay. If you like the drink, she’ll happily let you have the rest of it. She will also invite you out to eat and, like Beel, she’ll eat whatever you won’t finish. Outside of food, she distracts you by letting you in on her trap building process and bringing you along to test them out. Your laugh when one of her traps successfully ensnares someone is precious to her. She is another good confidant when you need someone to talk to.

Raphael uses his magic to heal you whenever you’re in pain (if eating hurts your stomach, heartburn, if your body is sore from exercise, etc.). He puts blessings on you – sometimes without your knowledge – to help you feel better mentally, too. Like Barbatos, Raphael sews new outfits for you, but he mostly focuses on trying to tailor your existing clothes to accommodate how your body might change during recovery. Some clothes can be irreplaceable, and he wants you to still be able to wear them no matter how you change.

Mephisto is probably the last person to find out, which annoys him. To compensate for being last, he writes up and prints an entire report, highlighting your positive, admirable traits. It’s practically a love letter. However, this one isn’t for the paper, so don’t worry about being perceived by others. In fact, he’d be embarrassed if anyone else found out about it. He just wants you to have a reminder of how amazing you are whenever you begin to doubt yourself. He’ll be more lenient about you hanging out in the newspaper room whenever you want. Although he won’t admit it, Mephisto asked Satan for a list of safe foods and drinks he can keep around that you’ll eat, and now there’s always safe food in the newspaper room.