#I was taken over by the hurt/comfort demons

[whathorselegs]

If Not For You

Summary: A short two part fic of Dazai and Chuuya comforting each other through Dazai's unconventional expressions of emotion. Part 1 is teen!skk after the Dragon Head conflict. Part 2 is 22!skk Title taken from Maneskin's song 'If Not For You'

Pairing: Skk (Dazai x Chuuya) Can be read as a platonic or romantic.

Inspired by @unicornpopcorn14 's post about Dazai's unconventional shows of emotion

This was supposed to be silly but it ended up leaning way more into emotional hurt/comfort

Part One - If Not For You

Despite his small stature, Dazai had never found it difficult to locate Chuuya. If anything, it was harder not to notice him with all the noise he was usually making. Exclaiming at this, yelling about that, stomping about, sometimes- on the off chance Chuuya saw Dazai first- he’d still fling himself at Dazai with his gravity. Of course, that was usually when Dazai had played some prank or other and Chuuya was actively hunting him down.

Lately though, Chuuya had been disturbingly quieter, and just like Dazai was just about to now, he was increasingly finding Chuuya curled up in some secluded corner of an empty room, sulking.

No, not sulking, he reminded himself.

Mourning.

Again.

Dazai had never understood why people mourn the dead so intensely, sure, it was sad, but most things were. He thought it was the strangeness of having a person suddenly not be there at first, and that people in the mafia- who were used to losing people- would be just as unaffected as he was. Turns out, he was alone in that here too. Frequent exposure to death didn’t stop people mourning, it seemed. Especially not Chuuya. This was the second lot of friends he’d lost and whilst Dazai didn’t understand the reason behind people’s mourning, he had enough sense to show them a little more grace than he normally would.

So when he came across Chuuya, huddled up and alone in an abandoned meeting room for the third time this week, Dazai was also quiet. He could have yelled Chuuya’s name, made a joke about him hiding away like a mouse in the walls, something of their usual games, but they all just felt intensely wrong in this situation. As much as he would like to force their normal routines back into place, he knew that wouldn’t help.

He sat down on the floor beside Chuuya, who had his knees up to his chest, leaning against the wall and idly looking out the floor to ceiling windows. Though Dazai doubted he was actually taking anything of the scenery in.

“You’ll get a hunch if you keep sitting like that.” Dazai said, choosing a soft tone for the teasing, offering a branch for Chuuya to take if he wanted to reach out for normalcy. 

Instead Chuuya sucked in a short breath, tensing up, like he’d only just noticed Dazai and shot him an annoyed glare in warning.

No games then.

Dazai leaned back against the wall as he formulated his next move. He was supposed to be bringing Chuuya to a briefing, however, in the mood he’s in, Dazai didn’t fancy his chances trying to tell Chuuya to do anything. He needed to get him out of this funk first, clear his mind.

His head tilted to the side as he pondered whether it was possible to clear the mind of a skull that’s already empty. Any other situation and he would have said that out loud. Just right now, though, Dazai didn’t feel like getting pulverised. Trying to be sensitive to people's feelings was giving him a headache. He needed to relieve the tension building in his temples. Looking around, Dazai noticed this room had a sofa, perfect for curing his headache, but then he couldn’t just ignore Chuuya, still curled in on himself in the corner. That would make for a terrible sight.

And then it hit him, he could solve both problems at once.

“I know what you need.” Emboldened by his plan, Dazai went as far as to prod Chuuya’s side, earning him another glare. “You need to clear your head.”

After a moment of just staring sceptically at Dazai, Chuuya responded with a strain in his voice he couldn’t quite hide. “What?”

“Come on, I know a great method.” Not deterred by Chuuya’s lukewarm reaction Dazai grabbed the sleeve of Chuuya’s jacket and attempted to pull Chuuya up. The arm moved, but the rest of the boy remained sat where he was, like the immovable rock he was. 

“Why would I do anything you tell me to do?” Chuuya snapped, trying to yank his arm back and failing.

“Because, I’m right. Always. My methods have never failed us once. Ever.” He tugged at Chuuya’s arm as he spoke, seeing Chuuya subconsciously uncurling from his position, torn between ignoring Dazai and trying to shut him up. Dazai just had to toe the line between just annoying enough to motivate him to move and not enough to get his nose broken. 

Finally Chuuya stood up. “You smug little- You’re not always right.”

“Prove me wrong then.” Dazai dangled the opportunity in front of Chuuya, a bet was always a good motivator for him.

“Fine. Show me your dumb method and I will.”

He led them to the sofa, trying not to be too obvious about how pleased with himself he was. “This always clears my head.” Dazai informed Chuuya and he knelt on the sofa facing the backrest. When Chuuya didn’t do the same, he pointed next to him on the sofa. “Do as I do.” He barely managed to bite back the dog nickname.

Chuuya huffed, rolling his eyes before mimicking Dazai’s actions and mumbling something about how stupid this was under his breath. Instead of calling him out on it, Dazai let it slide and lowered himself backwards on the sofa, letting his legs hook over the backrest and his head dangle off the end of the sofa cushion. Chuuya looked at him like he’d just contorted himself into a pretzel rather than sat upside-down on a sofa, but he did follow Dazai’s actions.

“How is this suppose to-”

“Shush!” Dazai hushed him. “Just look out the window and be still.”

The familiar tingle of blood rushing to his face, the tickle of his hair slowly falling down and the dull pulse of his blood in his ears steadily began to build. Dazai felt his lips and fingertips turn numb as he watched the clouds pass outside the window and soon, there wasn’t a single thought in his head. No frustration, no confusion, no strange ache to somehow share in Chuuya’s pain, just the sound of his own heartbeat and both their gentle breaths. 

After a minute of quiet, he glanced Chuuya's way to find him staring out the window, face ridiculously red and expression almost blank. It may have actually looked blank to most, but Dazai had learned to see the subtle wonder with which Chuuya’s eyes saw the world. Wonder that those eye’s seemed to have been lacking recently. It made his all too loud heart flutter to see even the faintest hint of it’s return.

“See clear head.” He said quietly, or hoped it was quiet, hard to tell with all the blood in his head. “Bad thoughts are heavy.”

Chuuya only briefly met his gaze before looking out the window again with a deep, tired breath. “Yeah.”

“They fall right out your ears this way!”

At that Chuuya snorted, almost falling off the sofa.

Part Two - I Couldn't Get Off This Floor

Chuuya always locked his door. That simple fact was undeniable. His apartment contained too much sensitive information to be forgetting to lock his door. On the off-chance Chuuya thought he’d forgotten, he always turned around to double check and it was always locked. Which is why it was becoming an increasing annoyance to return home and find his door unlocked. Despite him having the only key.

Knowing the exact cause of this conundrum only aggravated Chuuya further. He hung up his coat and hat before removing his shoes and made his way into the front room ready to give said ‘cause’ a piece of his mind.

He halted immediately when he saw Dazai lying face down on the floor. Perhaps if this was any other person on the floor it might have been more alarming, but this wasn’t the first time Chuuya had witnessed Dazai in this state. Despite himself, Chuuya found his earlier annoyance melting away, his shoulders drooping as he took in the sight for a moment. Then he quietly made his way over to Dazai, grabbing a couple of cushions from the sofa as he got down on the floor with Dazai.

“Floor time, huh?” He said softly, poking Dazai’s shoulder. To which Dazai hummed in acknowledgement before turning his face in Chuuya’s direction. His forehead was marked by a shiny red square from where it had been pressed to the floor. Chuuya suppressed the desire to laugh at the sight and pushed one of the cushions Dazai’s way. It was accepted silently as Dazai tucked his forearms under it and rubbed his face against the soft fabric. No thanks, Chuuya noted, no words at all. So Dazai really was feeling off today.

Chuuya lay on his side, facing Dazai, resting his own cushion under his head. After watching Dazai a moment longer to see if he’d come out of his shell, Chuuya decided he was well and truly jammed in there. He reached out, pushing his hand under Dazai’s cushion to find the fingers hiding there and hooking them around his own.

“Have you eaten recently?” He asked.

There was a delay before Chuuya felt Dazai squeeze his fingers. Once for yes. 

“Promise?

Another single squeeze.

He couldn’t help the doubt in mind, Dazai was notorious for forgetting to feed himself when got like this, but Chuuya didn’t push it. He’d promised and doubting Dazai’s promises right now would only make him feel worse.

“Want to move to the bed?”

Two squeezes. Which meant no. 

More accurately this meant Dazai felt like he couldn’t move yet, he’d described it like the feeling of being trapped behind his eyes once, like his own body no longer obeyed him because of the sheer exhaustion that overcame it. So Chuuya wouldn’t pester him to move before he was ready.

“What about some music?”

One squeeze, yes.

“Blanket?”

One squeeze, yes.

“Contact?”

Two squeezes, no.

There was never a set rule as to what exactly helped Dazai in these situations, Chuuya simply memorised which suggestions most often helped. Music to quiet the thoughts, blankets for comfort and occasionally, physical contact like brushing his hair helped. The last one was the least likely for Dazai to say yes to, but in recent months there had been an uptick in yeses, so Chuuya always offered.

He stood up again and set about completing his tasks. He chose a soft classical CD to play, one he imagined Iceman would have enjoyed listening to. No words, the perfect selection of songs to just rest your mind to. Then grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and returned to Dazai, draping the blanket over him and lying back down at his side. Even if Dazai didn’t want physical contact, having someone’s presence beside him, not judging or trying to force him to move, just understanding and being still with him helped.

Chuuya closed his eyes, letting his own mind settle as he listened to the gentle music. Honestly, he knew he shouldn’t, but his work day had been so long, he could have fallen asleep right there.

A hand found his own again and when re-opened his eyes, he found Dazai watching him with his hand loosely wrapped around Chuuya’s. Dazai’s index finger tapped at Chuuya’s knuckle. Morse code he realised.

Thank you.

“Sure thing, partner.”

[lyrefromthesea]

Male pillars x Reader - Comfort

request: the male pillars reactions towards a s/o that feels insecure about their rank as a hashira

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Muichiro x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: suggestiveness (Obanai, Sanemi)

Tengen:

the pillar meeting, it would start in an hour and you didn't feel ready. everyone in the corps knew the rules, pillars get ranked upon achieving one of two things: behead one of the demon moons or atleast fifty demons.

so why didn't you feel ready? you've fought, since you've joined the demon slayers about two years ago, you've slayed a total of 76 demons. what now? this didn't feel right.

you couldn't stand next to the bravest swordsman between all of you. they were different, they've looked into the eyes of death. you knew, your husband was one of them after all.

perhaps you should quit, tell master Kagaya that you weren't ready, weren't deserving of such a high rank. the insecurities took over your mind, not even noticing how your husband entered the room.

"what's up with that face? ya gotta be more flamboyant, baby!" he encouraged, walking up to you. he sat down next to you, the bed sinking under his weight. "..baby?"

"this doesn't feel right.." you eventually said, his eyes widening slightly. he already knew about your insecurities, you had told him about them, but he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"i know. it doesn't. maybe it never will, but that's something you have to accept." he answered, suddenly appearing more serious than usual. he didn't mantain his "flashy" demeanor during serious topics - he never did.

"did it ever feel right to go outside and possibly sign your death sentence?" he joked, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer to his side. head leaning against his shoulder, he looked down at you.

"i know that you deserve this place. you don't need to worry over it as long as I'm by your side.." he said, his voice having turned more gentle. you gave him a small smile, nodding lightly.

"let's go, i'll help you through it." he told you, standing up and holding a hand out. you took it. he was right, it didn't feel as bad when he was with you.

Obanai:

"stop saying that." he scolded you, not accepting the way you were belittling yourself. you had looked stressed since this morning, now slowly starting to make him worry.

when he asked what's wrong, he was shocked to hear you talk upsetting about yourself. you sounded completely discouraged.

"your opinion doesn't make sense. i know you're the right person for this." he said, watching you sit down on the bed.

"Obanai, listen.." you tried voicing your insecurities, only to feel your breath hitch. he had taken his mask off, standing right in front of you. feeling him press a kiss against your lips, your eyes widened.

"i will show you how serious i am about this." he claimed, hands coming to your waist. truthfully, he typically wasn't the one taking control in these situations, your heartbeat picking up with how serious he sounded.

Rengoku:

small tears gathered at the corner of your eyes, trying to stop them didn't help at all. you felt selfish, thinking of the sacrifices of the other hashira. would you be able to do as they did when it came down to it?

you've seen the scars on Sanemi's body long before you stepped into your place as a pillar. you've watched Muichiro train himself sick - what did you do? your thoughts got interrupted by a warm hand on your shoulder.

"Kyojuro! I.. I didn't see you there." you looked at him, head immediately turning away again. you didn't want him to see your tears, it would only hurt more.

"little flame! didn't you hear me? why are you crying?" he asked, confused upon finding you sulk in your bedroom. he gently turned you to face him, wiping the tears away. they wouldn't fall under his watch.

"what's wrong?" he tilted his head to the side, wanting to understand you. truthfully, he didn't understand what was going on, but he wanted to.

"i don't think I can do this.. all of you did amazing, fighting for the people you love. i'm not like that.." you admitted, brushing his hand off your shoulder, stepping away. he let you. he knew how important personal space could be.

"that's nothing i haven't seen you do already, little flame." he answered, trying to encourage you. he was glad you weren't crying anymore, but he couldn't stand seeing you so insecure either.

"but i can see it! or did you see me rupturing my eardrums to save others?" you spat back. you would regret your attitude later - he didn't deserve being treated this way, but right now you couldn't concentrate on that.

"little flame, don't compare yourself to me!" he answered, promptly pulling you into a hug. you were surprised by his actions, he normally only was this straightforward with words.

"besides, thinking of it now, damaging my own hearing wasn't the smartest idea!" he confirmed, yet his tone was enthusiastic, you felt yourself smile at his words. sometimes his tone didn't match his words.

he didn't know what exactly cheered you up, but he was happy he made you laugh.

Sanemi:

"you do know how weird your worries are after looking at me, right?" he had a challenging glint in his eyes. it was already clear for him, it didn't matter what you said, he would prove you wrong.

"you don't count, you're a marechi." you answered, looking away. his scars were different, they gave him an advantage. you received them for acting dumb and endangering yourself.

"do you think i'm doing this myself? never. every scar symbolizes were a demon has hit me before." he told you, your eyes widening.

"are you seriously worried about some scars." he asked you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. he nearly sounded offended at the mere thought. "i like them. i don't see a problem with a few lousy scars."

"did this one make you feel that way?" he asked, nodding towards the scar on your arm. he kissed the scarred skin softly, his eyes staying on yours. "or this one?"

you felt your cheeks flushing, the man slowly finding every scar that was seen, determined to show his own kind of affection. he kissed over the scar on your collarbone, fingers unbuttoning your uniform.

"i'll show you how much i appreciate every single one of them."

Giyuu:

"i don't deserve this. i shouldn't have the right to stand next to you or the others.." you said, clearly in distress. he didn't say anything, staring at you.

your words felt too familiar, too reasonable. he understood your dilemma, he knew that it felt like an endless hole. that's why he remained silent and only listened.

you don't remember when you started talking - insecurities revealing themselves. he hadn't moved since then, his eyes focused on you.

after what seemed like forever, he moved for the first time, standing right in front of you. he would've liked to approach this from a logical perspective, tell you why you were perfect as a pillar.

yet he knew that logic wouldn't come through, that he needed to comfort you differently.

you went quiet, looking at the raven-haired man. before you knew it, you were caught in his embrace.

no words were exchanged and no more actions were initiated. you just stood there, accepting his warmth.

it was enough.

Muichiro:

"i told you to stop doubting yourself." his voice always sounded monotone when he wasn't happy about your behavior. you could feel it even now. he didn't agree with your earlier statement.

"that's easy for you to say, you're a prodigy." you countered, but your argument didn't reach him. he was set on his words. "you're only saying that because i'm your tsuguko."

"that has nothing to do with your title as my tsuguko." was the answer you received from him. he sounded serious, your eyes slowly searching for his.

"you're an exceptional fighter. if it wasn't for you, i would've already died in past missions." he claimed, your words dying down. you had much to say, but the certitude he showed made it hard to argue.

"will i be able to rely on your talent again?" he asked, grabbing your hand. he was serious, he believed in you. insecurities were nagging at the back of your mind, but you wanted answer - to agree.

"..yes." you answered quietly, feeling him gently pull you along. as long as he was there, you couldn't think of your insecurities, you had something to protect.

Gyomei:

the master's estate was quiet, at least his backyard made you think so. the pillars should meet in about 20 minutes, why was no one here? you knew they respected the master - everyone did.

you should've been promoted to a hashira in front of them, it wasn't easy to kill one of the lower moons after all. did they forget? ..or maybe they're not coming on purpose.

you barely survived your interaction with the lower moon, they must've done much more expressive things than you. what if they didn't accept your title?

"[name], are you listening?" Himejima asked, he had noticed you after hearing your quiet mumbles. when you didn't react, he crouched down right next to your sitting for form.

"no.. i don't think i can do this.." you admitted, looking away. he had seldom heard your voice so quiet, your confidence had seemingly vanished. he quietly placed a large hand on your back. "i'm not as good as you, i don't fit into this place."

"i don't think you understand. even the pillars have differences in their strengths." he told you, finally sitting down properly. you glanced up at him, he was much taller than you.

"we learn from our fight. even now we learn with every demon we slay." he encouraged, trying to make you see that there's no need for insecurities.

"let's not worry about this now. tell me how your last mission was." he asked, wanting to make you think of different things. you smiled softly, trying to remember the demon you've fought.

[prettyflyforawhitelie]

Hi I love your work so far, do you think you could do headcannons for all the different characters of the main Hazbin Hotel cast when their lover comes to them injured? Like how they would treat you and then how they would deal with the person who harmed you. I would love to see this ahhhh 😫

Ahh of course! I love this, thanks for the request! I hope you like it!

Trope: Hazbin Hotel x Injured!reader

Characters: Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie, Angeldust, Husk, Sir Pentious, Lucifer

Warnings: Physical violence, mention of death, injured reader, blood.

author's note: hey guys! this is my first time doing one of these, and I'm still getting better, so forgive me if its a bit shabby. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! I'm in a creative buzz rn lol. Enjoy!

🦌📻Alastor📻🦌:

The day that your attacker decides to hurt you is the day that they decide to die. Messing with the Radio Demon’s plaything is about the last thing you want to do. 

Alastor often sent his shadows to follow you into town when he couldnt be with you, so the second you were attacked, Alastor could sense that something was wrong. 

By the time his shadows had carried you back to the hotel, your attacker had already escaped, but luckily, his shadows saw everything.

When he rushed down to see you, he seemed rather indifferent at first. He carried you up to his room, immediately conjuring several healing ointments to heal you quickly.

He laid you in his bed, in which you almost immediately fell asleep.

He hears the whispers of his shadows, and gains all of the information he needs out of them. 

With a single snap of his finger, the issue was taken care of. Rumor has it that the screams of your attackers' seemingly “random” death could be heard about 3 rings down. 

While waiting for you to wake, Alastor conjures two steaming bowls of his mother’s jambalaya. Placing one on the side table next to you, he sits down next to your sleeping body and lightly grazes your head, singing soothing songs until you wake up.  

😈🗝️Charlie🗝️😈:

Would of course be so very angry at whoever did this, but her first priority would be healing you up and making sure that you’re absolutely 100% okay and comfortable. 

Would set you up in her bed and assure that you have anything at all that would make you feel more comfortable. Tea? Yup. Ice pack? Already got it. Cuddles? Of course!

Would definitely let you cuddle with Razzle and Dazzle for as long as you needed.

She would try her best to talk to you and figure out what happened - to figure out who did this to you.

As you told her, she seemed surprisingly… calm? She simply thanked you for telling her and left the room. 

Though Charlie doesn't seem like a particularly violent person… She can get protective over the people she loves. So, let's just say she got that issue taken care of real quick. How stupid to mess with the Morningstar family. 

🪽⚔️Vaggie⚔️🪽:

Anybody in her vicinity needs to watch out when she hears that her love is hurt. 

Like, seriously, heads will roll. But not before she checks on you to evaluate how badly she needs to fuck up the person who did this to you. 

When she sees you, bruised and bloody, she can't help but hold you so tight and cry, scolding you for getting yourself into a bad situation without her there to protect you.

Vaggie knows what it feels like to be beaten and dumped on the side of the street like garbage. She could never forgive herself if she allowed that to happen to anybody else, let alone the genuine love of her life. 

When she asks for the person who did this, you can only give her a vague description. That’s alright though, she will use her former exterminator skills to scan all of Hell and find the person who dared to do this to you. She will not leave this alone until she serves you justice. 

🕷️💖Angeldust💖🕷️:

Coming home from the studio to find you in his room, crying and bruised, he immediately drops whatever he’s doing and comforts you in the biggest hug ever. 

Angel has plenty of experience with being abused and left to fend for himself, so he doesn't immediately resort to asking questions. No, that’s not what you need right now. You just need to know that you’re loved, beautiful, and that this does nothing to affect your worth or value as a person.

He carries you from the floor to his bed, covering you in blankets and laying next to you with Fat Nuggets. 

“It’s okay baby. You can cry, it's okay.” he whispers as you sob into his chest.

He allows you to initiate the conversation of what happened, not wanting to push you past your limits. 

Once he finds out what happened, he knows what he has to do. He waits until you fall asleep, and heads down to the club where your attacker happens to frequent. For once, being a famous pornstar will actually serve in his favor. He tempts your attacker to follow him, and immediately beats him to an absolute pulp. 

He allows the person to live, saying “I am only letting you live so you can know how it feels. You ever try this shit again, and I will find you. Except that time, you wont leave here looking so… whole.”

♥️♦️Husk♦️♥️:

Husk is used to all the residents of the hotel bitching and moaning to him about all of their issues. With Charlie coming to him and oftentimes crying about the many failures of the hotel, tears were no foreign sight to him.

But coming from the kitchen to the bar and seeing you there, looking an absolute mess, was different. 

“What the-What the fuck happened?” he yells. When you flinch, he knows that something happened.

When you explain to him what happened, he immediately needs a description of the attacker. He takes possibly the largest shot you've ever seen and storms out of the hotel.

He wishes that he could do more to protect you. Back when he was an overlord, he had power beyond anybody's imagination. He could've snapped a finger and your attacker would simply disintegrate (but not before he tortured him a bit first). But now that Alastor owned his soul, his powers were limited. 

You know what wasn't limited on husk, though? His pure physical strength.  

He immediately finds the guy walking on the street adjacent to the hotel (dumb, right?) and absolutely obliterates him. 

As the attacker is begging for his life, he just keeps hitting, blind with rage and love for you.

When he wants back into the hotel bloody and exasperated, he sits in the stool next to you and wraps you with one of his wings. 

“It’s all okay now. I’m here” he says as you lean on his shoulder, so ready to go to bed. 

🐍⚙️Sir Pentious⚙️🐍:

Sir Pentious always loved coming to your room to show you his many zany inventions. Normally you welcome him in with open arms, a sweet smile on your face, but today was different.

When he knocked on your door, he was met with absolute silence, which isn't normal for you. When he listened a bit closer, though, he could hear your small sniffles. He trusted his gut and slowly opened the door, fully ready to be denied entry.

Instead, you looked at him shyly, turning away and crying. He could've sworn that he saw a… black eye?

He took this opportunity to come and sit next to you on your floor, placing his arm around you and letting you lean your head on his shoulder. 

When he noticed that you were calming down a bit, he asked you what was wrong.

You explained that while you were engaged in a turf war, some ruffian beat you up, and badly. The girl you had momentarily teamed up with had left you behind, and you were left to trek back to the hotel on your own, barely able to walk. 

You could see something change in his eyes. 

He curled his tail around you, his cool skin calming your nerves. He assured you that he was here now, and nothing like this would ever happen to you again. He then swiftly called his egg bois to entertain and comfort you while he prepared his airship. The idiot that did this to you was going to pay, and not just in turf.

😈🐣Lucifer🐣😈:

Bursting into Lucifer’s room, the only thing you could mutter is “Help” as you fell into his arms. 

He frantically carried you to a chair and tried to assess your injuries. Man, someone fucked you up, and badly. Too bad he would kill them before they could brag about their success. 

He rushed to find ANYTHING that could help you. Bandages, ice, your favorite food, a rubber duck, ANYTHING. 

When he finds you absolutely passed out asleep in the chair, he gently moves you to his bed and tries his best not to stir you. 

As he sits watching you, thinking of your beautiful smile (and how he’ll brutally kill the person who did this to you), he observes your features with great detail. 

When you wake up, you smile. Lucifer must have gone, but sitting on your table is a bowl of soup and… is that a rubber duck that looks like you?

[alastorss]

Could you maybe write something with Alastor and reader,

and reader gets hurt in the extermination and he cares for her? And maybe like she takes a nap on his lap and he just sorta falls asleep right next to her?

a/n: hello!! i sort of got carried away with this one and made it more sappy than i originally intended, but i hope you still like it! for context: the reader stepped into battle when alastor was hurt by adam and this is the aftermath :) hurt/comfort and fluff!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor has been eerily quiet since returning to the newly-rebuilt hotel, sutures and bandages in hand.

All his belongings, including his beloved cane, have been cast aside in lieu of medical supplies to be split between you. One measly box worth of gauze and sanitizing wipes. Definitely nothing to gawk at, but good enough.

He's stripped his shirt without any exchange of words. You know his silent request, too prideful to ask for your help verbally but desperation clear in his expression.

"Is this the only spot?" You ask, slowly stringing a suture through his skin. He hisses in pain—his only response. The demon doesn't even gratify you with his eyes anymore, opting to stare off into space as if his mind has taken a vacation elsewhere.

You frown but continue delicately stitching him, piecing him together until he's whole again. His back hits the dresser as he leans on it, body instinctively trying to crawl away from the stinging of the needle. Finally, you knot the end of the sutures and sigh in relief, reaching over to get something to clean the area.

"I'm glad this whole fiasco is over," you comment softly, knowing it won't make him look at you. "With their leader gone, maybe the angels will finally—"

"You disobeyed me," he suddenly snaps. "Why?"

You pause in your movements, blinking up at Alastor while he glowers at you. His eyes narrow into slits, half out of anger and half in a grimace.

"You were cornered. I couldn't just sit by and—"

"I told you to stay out of it," he interrupts again, slapping away your hand. You gasp, alcohol wipe hitting the floor beside you. Defiantly, you challenge him with a glare of your own.

"I'm trying to help, asshole!"

"I know, I know!" He explodes, obviously frustrated. "And look where it got you!"

He pinches your chin to tilt your head up toward him, rotating your face around so he can observe your wounds. A cut lip, a bruising eye—horrible reminders that sinners could be hurt. And you were no more of a sinner than he, much less an Overlord who knew the shape of a soul.

"You risked your life by intervening! What if you had been struck down, you fool?"

Alastor's voice is all panic and no composure, missing any semblance of that accent which is so beloved to him. You know he's telling you exactly what he feels, true emotions unburdened by the character he built for himself in the afterlife.

"So be it! It's no less a fate than what would have happened to you!" You emphasize by jabbing your finger just above his wounded abdomen, careful not to agitate his fresh stitches.

Wincing, he goes silent. It's unnerving how quiet it is again. You've gotten so used to the ambient buzz of his static, but with it missing, you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck pricking up in unease.

He still hasn't released your face, clawed fingers pinching your chin and holding you in place. It isn't until he feels the wetness of your tears pooling at the pads of his fingers that he recoils in surprise.

Sighing, he twists over to open new packs of wipes. You stay still while he carefully cleans your face, ignoring your little whelps of pain the best he can.

Once the blood is gone, he pauses. Then, his fingers gingerly wipe under your eyes, swiping away the globs of tears spilling down your cheeks.

You are pitiful right now, he thinks. Though he probably looks no better.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup. "I don't mean to make you worry."

His expression softens, though his viscous smile remains. You can see it in his eyes—something genuine buried beneath his act.

"I don't want you to die," you admit quietly.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my dear."

You laugh dryly, wiping up your tears on your own with your bloodied sleeves.

"But you almost did. What would I do without you?"

The question is rhetorical, but something vile still swirls violently in your stomach at the idea. As if knowing what's going through your mind, he grabs you by the cheeks and forces you to meet his stare again.

"Not another word out of you," he demands.

His gaze flicks to the bruising under your eye, flesh already discoloured and swelling. "Got a remedy?" You grumble.

Alastor shakes his head but leans in anyway, pressing a chaste kiss just below the swelling. His lips linger on your skin for a moment before he pulls away, amused by your stunned expression.

He invades your space again, this time kissing the crown of your head. Speaking into your hair, he whispers, "I will be more careful. I promise."

"And I'll think before charging into battle after you," you chuckle softly, overwhelmed by his warmth.

Slowly, he tugs you along and sits you on the sofa. He brushes the hair from your eye and takes the opportunity to look at it under better lighting. Just like that, he vanishes, melting into the shadows. When he reappears in front of you, he has cold packs. In a place so warm, they are of little use. But they are better than nothing, he supposes.

Groaning in pain, he seats himself beside you and allows you to slot under his arm. Two demons seeking comfort and companionship curled up together—any other Overlord would laugh.

But Alastor knows what it means to be loved, to have someone who would stand in front of a lethal blow for him, to be stitched back together by your hands.

In the safety of each others' presence, you both fall asleep with the faint hum of static filling the air.

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete (send an ask to be added!)

[greyskyflowers]

I'm just such a big fan of Edwin having some permanent issues after a second trip to hell and the final run in with Esther.

I like the idea that he actually has to sleep now. Nowhere near what a living human needs but more then he ever needed before. Maybe sleeping for several hours every few weeks.

Iron wounds take longer to heal, even though Edwin has always had a higher pain tolerance due to his experiences in hell.

When he's really tired, things start to hurt. Tender pain along all his joints, the spots where the demon spider found it was the easiest to tear him apart.

He get bruises under his eyes, headaches, occasionally a little chill, stiffness, and just a general aching all over his body.

It's hard for Edwin to sleep, for several reasons. Nightmares, anxiety, restlessness, and just being stubborn.

The vulnerability of sleep is terrifying.

The idea of leaving Edwin alone somewhere to sleep, even in their office, has Charles skin pickling. Especially knowing Edwin is also reluctant to sleep without him there.

So, Edwin does not sleep alone. Ever. Occasionally he gets left with Niko, and sometimes Crystal, but it's for very brief amounts of time before he's back with Charles.

It should be embarrassing to have these issues now, and it is, but they're even closer after Port Townsend and it's not something Edwin can avoid. He has to sleep now.

Really, it comes down to does he wants to keep it to himself and nap when no one else is around to avoid feeling weak? Or does he want to sleep with the comfort of knowing someone is with him and hell won't take him before he even gets a chance to wake up?

It comes down to how fearful is he of something dragging him off into hell again and the answer is apparently incredibly so.

Also, if he's going to look vulnerable and weak then it might as well be with Charles, who's seen him at his worst.

He tries not to overthink how pleased Charles is each time Edwin seeks him out for a nap or how good it feels to be held, the safest place he can think of is in Charles arms or under his sharp watch.

Charles hovers, and he's aware of it. He can't convince himself to stray too far from Edwin. Part of it's because he's protective, reluctant to leave Edwin in anyone else's hands when he's more vulnerable then before.

Part of it is selfish, he's a little possessive. A sleeping Edwin is not something anyone else needs to see. Edwin in pain is not something anyone else needs to see.

Crystal had recently demanded they have a bed available in the office for when her and Niko stayed over, even though they rarely use it. It's soft, covered in pillows and blankets, and Edwin has taken to hiding away in it when he sleeps. Crystal looks incredibly pleased when it slips that Edwin uses it and Charles is hit with a intense wave of fondness for her.

No one needs to see Edwin like this. Especially not when he loses a lot of his layers and curls up in something more comfortable. It leaves him vulnerable, his throat and wrists bare, and looking smaller without all extra clothing.

Nobody needs to see how he only really lets himself sleep when Charles is in bed with him or close enough in the room to reach out for if needed. He watches Charles do whatever it is he's doing with half lidded eyes, a strip of green that stubbornly stays visible until Charles is closer.

In the beginning they thought it was something temporary. Ghost don't need to sleep, Charles never sleeps. Sometimes he can get himself to relax enough that it's almost like sleeping but it's not anywhere near actual sleep.

They think it's just him trying to make up what Esther took.

But it keeps happening. Again and again.

And it makes them both anxious. Charles is worried about why Edwin suddenly needs to sleep but Edwin is worried about the actual sleeping part.

He does not want to sleep. Sleep means dreaming and nothing good will come from his dreams, he's sure of it.

It's also scary. Sleep is a weakness, it leaves him vulnerable and unaware. He doesn't want to sleep.

In those first few weeks where they all still thought this would pass, exhaustion caught up to him one evening as they were finishing up a long case. Charles was out and he couldn't even think about how wonderful it would be to go to go lay down because Charles was not there.

The office was too quiet. It made him restless and he would have paced but he was feeling especially sore that day. His hands had ached while he was writing and he had to stop frequently to flex them.

He was weak, alone, and rapidly sliding into a decreased mental awareness due to exhaustion. It's not a situation he liked.

They weren't apart for long those days, and still aren't, so Charles is back pretty quickly but it's long enough that Edwin was struggling. He blinked sleepily at Charles, with eyes that itched when they shouldn't have, and he must have looked terrible because Charles straightened up a little bit and his eyes jumped around the room before he relaxed.

He said something, dropped his bag and walked forward until he could put his hands on Edwin and that's it. Edwin leaned forward until he was relying on Charles to hold him up, turned his face into his neck and passed out still standing up.

It doesn't get that bad again. Charles is good about noticing when Edwin starts to slow down, and when it takes him a little longer to string his words together or explain himself. He picks up the way he carries himself different on day where things hurt a little more or how he rubs his temple when he feels a headache coming on.

He herds Edwin to bed like a sheep dog and makes sure everything is locked up so they won't be bothered. Edwin had managed to find a spell that would keep anyone else, living and none, out of their office when activated. It's perfect for extra privacy and security.

Charles hates that Edwin was hurt enough that he needs this now, and he hates seeing him wore down and exhausted... but part of him loves these days.

Edwin sleepy and soft, usually pulling Charles down with him until they're under all the blankets and pillows, tucked on their own little world.

He clings when he sleeps. He buries his face in Charles throat and under his chin like he's trying to hide, presses in as close as he can until they're completely tangled together. Not that Charles has any problem with that. He runs his fingers over skin in soothing gestures and pulls him in close if he starts to show any signs of a nightmare.

He wakes up with hair sticking up and clothes rumpled, blinking at Charles a few times as he tries to wake up enough to remember what's happening. Sometimes, Charles gets lucky and Edwin will stretch out like a cat before readjusting himself to be close again and doze off for a little longer.

It knocks the breath he doesn't need out of his lungs and love sits in his throat until it threatens to choke him.

Sometimes there are nightmares and Edwin shoves himself away desperately with a pained and fearful noise that has Charles cringing. Edwin stares at him from the other side of the bed, eyes big but unfocused in a way that shows he's not actually seeing Charles. He's tight, tense and completely locked up. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. They're both still laying down, and Charles doesn't move even though he wants to. He starts talking, low and soft, keeps doing that until Edwin starts to relax again. It's a slow process and it takes a while before Edwin is relaxed enough that Charles can reach out and coax him back closer. He's exhausted after those little episodes, too tired and his body too sore from being so tense to put up much of a fight as Charles tucks him in close again. Sometimes he's asleep before they're even settled back in, limp with sleep as Charles rearranges him in a way that won't have him aching when he wakes up.

Sometimes Charles is too wired to lay down, even if cuddling is great motivation, and he keeps himself busy while Edwin rests. Sometimes they're in the middle of a case and there's still work that needs to be done, so he does what can while until Edwin is back up and functional.

It's a powerful feeling, having Edwin trust him so much and so openly. Sometimes Charles has to check on him, the quiet and unmoving lump on the bed making him nervous until he looks him over, just to make sure everything is okay. It's hard to tell sometimes since they don't breathe like the living, and Edwin sleeps so quiet. He doesn't even flinch at Charles getting close, nothing triggering those survival instincts gained in hell that would have him awake and moving if it was anyone else this close.

God help anyone stupid enough to try something when they're like this. He'd fight anyone who disturbed them, anyone who woke Edwin up from his much needed rest or threaten to cause them harm. It burns under his skin and it makes his teeth itch.

Nothing would separate them. Nothing could take them away from each other.

[ellecdc]

HI QUEEN 🎀🩷🎀🩷

I literally just atalkws all your marauders fics for like 2 solid hours. You're writing is healing me at this point.

I was wondering if your requests were open? And if they are can I please request a fic that happens directly after the first war (marauders era) and reader has ptsd and maybe got triggered by the smallest of domestic actions done by one of the boys and comfort ensues for the episode and aftermath guilt?

I'm sorry it's oddly specific, just fighting some demons rn and your awesome writing kinda does the trick heheh

please feel free to ignore this one! love u <33

thanks for your request, love. hope things have been easier on you as of late <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader who is struggling with PTSD [1.5k words]

CW: PTSD, post-war, mention of past character death/grief, panic attack, hurt/comfort

The war had taken its toll on all of you; ghosts of the people you lost and the people you all once were haunted you, reminding you of scars both visible and invisible that coloured every aspect of your life.

There were things that the four of you staunchly refused to talk about; Remus refused to speak about his time in the feral packs, Sirius refused to speak about his brother, James refused to speak about Peter’s betrayal, and you refused to speak about what happened when you went missing.

Perhaps there were healthier ways to manage the grief and pain, perhaps you would all benefit from reconsidering those lines each of you had drawn in the sand.

But you were all alive, you were all together, and you had your whole lives ahead of you, and for now, that was enough. 

It was enough until it wasn’t.

It was enough until Remus was sitting on the floor of your kitchen with you pulled into his chest as Sirius hovered in front of you, holding your hands against his chest as he begged you to breathe, to copy his breaths, to come back to him. 

To come back to him. 

You and James had been fussing in the kitchen making breakfast this morning; Remus being wholly uninterested in mornings but very much interested in the two of you had been sitting at the kitchen table in camaraderie as Sirius shuffled sleepily into the room. 

He took the time to admire Sirius’ sleep rumpled hair and the faint lines over his face and bare torso, clearly having rolled straight out of bed before going in search of his loves. 

You were reaching into a cupboard to retrieve Sirius’ favourite mug when he came up behind you and placed his hand at the nape of your neck at the exact moment that James burned himself at the stove; cursing loudly and dropping the pan which landed on the floor with a bang, closely followed by the sound of breaking glass. 

Remus was up from his seat in record time, aching joints be damned, and at James’ side.

“I’m sorry, I’m okay; sorry.” James gritted out, acquiescing to Remus’ probes and allowing him to examine his hand.

“Awe bubs, you got yourself good.” Remus cooed as he cast a quick aguamenti over the burn.  

“Shit, yeah.” He breathed out. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What broke?” Remus asked then, looking down at the pan that had landed horribly close to James’ feet and searching for evidence of a broken bowl.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you not drop something?” Remus clarified.

James shook his head with furrowed brows. “Just the pan.”

Their bemusement turned to concern when they heard a choked “baby” coming from Sirius’ lips. 

Remus’ stomach dropped as he turned to see you half keeled over, leaning against the counter with one hand at your abdomen and the other over your mouth as if you were suppressing a scream. 

“Is she hurt!?” James asked quickly, moving swiftly along from his own pain.

“It…I- it was me. I-” Sirius started, sinking to the floor in time with you as your legs seemed wholly unable to hold you up in your current state. 

“She’s panicking.” Remus surmised aloud, quickly tiptoeing over what he realised were shards of Sirius’ mug that you’d been procuring moments before. 

“Dove? Hey, look at me.” Remus offered as he crouched in front of you.

You shook your head quickly and sucked in a stilted breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, my love, just look at me.”

You shook your head again and tried to back further into the lower cabinets as if hoping they would simply swallow you whole.

“I’ll clean it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” Sirius pleaded, “we’re not worried about the mess.”

“I’m okay.” You sobbed, sounding anything but.

“I know you are, dove. You’re okay, come now.” Remus said as he finally joined you on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets and pulling you into his lap so that you were fully enveloped in his embrace. “Big breath, babylove, can you do that for me?”

You made a high pitched keening sound and shook your head quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Remus looked over to notice that James had his burnt hand held protectively against his chest while his other kneaded into Sirius’ shoulder as he whispered into his ear.

“Look, dove, Jamie can fix the mug no problem, and Siri’s gonna help you take big breaths, okay?” Remus tired then, stirring both boys into action as James straightened and cast a quick reparo to Sirius’ mug and Sirius shuffled over on his knees to station himself between Remus’ spread legs and in front of you. 

“Can you copy me, baby? Like this?” Sirius begged. “Just like this.”

Sirius pried your hands away from your face and encouraged them to flatten out against his chest where Remus was sure you could feel the hammering of his heart as he took a dramatic breath for your benefit. 

You choked out a few more apologies that both boys gently admonished you for as you tried to copy Sirius’ breaths; they were nowhere near as deep or graceful, but Remus was thankful for your effort nonetheless. 

James reappeared then, his own hand now wrapped with medical tape and smelling strongly of Remus’ healing balms when he held something out for you.

“Angel, can you do me a favour?” He asked extraordinarily softly that it even had Remus feeling more at ease. “Can you hold these for me?”

Remus watched your face as you wretched your eyes open - another ‘deep breath’ stilted by a sob as you looked to him - to see him holding two large spheres of ice that Sirius had for his firewhiskey. 

Sirius kept his hands gently stationed on your arms as you removed them from his chest and accepted the ice from James, still never letting go even as the ice began to melt and drip freezing water down your wrists. 

When your sobs became the occasional hiccups and Remus felt you deflate further into his embrace, he braved a gentle caress of your upper arms in warning of his presence.

“Better?” He murmured lowly into your shoulder, earning him a deep sigh that came out only slightly shaky. 

“I…think so. I’m s-”

“No, no, dove.” He admonished quickly, peppering slow kisses along your shoulder and the column of your neck. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I didn’t mean to cause a scene.” You murmured quietly, and Remus watched as Sirius’ face crumpled.

“You didn’t cause a scene, baby.” He argued quickly. “You were scared; I-”

James made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat as he wrapped an arm around Sirius and pressed his lips to his long-haired boyfriend’s head.

“Should we not touch you like that, dove? Here?” Remus asked carefully then; dragging a barely-there finger across the nape of your neck and watching goosebumps appear.

“No, that’s fine, I- it wasn’t that I…it was just both and I…I didn’t sleep very well and it was just…”

“Too much?” Sirius offered as James relinquished you of what was left of your ice that had you and Remus damp, drawing circles into your wrists that he still had secured in his grasp.

“Just at once, I’m sorry.”

“Angel…” James chided.

“I am sorry.” You insisted as you looked at James imploringly. “I’ve not been doing a very good job handling my shit lately and now I’ve ruined the morning for everyone.”

“It’s not your shit, baby, and it’s not only yours to handle; we’re supposed to be helping you too, yeah?” Sirius pressed as he craned his neck to meet your eye that you were trying to avoid. 

“And you didn’t ruin anything; you could never ruin anything.” James added. 

You sniffled at that and took another deep breath that hardly shook at all as you leaned further into Remus. “Is your hand okay, Jamie?”

James smiled softly at you before bending down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’ll be good as new, but I owe Moons some healing balm since I used a whole jar from his stash.”

“I’ll buy it!” Sirius announced quickly, surprising a small laugh from you.

“I’d think not, Pads; I’m the one who used it up!”

“Yes but you’re the one who was hurt, I’m the one who upset our girl.”

“I upset her too.” James countered as they began arguing who had played a bigger hand in this morning’s commotion. 

You and Remus shared a fond yet exasperated look before the two of you stood - on shaky legs after being folded up for so long - and opted to take a warm shower and change into dry clothes.

It may not have been the start to the day any of you would have liked, but you all made it out okay, you were all together, and you had your whole lives ahead of you. 

And for now, that was more than enough.

[midnightwriter21]

demon slayer hcs: the hashira men having a demon!SO that’s immune to sunlight pt.1

characters: fem!reader x rengoku, giyuu

PT 2 with Sanemi HERE

AN: the long awaited request is finally here!! sorry for the delay! im in college and finals week was crazy! but the semester is over and i'm ready to get back to it with a bunch of new content for you guys! <3

RENGOKU

when he comes home from a mission to find the house completely trashed and a trail of blood leading to the bedroom he freezes

his first thought is that you're dead

someone or something has broken in

and he wasn't here to protect you

immediately blames himself

and poor kyo just can't force himself to walk in the bedroom only to discover your broken bleeding body

his heart couldn't take it

its not until he hears movement and small noises of pain that he pushes the bedroom door open

only to discover you hiding in the corner of the room covered with a blanket

relief

until he pulls the blanket from your head to see what you've turned into

he doesn't react

doesn't talk

doesn't move

doesn't even breathe

just stares at you

until you manage to croak out his name

this snaps his mind into high gear

immediately thoughts of the young Kamado girl are running through his head

she has never hurt a human and seems to do just fine

and if you were going to harm him you would have done it already

quickly pulls you into his arms, making sure to avoid the sunlight peaking through the curtains and carries you to the bed to set you down

scribbles a note to the head of the corps to inform him of your condition

and spends the rest of the day and that night comforting and reassuring you because of what had to have been a traumatic night

a week or so passes

you fall back into your old routine of caring for the house

and its quite obvious that you're becoming depressed

no longer able to enjoy the warmth of the sun and being cooped up in the house for your own safety

it isnt until a young man wearing the head of a boar bursts headfirst through the window

breaking the glass, ripping down the curtains

with a "comin through!"

that you realize the sunlight doesn't harm you like it does to other demons

leave it to inosuke lmao

when kyo returns home from another mission around noon

imagine his surprise when his demon SO bursts through the front door into the sun

and into his arms

takes a minute for him to process that you're not burning up

"oh my god we have to get you inside NOW"

the poor man is having a heartattack

but then he sees your smile and hears your laugh for the first time since the attack

finally he's able to realize that the sun has no effect on you

and he's picking you up and swinging you around in a giant hug

i just know he gives the best hugs

i'd let him crush me to death in one

of course kyo is still sometimes crushed with guilt

he blames himself for your transformation in the first place

but the most important thing is that you're safe and happy again

GIYUU

why can't this man ever just be happy

when you don't show up at your usual meeting place with Giyuu in between missions he knows somethings up

he rushes to your home

and there you are

sitting on the steps in front of your house

covered in blood and in tears

it isn't until he gets closer that he realizes what has happened

he has no words

everyone that giyuu has ever loved has been taken from him

and he allowed himself to love you

thats why this has happened

blames himself even though it obviously not his fault

still not speaking he looks at the sky to see the sun

and then back at you

a demon

who isn't affected by the sunlight in the slightest

and isn't attacking him

and then he disappears

when he returns several hours later it's dark outside

and with him he's brought Shinobu and the Kamado siblings

one of which is a demon

Shinobu checks you over and determines that the blood you are covered in is indeed yours

but any wounds you had have already healed

Nezuko senses what you are but seems to know that you're docile and snuggles up to your side as a comfort

and Giyuu just watches quietly

when Nezuko has fallen asleep her brother picks her up giving you a sad smile before he leaves

Giyuu helps you stand and brings you inside

he runs a bath so you can clean urself off

and goes about cleaning the house which was destroyed during your attack

it isn't until you're in bed that Giyuu lays behind you, tugs you close to him, and speaks to you for the first time

"i am staying with you. and i WILL turn you back."

and those two sentences bring you all the comfort in the world

[patronsaintofelsewhere]

Thoughts on Angel Crowley & Healing from Trauma

(Minor Good Omens S2 Spoilers)

As someone who’s endured my own Trauma and dealt with the resulting PTSD, watching Crowley’s journey from a joyful, silly, and entirely innocent angel to a withdrawn, lonely, hyper-vigilant demon as a result of the Fall both shattered my heart and confronted me with the fact of myself, and I’d like to talk about it. 

When you* experience Trauma, you experience an existential disorientation and a profound sense of grief over the world you thought you knew–one where you were safe and nothing bad had ever happened to you. “Innocence died screaming,” and all that.

You're also therefore mourning the loss of who you were, and struggling to make sense of who you are now. Which is why this conversation is so gut-wrenching:

“I know you.” “You do not know me.” “I knew the angel you were.” “The angel you knew is not me.” 

This dialogue admittedly still makes my eyes swim. It’s reminiscent of the many conversations I’ve had with people close to me who knew me Before and After. Not only are you grieving the loss of your own innocence, so are those around you, and it feels like you’re wearing their loved one’s face like a mask.

And then underneath the grief, there’s a river of–what you’ll later discover is misplaced–guilt. They want you to be who you were. Fuck, you also want to be who you were -- to not have experienced what you did -- but you can’t.

And when they catch a glimpse of something that reminds them of Before-You -- because it's not like that you has just up and vanished, you've just changed -- they say things like, “I feel like I have you back!” Like the After-You is a consolation prize, something to be tolerated while they wait for the Before-You to return.

It’s not malicious. They love you. They want you to be happy. But it just serves as a reminder of your loss and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how alone you are with the Thing that hurt you.

After trauma, you’re lonely and you're afraid. But those emotions make you feel quite naked, because both of those things would require you to depend on other people to feel better and, at this point, the thought of doing that is far too scary, so to the world, you’re angry. Thus begins the cyclical self-fulfilling prophecy.

And that cycle goes a bit like this: People see the mistrust and the bitterness and the volatility (the shield that keeps people at an arm's length and helps you feel safe). They don't see the profound sustained fear underneath, the desperate need to feel seen and accepted. And so people pull away.

And that real or perceived abandonment feeds the monster that’s taken up permanent residence in your ribcage and screams at all hours that you’re not worthy of love, that you’re irreparably broken, and you’ll always be alone. And you pull away from the people that love you. And the cycle repeats. And you start to believe all of the bad things about yourself that the monster tells you.

Being confronted with a character who you adore and who you also relate to closely is bittersweet in that it’s both immensely painful, but also offers you an opportunity to interrupt that cycle, to explore a different -- perhaps more forgiving -- lens through which to view yourself. To practice self-compassion by proxy, if you will. After all, we tend to extend far greater empathy and forgiveness to others than we do to ourselves.

Angel Crowley, "who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty,” (joycrispy) reminded me a lot of “Angel T,” or rather myself before Trauma.

And Crowley's story is tragic. I was heartbroken and angry for him; I felt the depth of the betrayal he experienced at the hands of someone he loved who he'd believed loved him; I found myself wanting to protect him, to comfort him. Crowley did not deserve what happened to him.

And, over a decade later, I realized that I’d finally accepted that I’d been an innocent, just like Crowley had, and I didn't deserve what happened to me, either.

And -- if you find yourself relating to this post -- neither did you.

Once we can tell ourselves that and actually believe it, we can start to lower the shield. We can allow people closer, including ourselves. We can bring the parts of ourselves we may have hidden away back to the surface. We can soften again. We can truly start to heal.

Crowley, at his core, remains the same. He is still kind, deeply loving, playful, silly, and – against all odds – hopeful. But his trauma has changed him; his innocence is gone.

He struggles to trust others; fears abandonment; engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms; finds it easier to prioritize and tend to Aziraphale's needs and desires than his own; and has difficulty expressing his emotions.

But he also gained an abundance of empathy, a deep love for humanity, and a strong sense of justice.

We adore Crowley exactly as he is now; we don't wish for him to be who he was before the Fall. And neither does Aziraphale.

In kind, we won’t be who we were — nor should we try to be — but we can be something new, a different version of ourselves that is equally good, equally worthy, and equally deserving of love. 

After over a decade, I think my Trauma wound has mostly healed, as much as Trauma wounds can, anyway; it’s a dull ache rather than an acute pain. Yet Crowley's story assuaged that remaining hurt like a salve I hadn’t realized I needed.

So thank you to @neil-gaiman for giving us such a beautiful story, and to David Tennant, Michael Sheen, and the rest of the cast and crew who bring the characters we love to life on screen.

Good Omens truly is a gift. May it continue to inspire us to offer kindness and love to ourselves and one another. 🖤

* I am aware that I say “you” when I should use the singular first-person “I,” but I still struggle with this when talking about my own trauma. So I’m using “you” and you, reader, will deal with it x

[peonysgreenhouse]

-`♡´- return.

summary: the obey me datables & luke react to mc coming back to life!

tags: obey me datables (simeon, solomon, diavolo, barbatos) x gn!reader, luke & gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied character death, mentions of violence in solomon's parts, solomon goes a little crazy teehee

i. simeon

he sees you there, in the celestial realm. he had known your soul was pure from the very beginning, but seeing you among the angels was like a knife to his gut, a reminder of his failures to protect you. 

you weren’t supposed to be here, not now, at least. it was far too early for you to die. simeon can’t help but feel bitterness well up within him as you turn from michael to look for someone in the crowd (he knew it was him. he hoped it was him).

your features light up – simeon feels his heart skip a beat. even now you were just as he last remembered you, he had always taken the time to visit you in the devildom, even after his internship was over. you more beautiful than any angel he had ever seen. 

you embrace him tight, and the tighter you squeeze the more he feels like he can’t breathe, the combating feelings waging a war in his mind. he should’ve been watching over you; what kind of guardian angel was he to let his human die like this?

“i’m sorry,” he doesn’t know why his voice cracks when he says it. simeon? losing his composure? he had garnered many millennia of years of experience working to keep it up. “i’m sorry i didn’t protect you.”

“it’s okay simeon,” he feels your hands squeeze the back of his cloak. a wicked thought crosses his mind; maybe if you dug your nails in harder he would have some penance for his failures. if you cut through the bone and marrow and reached his heart then maybe his father would forgive him – maybe you would forgive him for his short-comings. “i’m here now.”

“right,” he breathes you in as if to convince himself. simeon feels the strength of his bond with you overwhelm him, he can feel how much you care for him and he feels his chest fill with warmth, chasing away his guilt, if for the moment. “you’re here forever. with me. nothing can hurt you here, i promise.”

ii. luke

luke had always told you to be mindful of demons, that they were evil creatures who would take any opportunity to kill you. it had seemed that his warning had proved true in the worst way. if only he hadn’t been a cherub; if uriel had promoted him to be your guardian angel like he had asked, maybe this could’ve been avoided.

but he was overwhelmed with how happy he was at the fact that you would be spending time with him forever in the celestial realm. he had wanted nothing more ever since you had become friends in the devildom. you were the one light for him in the exchange program.

“you’re here!” luke chirps, sprinting down the golden bricks of the road to the archangels’ house. “you’re really–!” you’re suddenly enveloped in a hug as luke wraps himself around your waist. 

“hello luke!” you smile from ear to ear, ruffling up his neat hair. usually, he’d make a comment about you not treating him like a child, but for now it seems he’s too busy nuzzling into you. “it’s good to see you again.”

“yes! i’m happy to see you,” he pulls away, cheeks visibly flushed. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t there to protect you from those mean old demons but… everything will be fine now that you’re here!”

“would you like to give them a tour of the celestial realm?” michael chimes in with a smile, the younger angel’s eyes lighting up like a christmas tree.

luke nods excitedly, taking your hand in his, already tugging you out of the estate: “we have so much to do! we can’t waste any time!”

iii. solomon

solomon spirals hard.

there was a reason solomon pushed everyone away, why most people in his life were kept an arms length apart. he got too attached to things; to power, to magic, to anything that gave him that needed adrenaline rush… why would you be any different? you, the only person he has ever loved had been snatched out of his hands.

and worst of all, he had been powerless to save you. 

all the magic and demon pacts and connections in the world couldn’t stop you from bleeding out in his arms. humans like you were much too fragile for his liking; he had worked tirelessly his whole life to be anything but.

if he couldn’t get what he wanted from the damned, he would have to turn his eyes to the celestial realm. if he had to tear down the heavens and bring you crashing back down to earth, he’s sure he would. 

making bonds with angels was much more difficult than that of demons, but he found after nights of endless research that plucking a few of their feathers would get them to sing. 

he’s covered in golden ichor when he manages to bring you back – a life for a life. he finally was able to do it, not only to bring a human back to life, but to bring you back. solomon rises, shakily, as you feel your body materialize out of the magic sigil etched into the floor. he smiles gently, looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.

so why do you look back at him with such horror?

iv. diavolo

he had bargained with the archangels before, but never for a life.

in all accounts, a human choosing to leave the celestial realm and go to the devildom was unheard of. being cast out of heaven was notoriously the worst punishment anyone could receive.

but you do, you would always choose him over all the luxuries and beauty of the heavens every single time. it was true that love made people do stupid things.

michael sends you back to the devildom months after diavolo’s terms were set, a gift with the price of owing the ruler of the celestial realm a favor. michael was known for his kindness, but diavolo knew that there was more to him than that. he was smart enough to know that michael would never jeopardize the devildom, but angels never forgot debts owed. it was a risk, but one diavolo had no choice but to take. 

above all the benevolence and good-will he draped himself in, at his core, he was a selfish demon; perhaps moreso than anyone else in the devildom. 

he holds you against his chest the whole night. in the morning, he’d have duties and meetings to go to. but for now, you were his. 

“little one,” he mumbles into your hair, hands tight around your waist, “make a pact with me. that you may be at my side forevermore.”

v. barbatos

in so many other timelines he sees you, shining, alive. he starts to resent the other versions of himself for being happy with you (or even worse, happy with any of the others). barbatos could pull you out as easily as he could breathe; he had a mastery over his powers that other lower demons could only imagine. 

but it wouldn’t be the same, he reminds himself, it wouldn’t be his version of you. 

he knew the way to get you back, it’d be to break his own rule: do not interact with the past. diavolo had given him permission to bring you back, it would be a stain on the exchange student program if one of the humans came back dead after the second semester. but he wasn’t so sure, what if the you he brought back wasn’t the you he remembered? 

barbatos does it anyways, knowing he can’t refuse an order from his lord. the you in the celestial realm will be erased from existence replaced with the you of the past, the one who doesn’t know what it’s like to die. the two can only hope it doesn’t cause drama in the celestial realm.

“barbatos?” you question as you walk in the gardens with him, completely oblivious to it all. if he hadn’t been so happy that you had returned, he would feel guilty for not telling you of your death. sometimes, ignorance was bliss. “are you okay? you seem more quiet than usual.”

“do i?” he muses, forcing a soft smile for you. “i’m afraid i’m simply just a bit tired. sleep evaded me last night.” the last part wasn’t a lie.

“sorry to hear that,” you pout, “if you want to go nap, you should!

“do you not wish to spend time with me?”

“it’s not that…” you kick at the ground, arms crossed behind your back. “it’s just we have all the time in the world though, right? i want you to be rested when we’re together.”

he feels as if you’ve struck him with an arrow to his chest. barbatos sees your lifeless body in his mind, did you know and were trying to taunt him? or were you simply just this sweet?

“i suppose you’re right.” he nods his head, “but you’re coming with me.”

[wandering-winchesters]

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Darkest Night- The reader loses someone close to her, Dean is close for comfort

Hunt Gone Wrong - The reader is injured while on a hunt, but doesn’t want the boys to know. Considering it should have been an easy hunt.

Not A Demon In Hell - The reader is taken by a Djinn, follows Dean as he does everything in his power to get her back. 

If this is how I go, it’s worth it - the reader is injured saving Dean. 

Please don’t shut me out  - the reader deals with depression and anxiety, Dean seeks to help her. 

Crossroads, Crossroads II, Crossroads III- (SPOILERS) Based around the time period of Season 2, when Dean makes a deal with the crossroads demon. The reader finds out that he made a deal, and what follows.

Nightmares-The reader has a nightmare and Dean is there to wake her. After, he questions what caused the nightmare. 

A Million Times More- The reader and Dean make a pit stop on the way back from a hunt, will their true feelings finally be revealed? 

Bad Feeling-The reader has a bad feeling about a hunt, the boys ignore it and she gets hurt.

Burning Up - the reader is sick and Dean takes care of her. Lots of fluff. 

The Mark Of Cain - Dean has the mark of cain, and Y/N is normally the one who can calm him. However, this time things go too far. 

Down Range- The reader is new to hunting and Dean takes her to learn how to shoot.

Premonitions- The reader has always had visions, but now they’re changing and causing her physical harm.

Not Yourself- The reader has been feeling off, ever since a nasty encounter with a demon.

Who Did This To You? -Sam and the reader are close friends, Dean on the other hand is kept at a distance. The reader has a boyfriend, who turns out to be abusive. What will happen when Dean finds out?

Tragedy -The reader is used to hunting solo, yet this solo hunt does not turn out quite like she had hoped. She is required to call on Dean and Sam after she is injured.

Hopeless - The reader can feel her depression creeping back in and eventually seeks comfort from Dean, who greets her with open arms.

When the Storm Clouds Rolls in- On a particularly hard day, the reader relies on Dean for comfort.

Haunted- the reader gets ghost sickness

Do It- The reader is taken captive and has given up hope of being rescued or escaping. Yet when Dean does appear, his life is the one at stake.

Don't Push Your Luck- After a bad argument with Dean, over the reader putting herself in danger, another hunt goes wrong. Will there be time to reveal the feelings that lie beneath the anger?

Grief- The reader loses her grandfather and eventually seeks comfort from Dean.

Take Me Back- Based on the song, The Night We Met by Lord Huron

Letters- Love Letter from Dean

A Calm in the Storm- When the world feels like it’s closing in, Dean is there to pull you back from the edge.

Steady Hands- When the weight of the world becomes too much, Dean is there to hold you together.

Breaking the Walls- Dean struggles with his growing feelings for you, battling the fear of letting you in while also being terrified of losing you.

The Weight of Darkness- In the midst of depression's grip, Dean's presence offers a glimmer of hope and the promise that you don't have to face it alone.

Under the Stars- you share a quiet, intimate moment in the woods, where a simple hand-holding leads to a deeper connection under the starry night sky.

A Moment too Late - A hunt goes wrong, leaving you seriously injured and Dean grappling with guilt. But through it all, the bond you share only grows stronger as you both fight through the pain and recovery together.

Comfort in the Dark- Dean Winchester seeks solace in your embrace during a vulnerable night.

Reunited - After days of fear and separation, you reunite with Dean.

When the Line is Crossed-What was supposed to be a simple night at the bar turns dangerous, but Dean steps in to protect you when it matters most.

A Cold Night's Warmth -On a freezing night after a hunt gone wrong, Dean Winchester quietly offers comfort

After the Battle - After a grueling hunt, you and Dean share a rare moment of closeness.

No Room for Blame- After a hunt leaves you injured saving Sam, a tense and emotional ride back to the motel forces Dean to confront his fear, anger, and the unbreakable bond between the three of you.

Unspoken Feelings - What started as simple, comforting snuggles between friends gradually deepens into something more

A Desperate Moment I, A Desperate Moment II -After a life-threatening hunt, Dean, overwhelmed by fear and desperation.

Sleepless Confessions- In the stillness of the bunker’s kitchen, a sleepless night turns into a tense, unspoken confession between you and Dean.

Wreckage- The things you see as Dean is taken by the hell hounds.

[bunniesanddeer]

Heat: Part Two

Part One

Pairing: Alastor x Reader (AFAB) Lamb/Sheep Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Smut, fingering, fluff, very gentle touches, heat, female anatomy

Word Count: 3,128

It’s barely dawn when he wakes. At first, Alastor isn’t sure what had woken him. Although he was often an early riser, he had figured the long night keeping watch over his soul-bonded would have made him sleep later than usual. He flicks his eyes around the room he had moved them to for a moment. It is after he has taken stock of the room, and the dim, red light filtering through the curtains, that he hears it. His little lamb is whimpering. 

Alastor sits all the way up so he can look down at them. His first instinct, had, of course, been to make sure that they weren’t hurt. With the way their brows are scrunched tight, and the soft sounds leaving them, he still wasn’t sure. 

“Ma bichette, you should wake.” He settles his hands on their shoulders, going to shake them, but their eyes pop open.

Their eyes, which are normally blue with black sclera, have become black voids. Alastor felt as if he was staring into empty space. It was oddly hypnotizing. As they move, incomprehensible noises escaping them, their scent drifts up to him. It is almost overpowering, and stronger than it had been in the last two days. His head feels heavy, and the itching beneath his skin returns. 

“Oh, my dearest, I do believe it has begun.” He kicks back the blanket, to help them untangle their legs. His soul-bonded moves around the bed, their eyes scarcely leaving him for even a moment. 

“Alastor,” They whisper. Oh, their voice! It was heavenly, and it only drew him in further. “Alastor, please.”

Their pleading, in their breathy whisper, sends heat down his abdomen. The fiery heat growing within him feels very much like how they had described their symptoms. Every bit of his body felt too confining. But oh! He mustn’t get distracted with his own feelings. His little lamb needed him. 

“Come here, ma moitié,” he calls. He opens his arms, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. He watches as they hesitate, nose twitching as some instinct calls for them to do. With a tilt of their head, something in them decides he is safe, and they crawl to his lap. His arms immediately wrap around them, pressing them as close to his chest as he can get them. Their heat is the comfort of a roaring fireplace in winter, and it makes him shiver. He drags his nose into the wool atop their head, breathing in deeply. They smell so wonderful; there is something heady, but also something comforting and familiar. 

“Mon trésor, can you understand me?” He rubs a claw against their soft cheek, trying to draw their attention. Their ears twitch, and their tail moves at the sound of his voice. “Dearest,” he tries again. “I need you to answer me, if you can. I want to make sure you still want me to help you.”

“Alastor, please. It hurts.” They wiggle back, trying to look him in the eyes. Their pupils are visible again, but only just; they are tiny pinpricks in the void of their eyes. “Please help me.”

Alastor closes his eyes at their request, and his smile loosens. Their request made him feel incredibly strange, as if some ball of energy was bouncing about in his body, begging to be freed. The heat their scent caused, still hadn’t abated. He opens his eyes again, and nods. 

“Of course, mon cœur. Do you wish to remove any of this clothing? You are getting quite warm.” Alastor tugs at the thin tee they wear, and they nod. Without any help from him, they pull the shirt over their head, and their chest is revealed. 

Alastor’s breath hitches. He had been expecting some sort of undergarment, but it is their bare flesh he sees. He was aware that their chest was rather small, compared to the bodies of other female demons, but it didn’t matter to him. His hands almost immediately cup their breasts, rubbing against their already pert nipples.

His little lamb gasps, their breath stopping for a moment. “Oh,” they start, their voice pitched higher than normal. “That feels nice.”

Alastor takes it as his cue to continue exploring everything they’ve laid bare for him. One hand continues to rub at their, so very soft, chest, and his other hand travels downwards. The skin of their belly is also very soft, a slight give beneath it. 

“You are so very soft, little one,” he coos to them. He ducks his face into the junction of their neck, nuzzling against them. He squeezes one of their hips, and they shiver. “What would you like to do? I know it must be getting quite uncomfortable.”

His soul-bonded wiggles, making him pull back so they can move easier. Their eyes seem to scan his form for a moment, before settling on his legs. 

“Can-” their voice cuts off, their already flushed face darkening further. “Can I ride your thigh?” They start shivering, as if their little body couldn’t handle the anticipation. “It’s probably the easiest, for now. I think, uh, that you can use your hands later, if you would like.”

Alastor lets his smile soften. They are so nervous, and it makes his chest ache. How sweet and wonderful they were. He nods, gesturing for them to find a comfortable position. Although the idea of them riding his leg, whatever that meant specifically, was new to him, he knew it must be helpful. They seemed so eager, and he wanted them to feel good. 

Alastor realizes, as they prop themselves on one of his thighs, closer to his knee than his groin, what exactly they mean. He also notices that they are, in fact, only wearing underwear now. It is a thin, soft, red pair, cut high enough to see where their thighs and pelvis meet. His eyes are glued to the soft skin at the point where they meet. Something, deep inside of him, wants him to bite there, and he couldn’t tell where it came from. 

His little lamb settle their hands in front of them, grasping at his thigh for dear life. He watches with fascination as they shift their hips forward. Their entire body seems to light up, breath stuttering. 

“Oh,” they shakily exhale. “That’s- that’s good.” Their eyes flutter closed, and their claws scratch his thigh lightly. Alastor nearly falls forward with the shock of such a feeling. No one had ever touched him like that, without meaning harm. 

He grasps their hips, as if to steady the both of them, and he leans forward just slightly.

“Come on, ma chérie, do what you must.” His voice drops, the static often accompanying it, gone. “Let me see you ‘ride’ me, dearest.”

His voice spurs them into action, and he watches, as if enchanted. The front of their underwear is darkening, and he can feel something damp soaking through his trousers. (He winces, realizing he had slept in his clothes. It was too late to worry about that, he needed to focus). Alastor lets his thumb sweep up their navel, the other hand cupping their face as they rock their body back and forth. 

“Oh, little one, you are so good for me,” he murmurs. They moan, the sound sending his body ablaze. His skin tingles where he touches them, and his groin feels hot and tight. Oh, the things his little soul-bond did to him. Oh, how wondrous! “Yes, ma moitié. Give yourself pleasure, for me.”

“Alastor,” they mewl as their back bows backward. Their heaving breaths draw his attention back to their pert breasts. Unable to stop the strange desire, Alastor catches one of their nipples in his mouth, tongue immediately exploring the surface. They cry out, and their hands clutch at his shoulders. “Oh, please!”

Alastor feels their muscles tighten beneath his hands. He feels each shuddering breath they take, and the way they moan makes his ears twitch. He places one of his hands between their shoulder blades, pressing them closer to his mouth, and he put the other on their hip, guiding them in their rocking. 

“Please what, dearest,” he asks. He lets their nipple free from his mouth, and replaces his head back against their neck. His tongue laps against their neck, prompting a groan from them. Their skin tasted of salt, and their unique taste, (one he had not experienced since they had made their deal). “Oh, you taste wonderful, my dear.”

“Alastor, please,” they beg, again. Their hips are still grinding down against his thigh, which is growing noticeably damp from the slick coating their underwear and the junction of their thighs. “Please.”

Alastor breathes in deeply, scratching his teeth along their throat. His hands tighten in his hold of them, and he grinds their hips down into his leg, harder. The ache in his chest growing too hard to ignore, and the heat in the pit of his abdomen, his lightly bites down on their shoulder. And then they’re keening, a high and breathy thing, that makes his ears limp. He bites down harder, licking at their skin roughly. Alastor can’t get enough of every little noise they make, and he wants more. 

Alastor lets his voice dip to inhuman levels, and makes his made-for-radio accent drop, he growls, 

“Ma Moitie.”  

His little lamb gasps, and their hips stutter in their pace. They convulse strangely, all their muscles bunching up tight. He feels their muscles beneath their navel twitch sporadically, and their breath stop. Alastor thankfully has a good grip on them, because they go limp in his arms a moment later.

“Oh, mon cœur, look at you.” He pulls them into his arms so he can settle them back onto the bed. Their eyes are dazed, pupils visible again and blown wide. Alastor feels almost as if they are a little doll, so easily moved and adjusted. When they are finally settled back onto the bed, he lies beside them, searching their face. 

“How do you feel, my dear?” He rubs their cheek gently, focusing entirely on their reaction. He can hear the light thumb of their tail against the mattress, (and it makes him thankful that his own is too small to make such a noise. Alastor could feel it twitching the entire time they sat upon his leg). 

“Alastor,” they breathe. One of their hands pulls at his suit jacket. “That felt so good.” Their eyes flutter close, and he watches their whole body jerk. “Unfortunately, I don’t think once is enough.”

A grimace crosses their features. Alastor smiles wider, and he rubs their frown lines with his thumb. “Worry not, dear. I am up to the task.” He lets his voice fill with a confidence he does not feel, but he wants this. He wants to make them feel good again, and to end this ‘heat’ that had been forced on them. “You mentioned, that I could use my hands earlier.”

You can still feel your body twitching, the muscles of your pussy clenching around nothing, as you come down from your orgasm. It is while you are still processing the fact that you had ridden Alastor’s thigh like a saddle, that you feel that painful heat in your belly return. It makes your chest seize, and your head feel fuzzy. When you inform Alastor, he almost immediately mentions making use of his hands. Your brain nearly melts.

Although the two of you had been together for some time now, this was your first, even remotely, intimate experience. You had had a handful of kisses, but nothing more than that. He hadn’t even said anything remotely risqué to you! Now here he was, offering to touch you with his hands.

His hands… the thought sent delightful shivers down your spine. His hands were very large, and they were so warm right now. You wanted him to use them to explore every inch of you, to touch you until his every desire was met. Unfortunately, you couldn’t voice more than a, “Yes, please.”

You felt a tiny bit pathetic, at first, but the soft smile on his face stopped that. He almost looked like he actually wanted to. Not just for you, but for him too. The thought made your chest ache, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up against him and tell him everything you felt about him. You could not, however; there were more pressing matters. 

Alastor sits up, and presses his back against the backboard of the bed. He curls a claw at you, wanting you to move closer to him. 

“Come, my dear. Let’s remove these. They will be very useless in a moment,” he says, pulling at the hem of your underwear. Your face flushes with heat. It was the last scrap covering your skin, and it caused anxiety to grow within you. He hadn’t seen you in such a state before. Would he find this part of you attractive? Did he find you attractive at all? Did he actually want you? Your mind spirals with dreaded questions you couldn’t voice. 

“Ma bichette. Come back to me,” he coos, his hands rubbing your chest and one of your hips. “Do you still want me to touch you?”

The soft way he asks nearly makes you cry. How sweet and kind he could be, despite everything. Tears nearly spring to your eyes at how safe he makes you feel. You can do nothing but nods in response, lest you sob as you try to answer.

Alastor holds the back of your head as he leans you back. He pulls your underwear down your legs as he maneuvers them to his liking. Once the cloth is removed and dropped over the side of the bed, he cradles you in his arms, letting your legs go across his lap. “Mwen renmen ou.” His voice is deep and comforting. You have no clue as to what he whispers against your hair, but you let his voice soothe you. 

Alastor keeps whispering to you, even as he trails a hand down your navel and around your mound. With a control over his form, that you haven’t yet mastered, he blunts his claws, and trails his fingers over your newly exposed skin. His lips caress your forehead as he shifts a finger to press between the lips of your slit. A ragged breath escapes you, and your eyes fall on his face.

There is this look that you can’t describe, on his face. His eyes are softer than they have ever been, their radiant glow further softening his whole expression. His smile is small, but more genuine than you had seen it in weeks. Then, he starts whispering again, just as one of his fingers catches against your clit.

Your whole body lurches at the sensation. The hand holding your head tightens, and you’re forced to remain prone as he continues exploring you. 

“J’adore ton sourire, mon cœur,” he purrs, finger pressing harder against your clit. It sends tingles up your body, and a moan escapes you. “Tu es ma joie de vivre.”

Alastor leans down, and finally presses his lips against yours. Your whole body trembles, and for a moment you see stars. His middle finger is pressing against your entrance as his thumb presses your clit firmly. Combined with his soft, warm lips, you feel overwhelmed. He pulls back, eyes hooded, as he presses his finger into you. Your legs clench, and your eyes flutter. Every worry that you had about the experience fades away as he slowly slides his finger in. Despite how slick you are, there is a lot of friction, making his entrance slower.

“Te me rends fou. Tu ma fait me sentir tout chose,” Alastor coos as he finally presses his finger in, all the way to his knuckle. His thumb rubs at the side of your neck as he grunts. “Si serré.” 

“Alastor,” you whisper, your brows furrowing as you try to calm yourself. Your whole body is shaking now, chest and throat tight. You feel like a live wire, electricity coursing through you like a river. 

“Yes, my little lamb?” Alastor asks, finally rubbing your clit again. Despite his inexperience, his touches are deft, and gentle. It feels unfair that he be so good at things he hasn’t done before. 

“Please. I need it,” you beg, softly. Your back arches as he slowly pulls his finger out, and thrusts back in. You need him to just keep touching you. Anything. It feels better than you could have imagined this feeling.

“Of course, little one.” His forehead touches yours, eyes lidded as he gazes at you. “Does this feel right, my dear?”

You nod, trying to kiss him, but the hand on the back of your head keeps you from turning it too far. A breathy chuckle leaves him, and he kisses you.

As your lips connect again, he sets a pace with his fingers. Sparks flare out from beneath your navel, and it just feels so good. Your hands finally give up trying to find purchase with each other, and you grab at the arm reaching across your belly. Your fingers dig in as he curls his finger. 

Alastor leans back from you, watching you closely. “Oh, look at you. Ma bichette. So good for me, aren’t you?” 

His words turn up the heat in your belly, and you feel like you’re going to implode. Noises keep escaping you, and your eyes close tightly. You grasp at his hand, and then he twists it. The move sends you crashing over the edge, one you weren’t aware of being on. 

Your body is white-hot for a brief moment, and then it all fades to static. Not quite like Alastor’s, but more like the fuzzy TV static. It blankets over you as your muscles spasm. Your lungs stutter and heave, muscles failing to find the rhythm you need. You vaguely hear your own voice muttering, and you can feel Alastor’s hand still. 

“Ma moitié. You were so good for me,” Alastor mumbles, his hands cupping your face. “So good.”

“L’ve you, Al,” you whisper, feeling exhaustion crash over you. Your body gives in, and your eyes slide shut. You can feel Alastor stiffen, for just a moment, before he starts whispering words you don’t understand again. 

“Que ferais-je sans vous, mon cœur?” Alastor’s voice is still that deep tone that he rarely lets you hear, and it soothes you. Within a few moments, you succumb to the need to sleep. 

Alastor would stay vigilant, by your side, for the whole night. Even his own eventual need for rest couldn’t prevent him from whispering sweet words to you, and keeping you safe. 

[confessioncassette]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟖+. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲.

𝐭𝐰 : 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : 𝟏.𝟔𝐤

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫. 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲. 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧’𝐬 - 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐲 (𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐚)

“Another cosmo, please."

It's late.

Soft music plays through the lobby as Husk quietly makes your second drink of the night. It was a long day, but it's the weekend. A drink after a hectic day never hurt anybody, right? Husk tried to get you to talk, but you just didn't want to. No offense to him- you just weren't in the mood. And he understood, he always does.

Movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention. The radio demon, quiet as ever, props his elbow over the counter. His red eyes scan over your body as Husk hands you your next drink.

"A whiskey, neat, if you don't mind."

Alcohol buzzes warmly down your throat as you take a sip. Your eyes watch Husk as he pours Alastor his drink and slides it across the bar to him.

"Tough day, my dear? I don't think I've seen you so gloomy." He slides over the bar stool to sit.

You shrug, "I don't really want to talk about it, Al."

He hums and takes a swig of his drink. He doesn't pester. He doesn't fill in the gaps of silence. He listens to the music with you on the opposite side of the bar. Husk is quiet too, polishing glasses as he nurses a drink.

You scroll through your phone to pass the time. The alcohol warms your body, giving you a relaxing buzz.

You're tired. Your body's heavy from the emotional weight of today. Everyone at the hotel now has become accustomed to each other, all knowing the limits of others' emotions. They're always there to talk, sure, but one look at your sunken face and tired eyes gives them a signal to leave you be in the silence.

But it's comforting, in a way. 

Everyone besides Husk, Alastor and yourself have taken themselves to bed a while ago.

"You're not asleep, Al?" You ask. Husk, you already know, is usually up this late anyways. But you've never seen Alastor hang around more than needed, especially this late. But come to think about it, you're not usually up having a drink at the bar in the early hours of the morning either.

"I don't sleep much, my dear." He finishes his last sip of whiskey then Husk tops it off.

Oh.

A familiar song begins to play over the radio. The beautiful acoustic guitar prickles your senses. You hum along softly, tapping your finger onto the glass stem of your drink.

Alastor takes a swift drink before he's by your side.

"May I have this dance, sweetheart?" He extends his hand, waiting patiently. A sincere grin is painted across his face, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

You blink at him.

He shrugs, "I do admit this is after my time, but it's a good one regardless."

"I'm... not very good..." You frown and before you avert your gaze to the floor, Alastor's hand is gentle as he swipes your jaw and lifts your chin up to him.

"Nonsense, just follow my lead sweetheart."

Taking his hand, he guides you to the middle of the lobby. With a snap of his fingers, the volume is increased. The song is in surround sound, thumping through your body.

"May I?" His hands hover over your body, waiting for your confirmation to touch you.

You nod.

"Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more..."

One hand slides down to the small of your back and presses you into his body. The other hand curls around yours, and you take notice of how much smaller you are compared to him.

Being so close to him, you inhale his scent. He’s so close to you. You note: A simple bar of soap, the whiskey he just drank and a musky cologne that contains nodes of grassy lemon and licorice.

You follow his lead. His first steps guide you backwards, then to the side, forward and over again. His movements are gentle and to the rhythm. You do your best to follow. Your face tightens as you try to focus.

You stumble over his foot but he's quick to hold you upright. You mumble.

"Relax, my dear. Here," the hand resting on the small of your back glides over your waist. You look down between your bodies to watch his footwork. With every step, he guides your waist in the direction he leads you.

"A natural," he coos, "now look at me." His knuckles push your chin up. His gaze is fixated within yours.

"When you dance you have a way with me. Stay with me, sway with me..."

"Posture," he murmurs, his hand gliding back up to press his fingers between your shoulder blades, and you lengthen your spine. "Good girl."

"Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you..."

You become fluid to the rhythm. The trumpet sings a melody that bleeds through your bones. Alastors hips begin to sway and roll against yours. The two of you glide across the floor as one beautiful movement. As the music crescendos, you lose yourself within it. The nervousness you felt before dissolves off your shoulders and you feel like you can breathe.

“I can hear the sound of violins…”

Alastors scent swirls all around you. His cologne is sweet. His red eyes are an intensity that never leave your face, but it doesn't bother you. He holds the weight you drop into him with every sway, like he's caressing your body, telling it that he can handle you- that it's okay to dance your heart out. 

Your head rolls slowly as you sway your hips, exposing your neck to him. The hand holding yours squeezes slightly.

"My, my, a natural indeed." 

Alastor pushes you away so you spin your body halfway. Your back presses against his abdomen, your waist against his groin, as his hands slowly slide over your waist. The ghost of his breath tickles your neck as his nose skims the side of your face. Grabbing your arm, he twists you back to face him. 

Your arms fly up to his shoulders and his palms grip your ribs, guiding you into a few turns across the lobby. 

Alastor takes a moment to look you over. 

“Sway me now…”

Beautiful music rolls in waves as the instrumental takes over. The guitar solo now leading your footsteps. 

Your feet cross over each other in place, your hips dipping with each step. Alastors grip over the sides of your ribs flex, claws gently digging into the fabric of your clothing. 

“Absolutely stunning,” he whispers, watching the way you take over with the music. 

It becomes a demon's tango. The strength he has, holding your body upright gives you confidence. You’re quick to take Alastor’s hands into your own and glide across the floor. Your movements slow and agonizing to him. Your head leans back as his meets yours, your noses almost touching. 

You spin a few times in place, as his hands shelter your hips. He stops you, once again your back turned to his body. His hands slide ever so slowly up your waist and to your neck, carefully tilting your head to expose your neck. 

Sharp teeth threaten to break skin, but they don't. His teeth are gentle as they nibble your neck, his tongue swiping out to taste your sweat. 

“Delicious,” He whispers in your ear. 

You respond with a roll of your hips, lowering your body down a bit to roll against his leg. 

He growls as if irritated and spins you back to face him. Your face is inches away from his. You nuzzle your nose into him. 

You both sway your hips to the beat of the music and it’s a stare down. His eyes glow as he takes your face in, as you stare back.. 

“Behave, darling…” He says slowly, the static in his voice slightly amplified.

You inch your face closer to his, and temptation paints his face.

Without another moment, his lips crash into yours.

“Other dancers may be on the floor, dear, but my eyes will see only you…”

He kisses you deeply, his tongue swiping at your top lip. His hands grope your belly, kneading at every piece of skin he lays his palms on. He pulls away in one swift maneuver to reset- a hand at the small of your back and a hand curled around yours. 

Alastor guides you across the floor again, guiding you forward, backwards and to the side. The look on his face is one of a predator. His eyes narrow down at you, the sweat that beads at your forehead, making your hair stick so deliciously to your skin. 

“Long before, it begins…”

The way your legs move with ease, the way you trust him to keep you balanced and the way your hips press into his groin- Your slow movements are so sensual it’s beginning to drive him mad. 

You look up at him through your lashes, following everything he does.

“Ready, sweet girl?” 

In a quick movement, Alastor lifts you up as he spins. Your legs hug along his thighs as he twirls you. His eyes never leave yours until he slows down enough for you to catch yourself and continue spinning on your toes. 

“Sway me now..”

In one final motion, Alastors arms are wrapped around your body in an instant. You dip your body, exposing your neck and arching your back into his grip. Alastor follows your body down, his face close to yours. His smile grows as he takes you in. You look like a beautiful mess as your chest heaves. 

So delicious for him.

His teeth bite down at your shoulder before his tongue licks up your neck. 

“Looks like I finally found someone who could keep up with me on the dance floor,” the grip around your body tightens, “What a pleasure, my darling.” 

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Nine

Summary - Eris and your found family make their move whilst in Velaris, you embark on the most dangerous game of all.

Warnings - depression, torture, angst, more realisations, flashbacks, slight fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

All that echoed about the chamber were her soft groans and pleading cries. It had gone on for hours. For hours the Princess of Velaris had been chained to a stone altar, writhing in unspoken agony as inch by inch her wings were carved from her body.

Beautiful wings of midnight purple, thick onyx membrane laced through the feather-like surface, they glimmered in the moonlight, the stars dying as they lay slumped on the blood-soaked floor.

It was a grave punishment.

No, it was a plan so evil that even the King of Hybern had shuddered in a mixture of fear and delight when his finest general told him of her movements.

To place a demon in the body of Prythian's most powerful creature.

Amarantha had crossed the room to the girl with the paled skin, the one with eyes of flame amongst an ocean of violet waves, and she had laid her talons to rest on her face, a momentary flash of care as she wiped her tears away.

Pain. It wouldn't even begin to describe the horrors inflicted upon her, for pain was too light to explain it.

"I know that this hurts, but it'll be worth it. I promise you," the girl couldn't move, she thrashed against her chains with all of the meek weakness in her bones, but she couldn't break free, she couldn't tear the thing apart that was taking her most sacred possession, carving it from her body like a butcher.

"One day, the demons will take over thanks to you and your position in this world. You will breed them, and you will rule them."

Soft sobs drifted from the girls mouth, she had been panting for too long, on the verge of death for even longer. The pets had taken their time on the Princess, that much was clear from the deeply embedded wounds inflicted into her flesh, in locations that were nowhere close to where they should have been. Amarantha would deal with them later.

For now, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

"What are you going to do to me?" That sickly paled mouth asked, her lips were tinted blue, her eyes had glossed over, and Amarantha knew that she was close to letting herself go, but she was meant for far more than an offending death.

The queen hushed the girl lay atop the altar, tutting at the soiled skirt of the thin nightgown she adorned, "I'm helping you," her eyes were wide and delirious, "You are already the most powerful thing in this world, with my help, you could be the most powerful thing in the universe," Amarantha dragged a talon down the centre of the girls chest, smiling to herself, "Your position means that you will one day marry a High Lord, your power and theirs will create the perfect host, an unstoppable being which will allow the darkness to spread across the universe, a body that our queen will like very much."

"You're insane," Amarantha was sick of listening to her loose and shaky breaths and muttered a simple perhaps in reply. "You have no idea what you're doing."

"No?" the woman craned over her, hovering mere inches from her face as she produced a small onyx stone that shimmered in the dim light, "Then how do I know that placing this tiny stone in your marred flesh will be the answer to all of our problems?"

The scene played out in the flames weaving between one another in the fireplace, Cassian had come to light it for you, knowing that there was no desire in your body to move from the comforter, but also knowing that in order for you to have the strength to get through whatever Rhys had planned that you needed to not freeze to death.

Looking from the window, you had no pull to go outside, and you were sure no one would allow it anyway. All it would take for Rhys' act to crumble would be one word to someone across the boarder, and then it would spread like wildfire. The entire image of the Night Court would be destroyed. Signs of his manipulation had showed when the first bouquet of flowers had arrived the morning after your return, they were from the priestesses at the library who must have heard of your return from someone at the House of Wind. More bouquets followed, from the art gallery you used to frequent with Amren, from the bakery that made the best beignets you'd ever tasted, flowers had even arrived from Hewn City, wishing the Princess a speedy recovery.

Nothing about your recovery was going to be speedy.

Some days had passed but you weren't sure how many exactly, not when you were grappling with the demon in your body who would occasionally allow you to step into the light rather than just have a hand on the wheel of your mind. A haunting hum sounded in the night, a soft stalking song rumbled at your chest, it was sad, every note was laced with your longing for freedom, for Eris, and you knew that it was the symphony to their guilt. The same song drifted over the city, a solemn cloud hanging overhead, reminding your people that all was not as it seemed, and it was up to them to decipher the message.

The door had been left slightly ajar after Cassian's last visit, he had left a tray of meat and roasted vegetables at the foot of your bed, a tray that had gone cold long ago. Cassian had come to you frequently to check on you, you didn't say much to him but you knew that his mind was reeling at the sight of you, at what was happening to your body and soul. A plan was forming within the Illyrian, a desperate one, such became clear when his finger drifted along your cheekbone and felt it freezing under his touch, that alongside the hallowing cheeks and pallid hue to your skin made him flinch with a pain that wasn't even his.

But it wasn't Cassian that had come to see you.

No.

Golden blonde hair poked around the edge of the door, her sultry brown eyes teeming with despair as she looked to you on the bed, wrapped up in your own embrace, humming softly and carrying your melody as far as it could go, "Hey y/n."

Mor's voice floated through the air to you. Stepping into the room, Mor closed the door with a soft click and lingered by the fire, waiting for you to acknowledge her but when you kept humming that awful song, Mor had no choice but to approach you, to pull you back to your horrid reality.

The song caught at your lips and you looked down to her hands resting on the forearms that were curled around your knees. Fluttering eyelashes welcomed her, you were confused but you dragged your eyes to meet hers, "Mor." There was no warmth in the depiction of her name, your voice was empty and monotone, almost as though you were in a trance.

"How are you?"

Shivering, Mor perched beside you, Cassian was right, a certain chill had taken ahold of you, the air shifted as soon as anyone would enter your space; it made them feel unwelcomed, watched even, as if they were under surveillance. The only one observant enough would have been you but there was no way that you were keeping an eye on them, not when you looked so ghostly and pale, not when all you did was hum that sickly sad melody until your throat went raw.

"I'd be better if Rhys stopped drugging the water," you motioned to a half-empty cup sat atop your bedside table, a table that still had yours and Mor's names scribed into the wood, where a strong aroma of herbs emitted, "It's not like I can go anywhere." Raising your wrists, a line of chains rattled at your movements, they connected your wrists and feet together so that if you somehow escaped you wouldn't be able to get very far at all.

Rhys had ordered a that your own supply of water be established, water that he had drugged with various herbs and tonics to subdue you, to make you more docile. It was barbaric. None of them wanted to believe what was happening, all they wanted to do was block it out and deny it, but they couldn't, not when you were suffering so badly.

There was little that could be done to bring you joy, there was no hope that life would return to the way it used to be. But, if all Mor could do was remind you of a time when you were happy, to hopefully coax you into holding on, then she would spend the rest of her life doing it, "Tell me about Autumn. What was it like?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at your chapped and broken lips, and it was the first time Mor had seen your eyes light up since your return, "It was magical. Everything about it was perfect." Gentle darting pupils told Mor that you were lost in a flurry of memories, ones that you would no doubt carry for the rest of your life.

"And Eris?"

"Eris," your eyes glazed over, his name was a whisper of air, "For the first time in my life I had someone who understood me. I couldn't stop myself from wanting him, not when all he had to do was smile and say my name to have me melting."

Mor shuffled closer, watching intently, "His scent still lingers on you. It's like its moulded with your own."

Because he's my Carranam.

If only you knew what she had sacrificed in order to protect that part of you.

"I know that you hate him for what happened," you looked to her, eyes glistening in a mixture of fire and alabaster moonlight, "But he means everything to me." A single tear rolled down your cheek, a faint line weaving between the streaks dotted down your skin, "I'll never see him again. I'll die here," your gaze intensified on your oh so gorgeous cousin that was almost crying at your broken words, "Tell him that I love him. I never got to tell him that," your sight shifted back to the golden valley beyond the window and you leaned against the headboard, falling from Mor's grip, "Thank him for me, for his patience, for teaching me more about myself in a few weeks than I ever learnt here. Thank him for giving me a home and for not being afraid of me. Can you do that for me?"

Mor was practically shaking, with sadness, with anger, with every emotion possible, "I'm not telling him shit," Mor rose from the bed, her eyes ablaze in the moonlight, a deathly clash of molten gold and silver, "You can tell him yourself when you get out of here."

Determination was rife in her features, "I'm not getting out of here."

A violent shudder coursed through you, the same one that occurred at least five times a day, that filled you with dread and darkness, like the bindings drinking your power were piercing you with their talons and draining every ounce of your energy.

The bindings were monstrous, so dark and hateful that Mor wasn't sure where exactly Rhys had precured them, who he had commissioned to create something so vile. Such people deserved to rot in hell. Mor had scoured the library the night you had returned wearing them, looking for any bit of information possible on their origin, unable to scratch the image of your marred black flesh beneath them from her mind. Amren had joined her, a knowing look between them confirming everything, that Rhys had lost his mind, that they had to stop him before he reached too far and destroyed everything.

"Even if I have to cut down Rhys myself, I will get you out of here and get you to Autumn. Your family is waiting for you."

A soft moment. Guilt poured from Mor in waves, tidal waves of guilt and love that crashed against you, "You'll always be my cousin, Mor," an olive branch, a chance to repair what had been broken.

Pausing at the foot of the bed, Mor gripped the railings and used them to steady herself, "Never accept the definition of who you are, from a person who's trying to hide the truth of who they are. Don't let him win, y/n."

As quickly as she appeared, Mor vanished from sight, gliding from the room and signalling her exit with a gently closing door. A moment passed before you sat up, cocking your head to the side and wiping the tears from your cheeks. The demon lurking within you caressed your mind in approval, slithering around your consciousness and muttering her praise.

Somewhere beyond the window, you wondered where Eris was, you thought of what he was doing at that moment.

Had he slept? Had Nesta made sure he’d ate? Was Lucien making him laugh? Was he crying?

Silent tears spilled from your eyes, a pain that no word or sound would ever be able to convey rattled you. The gravity of the situation was grinding down, forcing you tighter into the box that Rhys had crafted with his bare hands; he hadn't come to see you yet, he hadn't even drifted by your door, probably too sickened by your scent to bare being around you.

That link with Eris had been locked away, the key to it residing in the furthest part of your reach thanks to the other one living within you. It wasn't like you hadn't begged her to open it, for just a moment, just to tell him that you were alive and thinking of him, but she had willed you into submission, she had told you that the link between your minds would only hinder your collective progress.

Once we are done, you will be with him again. Hold on.

Squinting, you willed your eyes further, you begged the Mother for one glimpse, and you could have sobbed when the sky didn’t split apart and allow you one singular comfort. It was silly to command to the universe that he not be sad, you knew he would be, if their would-be faces had flashed through your mind that day at the boarder you wouldn’t have been able to cross it.

If Eris had-

No.

You couldn’t think about it, think about the reality where he came to you at the last second and convinced you that there was another way. It wasn’t the reality you were drowning in.

But it was the one you’d dream of.

A reel of endless possibilities paused on the centre stage of his mind, snippets of potential realities weaving between one another and your face was at the epicentre of each image. In some you were sad, in others you were consumed by the feminine rage you did so well to keep in check, in others you were laughing, and then there were a couple, the odd one or two where your body was shrouded in darkness, images where no life existed within you where shadows caressed you like an old friend.

Eris wasn't sure which image he found the most terrifying.

Willow sighed in his lap, her head rested on his thigh as he idly ran his fingers through the tufts of hair on her head, and from her furrowed brows over the closed eyes, he knew that she was thinking of you. There had been countless occasions where Eris would enter the sitting room or your chambers only to find you with Willow snuggled into your chest, most of the time you'd be sleeping, nuzzling your head into her fur and sighing gently. Eris smiled to himself at the thought.

The High Lord had found himself sleeping in your room, your scent lingered on the sheets and it brought him more comfort than anything else ever could. Crackling flames filled the space, giving some life to the emptiness that had taken hold of the manor. A chill had befallen the home, even the foundations cried in the night at the realisation of your loss; even the hour of golden sun that you adored so much felt less dim, like the sun herself had nothing to impress, like she had nothing to shine for.

A shuffle of weight beside him pulled Eris from his thoughts, albeit unwillingly, and he turned his head to the side to see Nesta, "Anything?" Eris enquired, Nesta had been holed up in the library for the last couple of days, scouring the towers of books for something, anything that may act as the key to your freedom.

Shaking her head softly, Nesta answered, "Not really," she fiddled with her fingers atop her skirt and Eris' eyes narrowed at the action, Nesta wasn't a nervous female, but something was bothering her, "That day, Under The Mountain, when I found out what happened to her," Nesta's voice drifted off, she was fighting her own mind, fighting whether or not to divulge another detail, "I didn't just find something, I took something."

Eris straightened, being careful not to move the hound dozing on his lap as he turned to Nesta, "Took what?"

Knowing that she couldn't keep it to herself any longer, not when you were suffering in the worst of ways, Nesta had no choice but to admit what else she knew, what she had kept from everyone, "Something that belonged to Amarantha, a book," A book that she didn't think to pluck from the library upon her exit from the Night Court, a book that was quite literally in enemy territory, "It details everything that was done to her, even things from before Under The Mountain."

The air shifted, a seething tension took hold of Eris that was directed toward Nesta's nervousness, at how her words stumbled over one another, "I need you to tell me," From the way her gaze darted about the room, Eris knew that it was no small nugget of information, actually, he knew that it was information that would tear him apart entirely.

Nesta didn't know where to look, at the floor or walls, at the bouts of dancing flame, or at Eris whose gaze was scouring her skin. Nesta chose the latter, "You've said before that there are gaps in your memories of y/n?" Eris nodded slowly, trying to anticipate what exactly was about to leave the lips of the eldest Archeron sister, "It was Rhys. He invaded your minds and stripped you both of one another."

"What?"

"Y/N was already far too powerful, she was already a threat to his title and position, and then they found out that your power elevated hers, and they had to stop it."

"Who is they?"

"Your parents. They instructed Rhys to remove you both from each other's minds. According to the book, it had been a rigorous and painful process. From what Amarantha suggested, it seemed like you two had been very much in love at the time."

That's why Rhys had been so desperate to get you back, it wasn't just because you had left and denounced the Night Court, it wasn't just because of his fear of your power, it was because you had left the Night Court and settled in Autumn, that you had settled in Autumn with Eris, the male that Rhys had plucked from your mind and washed away. Then you had been caged and the next time Eris remembered seeing you was on the night your wings had been taken, the same night that Amarantha did what she did.

The world was rumbling, the earth was shaking all around him, and it took all of his will to reign that anger back in, "Does Rhys know of this book?"

"No."

"And it's in the Night Court? In the library?"

Nesta hummed in approval, "In the House of Wind. Rhys wouldn't have taken her there, not when the priestesses could so easily see her."

Maybe, just maybe there was a key in that book, a way to open the gateway to those memories.

The room warmed upon Lucien's entrance, he sat down on the armchair opposite them sporting a wide, feline grin, and he slid his arm over Elain's shoulders who matched the grin of her lover, "What is this?" Eris motioned to the love-sick pair, his own desire writhing in agony at the sight.

Leaning forward in his seat, Lucien continued to grin, "We realised something. Something that will most certainly help us and in turn help y/n."

Elain squeezed Lucien's thigh, her gaze lingered on him a second longer than it should have, her eyes were bright and hopeful, "There are two people who value y/n as much as we do. Two people who have been vying for her hand for quite some time. Two people of very high standing in this world who would pledge themselves to her without question."

Nesta looked between them, confused, her eyebrows dipped low and lips parted in question. Then it hit him, of who exactly Elain was speaking of, and his query was met with russet confirmation from his brother.

"Who are you talking about?"

Of course, how could Eris miss it? How could he forget about the two males who constantly gravitated toward you and spoke nothing but the highest of praises of your character despite the vile word that had been born of you?

Grinning, Eris settled back into the comfort of the seat, "They're talking about Helion," he snapped his head to the side to meet the eyes of the woman whose own had widened in realisation, "And Tamlin."

"Helion could call a High Lord's meeting," a whisper from Nesta, her entire body shivered with the hope that singular notion brought her.

Rhys wouldn't be able to deny a High Lord's meeting, and once Helion knew of what was happening to you, of what had been done to both of you, Eris was sure that he would have no ill-feeling toward calling such a thing.

There wasn't a moment to waste, but as Eris looked to Lucien, it was clear that he had already taken the step, "You've summoned them?"

Lucien shrugged, sipping from his goblet of wine before setting it down on the table beside him, "They'll both arrive in the morning."

"What did you tell them?"

Elain chuckled softly, "That the High Lord of the Night Court is committing a crime so vile that if they allow it to continue then they may as well have a hand in the suffering of the Princess of Velaris. That they have a chance to better this world for all if all they can do is answer our call."

Pride flowed about the room, it coiled around Lucien and Elain, for listening to the world close enough to be able to forge a path forward. It curled around Nesta, for having the strength to tell the truth no matter how dark it may be. And then it settled onto Eris, it caressed his soul, it soothed what he already knew, that you were made for him and he for you, and in that moment, as the weight of the oncoming struggle nestled itself into their embrace, did Eris feel the softest and slightest tug.

Author's Note

The way in envisioned the song she hums being the one with the girl harmonising with her microwave 🥺

Iykyk

Taglist

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[bridgetoesoteria]

💌💟Realistically...What would they write in a love letter to you?

Surpriseee bish! Here is my double post as puh-romised. Its spring break, I aced my midterm, I had a nice lil chit chat with my crush where I high key let on to having feelings . *ahem* Now I wanna smoke and pull cards with my internet besties <3

So, I don't like those mushy-gushy readings that tell you the most ideal outcome, not the most realistic outcome. I am hoping to channel an authentic "letter," from the person you are here for.

Options are left to right. I hope it resonates 🥰

Pile 1

4-card spread: Page of Swords, Girl w/ Violin, Strength, The Sun. BOTD: 3 of Swords

I just want to see you happy. I hope you know that. I miss the feeling of you holding me. I think about all the times, I got to hold your hands in mine. I think you are amazing and angelic. If I ever seem difficult, or like I am pushing you away, its just because I don't want to hurt you even worse. You're the whole package. You can shine with or without me.

If there is still bad blood, I will make it right. At least that's what I think about doing. All the time. Can I step up? Can I really have my happy ending; The car, the house, the family, building a life together. I need to get over my cold feet, because the only person I see is you.

P.S.

I love your eyes. I love how much hope I feel when I look into them. I love your hair, especially the length/thickness. I love how balanced you are, and how you can consider different points of view. It has taught me to be more compassionate. It has taught me to care about someone other than myself. You show me that I can get over my demons. We could be a power couple.

(If you have a "butt chin," your person loves this too lol)

Pile 2

4-card spread: 8 of Swords, 9 of Swords(R), 9 of Wands, The Star. BOTD: The Emperor

This person is definitely very attracted to you, but we are here for a love letter, mkay? Not a sext.

I don't know why you are acting like you don't want me anymore. You better not be giving away my ____ to anyone else. I want to be with you. I consider us to be a couple, no matter what happens. If you question where my head is at, my loyalty is with you. I don't want to see you with anyone else. I hate thinking about you being out there, living like you're single. I think about us having kids, animals, a family life. (If you already have kids they want to keep the family together).

I am working on my temptations. I know I need to be more responsible and I am willing to do that. I want to try having self-control. If that means cutting other people off, or waiting until you are comfortable being physical, I will do that. I respect your boundaries. You have every right to have them. I know you are just trying to love yourself. You should always stand your ground...even with me.

P.S.

You have a beautiful heart. You are so nurturing. You keep everything flowing. You completely fulfill me. You are more than enough. You definitely know what you are doing. I wouldn't have taken you for a "lady in the streets, freak in the sheets" type.

Right now, you probably are focusing on yourself. I hope you find the happiness that you are looking for. After pouring into everyone else so much, I hope you will start pouring into you now. I hope you will be receptive to all the good things you deserve.

Pile 3

4-card spread: Ace of Pentacles, 6 of Swords, Page of Cups, The Empress. BOTD: Justice

I can't figure you out. And its...amazing! It keeps everything so fresh. Maybe you don't feel like you are being mysterious but you are. I want to know what goes on "behind-the scene." I don't mean that in a pervy way. I mean, I want to know who you are, where you come from, what is currently going on in your life. I want to make the cut. Do you ever think about what your favorite diamond cut is? 💎

(Where ever your connection is, move up a step. This is not a literal proposal for everyone)

I want us to be on track. If I have to apologize, I will do that. I want to finally start something new. I want to make you feel like the king/queen that you are. I want us to be happy together. Especially if we are expecting 🤰

P.S.

Can I just brag on you really quick? I love your face shape. I love when we lock eyes. I love how you style your hair, even if I have never said so aloud. Even if I tease you about it sometimes. Its cute and so you. Everyone says we (would) go well together, and I have to agree. We could be our town's MGK and Megan Fox 🤣🤣

On a more serious point, you make me want to do better. Internally, I always feel challenged by you. I have my old beliefs, and then there's you. You make me want to throw out all the BS I believe about myself and start valuing myself more. I see how magical life can be, because I see how many miracles happen when we are together. I know I can do better.

Pile 4 4-card spread: 8 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Emperor, 8 of Swords. BOTD: Ace of Swords.

(Your person could actually be the type to spill their feelings over texts or in the notes section of their phone)

I think about saying this all the time. I build up the courage to start typing, but I can never hit send. I just feel this lump in my throat. I'm a man! (or they are just someone who suppresses their emotions). I shouldn't have all these feelings. I feel overwhelmed by my attraction, my thoughts, my unexpressed feelings.

That's kind of what I grew up with. It was normal. People call it "traditional." I always thought (one of their parents, but I am really getting mom) could do better. Why are you still with them? I don't want that to be you. I don't want that to be our story. You always carry yourself well. I'm proud to be with you. I know you're a catch. I know you are the full package. I can't let you go. Please reconsider. I want to be with you.

P.S.

I hope you're getting rest. Don't lose sleep over me. Which is hypocritical, because I stay up thinking about you. Don't be scared...but I may have watched you sleep. I like how peaceful you look. I feel like I have privacy to fully process my emotions. I look at your face and I think about all the possibilities. It makes me nervous. If I have made a proposal of some kind, maybe to reconcile, I hope you sleep on it before you make a decision.

Pile 5 4-card spread: King of Cups, 4 of Swords, 9 of Wands, The Sun. BOTD: 8 of Swords

I think a lot of you are asking about a feminine energy, but flip the roles if needed. You could be the feminine energy being described, so maybe they want you to know you are "seen". It just started raining, so that makes me feel like this person is definitely more on the feminine side, or in touch with their emotions. You could both be young, or they're younger, or someone has a baby face.

I think about you all the time. Even when I am sad. I don't know if you know how much I struggle. My mental health isn't always in the best place. But you take my mind off of everything. I love when you look deep in thought. I come up with all these random ideas about what you could be thinking of. If you are away getting better, overcoming an ED, I hope you are being strong. I look forward to seeing you again.

You make me so happy. I miss being playful and messing with you. I could see us having babies. I think I would be a great mom/dad. But I know that's daydreaming and wishful thinking. I don't always understand your moods or what you want from me. Could you make it clear without it becoming an argument. I don't want to make you upset.

P.S.

You are soo pretty. I think your haircut really compliments your face. I love your side profile too. You are so smart. You know so much about the world around you or you are always willing to learn. I am impressed by your writing and/or creativity. I love everything about you. If I were an artist, I would make a portrait of you. You would be my muse. I just want you to know how special you are. You are 1 of 1 forreal. I am so grateful to have ever met you. You bring so much joy to my life.

Whew. GD! That was a lot lol. This took me two days. I am going to relax and enjoy the start of Spring Break. Whoop whoop 🙌

And don't laugh at me...but I just discovered archives so I might stop updating my masterlist, since you can find all my readings there too.

Lastly, I am also doing personals if you have not heard! Take a gander.

~ K

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hazbin Hotel Men - Take care of you

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, crying, no use of Y/n, fem reader

Characters : Alastor , Angel Dust, Husk , Sir Pentious, Vox , Valentino

Info : So it is here my first work for the hazbin hotel fandom and I'm very excited. I'm in it again after watching years ago the pilot, the first few episodes of hb and the great/amazing music video adict. So have fun everyone and enjoy it ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor : A smile always graces his lips and even if you're not used to it, he's quite disturbed when his loved one doesn't smile too. They've been through a lot together, but when he walks through the corridors of the hotel from his broadcasting studio and finds his darling sad, even crying, the static goes out of his voice for a moment. He will always worry about his darling, the only one in his dark, twisted heart. ,,Darling, what's wrong...who should I make scream?" he asked, his claw-like fingers resting on your hands, the strange charged static running through you strange yet familiar. Almost judging and somehow tickling. He would listen quietly to what was on his darling's mind and let a soft song play over his wand, the song that had played when he got the letter. Your letter of admiration in such a cruel place as hell the radio demon had marveled at. ,,Or I'll just stay with you mhhh a little show?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheek with his fingers before pulling his sweet tone from the bed and flicking the room into a reddish dance hall. The radio waves turned to a song and he gently guided his darling around the room, brushing away her tears with each turn, reminding her of the things they had together. The time they had together, the things they had done for each other. His special affection, his gratitude and his love that belonged only to her. ,,You know I'm always with you darling, no matter what," he reminded his heart before leaving a gentle kiss on the back of her hand as the music faded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel Dust : Angel Dust knew best what it meant when it came to money. He had lived it hell he was in that vicious circle and knew what it was like to be exploited for money almost every night. But in all this fire and poison he had found his own drug, so to speak. The one that had helped him when he was down, when he needed a break, when he couldn't sleep after night after night. She had sacrificed herself, Val had practically thrown herself at the throat, had taken it upon herself to become the number two in the business, something "enough" as Valentino called it. But Angel knew better than anyone that something like this didn't just pass you by. Which is why, with a warm tea in his hands, the spider heard the quiet knock on the door before he heard the ,,Come in." He didn't have to look to know that the runny makeup was from tears and other things. ,,Hey princess, come here," he murmured, putting the tea on the side table before slowly putting his hands around her. Never firm enough that she couldn't resist, always calm enough to show her that he didn't want what the others in the store wanted. The words flowed slowly over her lips and even though they both knew there was no point in talking about it, it felt good. It eased the pain and Angel was able to wipe away her tears before he gave her the tea. Because if there was one thing he had learned, it was that a cup of tea could work wonders in a few minutes and make you feel warm and safe. ,,I promise this will all end soon," he murmured, letting his beauty lay her head on his chest and he smiled gently as he saw the trembling of her body lessen with his calm heartbeat. At least they would both have something like hope for a while...a moment of calm and peace in the vicious circle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Husk : The clinking of glasses was something that could always be heard at the bar, either when the former overlord was sorting, washing or serving the glasses. The bottles made about the same sound but darker. But something still filled his bar: sniffling and sobbing. The sadness of his favorite, lucky clover, sitting at the bar with his head buried in his hands. He had just blown away to take another order because everyone else was already off to Satan's place. The beating of his wings could be heard as he hurriedly came over to her. He didn't need to look at the sad face, ,,I know you've given everything we all know that" he said and reached for the right drink he knew her favorite order was the one she had brought him back when he was lucky. He handed her the drink and slowly and gently took her hands from her face before she took the drink with a slight look of gratitude. He nodded in acknowledgment as he saw them both just sitting there for a moment, he slowly wrapped his sweat around her waist and pulled her a little closer, placing a wing on her shoulder. Knew the feathers were something she wanted. Because he was right, she let her fingers wander over the pattern. She finally gave in and told him about her yet another failed attempt to get money and power for the hotel, maybe even a few free ones, but nothing had worked. Instead, only the usual cursing and swearing...as the cave was true. Without happiness and kindness. ,,But our happiness and togetherness will last forever," he said and handed her one of his golden dice before the two of them rolled it over the wood of the ceiling. But in fact, when Husk pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek, both dice landed as doubles. They knew that together they had the best luck they could have as a couple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sir Pentiuos : The airship's engine was loud, but the serpent demon was able to distinguish between the sound of an engine, the cracking of eggs and the sobs of its first officers. Turning away from the steering wheel, hoping that a cherry-scented bomb would not be thrown through the windshield, he made his way into the interior of his airship. ,,My beauty? Are you in here?" he asked as he looked into the individual rooms of the ship before he heard her from the craft room, where she was mostly developing her weapons. Weapons that had often led them both to victory, but this time it didn't work out. it was the third time in the last week that they had been caught by the bombs. He saw her sitting on one of the tables with another broken weapon in her hands, a mistake she took to heart. ,,Ohh darling please don't I'm here come here" he whispered and his forked snake tongue wetted her cheek lightly as he pulled her into an embrace. The kiss on her cheek made her smile as she saw that the serpentine demon was a little pink in the cheeks himself. His cuteness that he mostly didn't know about always cheered her up, he would always manage somehow. His snake tail curled around her body and his slightly scaly skin felt warm when she put her fingers on it. He knew his scales soothed her and his words dug into her like the bite of a snake. He slowly put her weapon aside and cuddled her again, encouraging her. ,,Shall I fetch the eggs? A big party, my dear, maybe a party," he suggested with a smile and shortly afterwards he lifted her into his arms before the two of them went to the little ones. The family sat down together and soon instead of crying, laughter and joy could be heard as Sir Pentious stood by their side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vox : Voices can get loud, programs can get loud and with the three Vees it can get very very loud. If not the models, then Val's employees or hookers suffer from this. But this stress for new eriesn, new porn shoots and new clothes became too much for every demon. And when Vox went back to his office/broadcasting station he had, as always, an overishct on everything. A look at everything and everyone, but a look at the one screen he always had closest to him. Just a second later, he showed up in her room using his skills to make the viewers go haywire. They were always surrounded by noise, so he knew how good it was to have silence. ,,Hey button we'll take care of the ratings later...what do you need mhh?" he asked taking her cell phone from the one she was using to monitor the other ratings. He used his hands to pull her towards him, moving her slightly around the room, not necessarily dancing but playfully looking for that spark. ,,Come on, tell dear Vox what it is? Something special you want me to take care of?" he offered a small spark on her body, seeing that she smiled briefly knowing she liked it, that little shock that made her heart beat faster, drove her nerves and dispelled her fear. ,,You know no one can do anything to the four of us, we're different...and hot," he reminded her, laughing with her as his mood brought her back to her proper self. She felt the loaded kiss on her lips briefly but like catching up on a television. Before they moved across the room they shared a drink and she rested her head against his shoulder as they looked across the cave knowing that if they all stayed together she would stay with Vox he would never leave her and everything would work out in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valentino : Obscene noises, neon pink signs, and a reclamation board and TV that gave a taste of the videos and movies that would come out if you went to the brothel in the compartment that belonged to Valentino. In this particular business, one thing mattered above all else. Stamina. Stamina if it was going to be a long night with twenty guys, stamina to film it all, stamina to count the money at the end and stamina when you were in hangover. It was exhausting for the employees and for Val, but especially for the assistant. The brothel mother, designer, scriptwriter and partner of the moth demon. It all just became too much at some point, which is why it took the Overlord a moment to realize that crying wasn't what he knew. In a flash of his smoke and the flutter of his wings, he made his way to their shared room. ,,My sweet kitty, what's wrong? No inspiration shall I fetch Angel or our favorite maybe Vox?" he suggested with a grin and took a puff on his cigrette as he approached the bed. Sha, however, that this only made him more depressed and his grin diminished as he extinguished the cigarette in the smoke and came to her, his wings blocking out the bright pink light from everywhere and the two of them a little darkened. Quiet and just the two of them. ,,Too much...I know it's a bit too stimulating sometimes," he mumbled, trying to find the right words, still not the best at taking care of others in his egocentric worldview of sex and money. But for her he would give anything and he could feel how it bothered him not to see her smiling, not shining with inspiration. He held out his hand to her for permission as she slowly cuddled up to him. ,,Here just the two of us just here and no one else just us" he whispered quietly trying not to hold her too tightly but not too loosely as the wings wrapped around them both like a blanket. As they both listened to each other's heartbeats, the sweet smell of Valentino was familiar but reassuringly true. It was just that hold they b oth needed in a place where they knew there was no going back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[greyskyflowers]

I like to think about Charles really understanding what Edwin went through in hell. I really wished we'd seen more of that in the show. 😫

Like... how many times do you think Edwin got torn apart down there? How many times could he die and start over in an hour? A day? A year?

How many times did the demon mess him up just enough so that he couldn't run? Stuck sitting there just waiting to either bleed out or for the final strike before starting again?

Anyway ~ I'm feral for hurt/comfort and burn the world for you relationships so here we go ~

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Sometimes Edwin has what they've been calling, for lack of better word, episodes. He had some prior to his second trip in hell but nothing like what he has now.

Charles can't decide if it's easier or harder to witness them now that he knows more about what happened all those years in hell.

Thankfully, most of the time, these episodes happen when they're home. Usually after a particularly rough day and often coinciding with times when Charles is briefly out doing something.

He always knows right away, steps through the mirror to a dark and quiet room. There's a brief but consuming feeling of panic every time he steps out and doesn't immediately see Edwin, but he doesn't think that will ever go away.

There's a few places Edwin tucks himself into when he has an episode, all of them small and dark.

Edwin claims it's muscle memory from all the years in hell he ran and hide.

Personally, Charles thinks Edwin finally has places to hide and takes full advantage of it. He doesn't remember seeing too many places to hide in those terrible, endless hallways of hell.

Charles hates these episodes.

He's trying to be better with his anger but everytime they go through this, everytime Edwin gets a certain look in his eye, or tries to nonchalantly get closer to Charles when something sets off memories, it reminds him that Edwin was taken away from him numerous times and was hurt over and over again.

It makes the rage simmer in his belly and he thinks no one would really hold it against him if he ever gets his hands anyone who's hurt Edwin and let's the rage take over for a minute... or a few minutes. He really wouldn't need more than that with all the anger that seems to burn under his skin.

He's quiet as he walks to the desk, eyeing the chair pulled out and shoved away to make room, before carefully peering around the edge to look under it and Edwin looks back at him with awful, terrified eyes.

He knows how this goes by now, almost the same every time. What a terrible thing to be familiar with.

He quietly sinks to the floor by Edwin and starts trying to squeeze himself under the desk with him. The space is not meant for two people, or even one, but like hell he's going to pull Edwin out of today's chosen hiding place so they can get resettled easier.

He'd done that at the beginning. Tried to remind Edwin where he was and that he was safe, had spoken softly but not as soft as he had in hell, and tried to pull Edwin out. It was a mistake. The look of terror and betrayal on Edwin's face had made sure he never tried that approach again.

It was easier this way, to play along.

He puts a hand on the back of Edwin's head because he always smacks it off the underside of the desk when they hide here, and while it might not hurt him like it would a living being, it still makes a painful sound that has Charles clenching his jaw.

Edwin ends up on his lap, really the only way they both fit, and thankfully he's usually too distracted to realize that Charles has his legs sticking out from under the desk and that their hiding spot isn't really a good spot for two people.

He trembles, even though he's stiff like he's trying desperately not to shake. He clings, hands grasping at Charles's shirt and burying his face in his neck like everything will go away if he can't see it.

Sometimes, it sends Charles spiraling down a rabbit hole, wondering how Edwin held himself up long enough to run in hell when he always shakes so hard during these episodes. His legs wouldn't carry his weight right now if they stood up, he'd go right back down.

It's not something he likes to think too much about, especially when Edwin needs him to hold it together.

Sometimes Edwin cries. Sometimes he begs. Sometimes the only noise is a frantic wheezing.

Charles pulls his legs up more and wraps his arms around Edwin tighter, curling around him as much as he can. He urges him to keep his face tucked away, pets at his hair, and strokes his thumb over his arm. He presses his lips agaist any skin close enough, and starts talking. Soft, and hardly even audible but it always helps.

He talks about everything and anything he can think off. Stories, memories, comforts, praises.

He tells Edwin that he's been absolutely brills to handle this alone before Charles got back, but he's here now and if Edwin needs to just hide away for a little bit, that was fine. Charles has him. Nothing is going to get him.

He's glad Edwin doesn't remember much from these episodes, panic making everything too hazy to understand when he tries. He just knows how they end, usually with the two of them tangled up somewhere, because Charles refuses to let Edwin go until he's completely back to himself but that's as far as he can usually recall.

Charles would crack open his ribcage and let Edwin hide in there if it'd keep him safe.

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Frantically scribbled this down during work so please forgive any errors. Got lots of ideas hanging around my head and little time to type them out 🤔

Gotta love all that trau~ma!