#angel PTSD

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Kid Vaggie 4: Unsung Lullaby

Request for angst. Why angst? Why do people want to have their feelings hurt? Why? Also, this is LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG.

Charlie: (cradling Kid Vaggie in her arms as she carries the little angel to bed) Alright, sweetie. It's bedtime.

Kid Vaggie: (shakes her head violently and clings to Charlie's jacket lapels) No!

Charlie: Vaggie, it's bedtime. You need to get your sleep so you can grow up big and strong.

Kid Vaggie: (shakes slightly) No. Something bad is gonna happen.

Charlie: (pulls back the covers and sets Vaggie down gently) Sweetheart, nothing bad is going to happen to you here. This hotel is officially the safest place in Hell. Nothing, and I mean nnnnnothing- (boops Vaggie's nose)

Kid Vaggie: (giggles slightly and curls up under the blankets to get away from the onslaught)

Charlie: -Is going to get you.

Kid Vaggie: (snuggles in and yawns) Pwomise?

Charlie: (heart pulses painfully) I promise. (kisses Vaggie's forehead and heads to the door) Good night, Vaggie.

Kid Vaggie: Goodnight, Pwincess. (blushes and hides half of her face under the covers) . .. .. I wuv you...

Charlie: (clutches her chest and pinches her legs together as her ovaries throb like ticking time-bombs) I love you too, hun. (closes the door and walks down the hall while pulling at her hair) Note to self: As SOON as Vaggie is back to her normal self, get a spell from dad to make babies.

Kid Vaggie: (nestles in and falls asleep)

*-*-*zZzzzZz*-*-*zZzzzZz*-*-*

-Screams fill the air as the smell of burning tires, smoke, and blood course through the streets of Hell. Angelic Devils with grey and black wings soar through the skies and between buildings as they spray the blood of sinners across alleys and buildings.-

Kid Vaggie: (eyes snap open at the sound of a particularly blood curdling scream, and she looks around at the chaos)

Exorcist: (rips her spear out of Angel Dust's mouth and throat)

Kid Vaggie: Angle Bust!!!

Husker: (leaps forward with a tiger's roar and his claws extended)

Exorcist: (grabs Husker and uses her spear to skin him alive before completely ripping his spine out of his back)

Kid Vaggie: Husk!!! (looks around and sees the rest of the Hotel's occupants' corpses laying on the dead grass filled front lawn of the establishment)

Alastor: (sawed in half with his antlers ripped off)

Cherri: (exploded from the hips up)

Niffty: (pieces replaced with bug parts and scuttling across the ground from an angelic steel knife lodged in her spinal chord to keep her moving)

Lucifer: (tied by the ankles at the top of the hotel, his wings billowing limply in the breeze from being completely shattered like a flag)

Kid Vaggie: (crying and is about to puke when another scream fills the air. She looks and sees the Exorcist holding Charlie up by the throat) CHARWIE!!!!

Exorcist: (looks over to Vaggie and throws Charlie in the air)

Charlie: (gets skewered on the sharp nose of Dazzle's statue)

Exorcist: (to Kid Vaggie) ......Go. Run. (turns to look at the carnage) ........*sob*

Kid Vaggie: (suddenly sees the same spear the Exorcist has in her hands and scrambles to run away. Lungs are on fire as she sprints through the streets and down an alley) NO!!! NO!!!NONONO!!!

-Feathered Wing Flapping Fills the Alley-

Kid Vaggie: (turns around and sees the Exorcist, shakily bringing her own spear up as tears stream down her cheek)

Exorcist: (stands silently before taking off her mask, revealing Vaggie's older face) What did you do?

Kid Vaggie: (suddenly wearing Exorcist clothes) I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!! YOU DID THAT!!! (scene shifts, and suddenly she's the one staring down a cannibal child cowering against the wall)

Cannibal Child: (crying) I didn't do anyhting wrong.... Please, don't kill me...

Kid/Vaggie: (lowers spear) Go. Run.

Cannibal Child: (sprints away)

Kid Vaggie: (looks down at her fully grown self in horror and suddenly feels excruciating pain in her left eye socket) AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Exorcist/Vaggie: You were weak. (grabs Kid Vaggie's wings and rips them off)

Kid Vaggie: (screams and cries before panting in pain and staring at her older double. The older woman is split in half down the middle to share the visage of a woman with short, white hair and blood smear everywhere)

Lute/Vaggie: You don't deserve Heaven. / (crying) You don't deserve Happiness.

Kid Vaggie: (world slowly fading to black as the Exorcist turns and leaves)

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Angel: (sees Charlie walk into the bar) Woooooof! Don't you look a special kinda way. I take it that Baby Fever ain't breakin' anytime soon?

Charlie: (pouts) Is it that obvious????

Angel: Please, Toots. (waves a hand in front of his nose) I can smell the ovulation process comin' off ya.

Lucifer: (sparkles in his eyes as he digs into his inner jacket pocket) Do you need the baby potion?!

Charlie: NOT YET!!! VAGGIE IS STILL A KID!!! (pauses) .....Wait, you just keep a bottle of that on hand?

Lucifer: .........Full transparency. I've been keeping it ever since you were with what's-his-nuts in case you needed it. What was his name? Fredrick's boy.

Charlie: (covers her mouth at the thought of carrying her ex-boyfriend's child) Dad, I never intended on having kids with Seviathan.

Lucifer: THANK THE STARS TOO!!!! Boy was a little fuckwit.

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Charlie: (turns to the staircase and sprints up the stairs three-four at a time) VAGGIE???!?!?!

Hazbins: (all scramble out of their seats and sprint after Charlie)

Charlie: (bursts into her and Vaggie's room and sprints to the bed to hold the thrashing child tight) Vaggie, sweetie, what's wrong?!

Kid Vaggie: NO!!! NO!!! NO-NO-NO!!!! (stops thrashing as Charlie's scent fills her nose and stares up into worried eyes) Charwie?

Charlie: Yeah, sweetie, what happened? (pets Vaggie's hair, wincing at how badly the child is shaking)

Kid Vaggie: (breaks out into a new wave of tears and sobbing wails as she holds Charlie tight) Exowcists! *hic-hic* Evewyone gone! My fault!

Charlie: (holds Vaggie tighter) Shhhhhh! Shhh-shhhh-shhhh! It's okay, Vaggie. The Exorcists are gone. They're not here anymore. They can't hurt you or anyone else here. Nothing is your fault. (turns to the rest of the group motions for some help)

Hazbins: (all standing in the doorway slowly shuffle in to make a giant hug pile)

Angel: No one blames you for nothin', kid.

Husker: For a fierce little psycho, you've never hurt any of us. (massages the skin patches where Vaggie took out some clumps of fur) Not entirely.

Cherri: You're a great guardian angel for the Hotel, kiddo.

Niffty: You do such a good job helping me kill all the roaches in the basement!

Lucifer: (finishes off the hug pile by engulfing everyone in his wings) You're more angelic than any of those Exorcists, little dove. Nothing that happened is your fault.

Alastor: (watching silently from the doorway)

Charlie: (tears filling her eyes as she gently rocks Vaggie and sings a quiet lullaby)

Kid Vaggie: *sniff-sniff* (looks up at everyone around her and calms down, nestling into Charlie's chest and falling asleep) Wuv... you... guys.... ZzzzZzzZZz.....

Bonus:

Hazbins: (clutch their hearts simultaneously) Fuck....

Charlie: (still holding a sleeping Vaggie) Not so funny when it's you, is it?

Lucifer: Charlie, please tell me you want that potion as soon as she's back to normal. I need a little demon-angel grandbaby.

[luneemeritus]

For the Goddess' sake yall have no idea how much I D E S P I S E this "if you have trauma or were abused by someone(s) you're forever damaged and too broken to be loved or to socialize, specially if you have mental illness" take/mindset. It's so inhuman and terrible. People simply can't fathom the idea of traumatized people healing and living their lifes happily. Specially the ableism bullshit of trying to isolate mentally ill people and deny them love and acceptance. Go fuck yourself if you think like that with all due respect.

[vent-art-af]

“like a poisoned child” (approx. 2021)

‘I am always the broken baby

more fool than angel

old glass decays as

ghosts linger over me

I lie open & naked

for joy’s porcelain growl

and I remember god laughing

like a poisoned child”

[whirlybirbs]

not to be insane on main but listening to the vacant mirrors playlist makes me so deeply nostalgic, it feels like someone is wrenching my soul from my chest.

[djkerr]

Parker. Hello? Earth to Parker.

Sorry, sorry. Guess I, uh, I zoned out. Uh, you more than zoned out. I almost had to send out a search party. Are you okay?

Yeah. Yeah, yeah, it's nothing. Like I said, I haven't been sleeping, and, uh, I'm not really a fan of hospitals these days, ever since, you know, I almost bled to death in one.

NCIS 22x08 Out of Control

[profoundbondfanfic]

Not your Fault

Not your Fault by orphan_account Rating: Mature Word count: 43k

Castiel has been directed by some hand of his Father to be here. He knows this. He knows it would be wrong to leave. And he knows there is something here for him. But an Omega auction house isn't anyplace the Angel of the Lord would have expected himself to be. Especially kneeling in front of this bruised, battered, green-eyed Omega who is looking everywhere but him. But the hand of his Father continues to tug, to pull him in the direction of this strange, sad-looking Omega. . . Oh boy.

Of course there's a reason why Castiel felt that tug. He might be an angel, but he is certainly not impervious to human biology, nor to fate. However, while in most stories we find a sort of friendly Cas who is only eager to help, things are a bit different here, making things really interesting and adding that spike of angst to the story. But worry not, he is quick to realize the error of his ways, not allowing himself to be driven by his upbringing. The way Dean is portrayed in this story is so deep, so heavy that one can almost feel it. It's like his inner omega could sense there is more to Castiel (and I am not talking about the guy being an angel). It is driving Dean to do these things he wouldn't normally do and it makes one excited to see the outcome. The attention to some details is poetic, and so is the way their relationship slowly develops. Cas seems uncertain of what he is to do and how he is to act, and Dean I a bit confused, but still so wary of him while also feeling so drawn. Still, there are moments when Castiel relapses to what he's been taught and then there are moments when Dean regresses to his slave persona. It's not like someone just flipped a switch and they are trauma-free now, no. It's definitely a process. And while there is some background plot, and an amazing brother Lucifer in the mix, this story is centered on emotional and mental growth as well as overcoming one's fears and the confines that the society enforces. Lastly, I leave you with a quote from the story that impacted me the most. We all need a Castiel in our lives.

"You are a person, no matter what gender or species. You're special, just like everyone else in their own way." Dean's eyes filled with tears again. "I d-don't understand." Castiel smiled sadly. "You don't yet. But you will," he promised. "I'll show you."

[alilaro]

those damned anime weebs were right, Neon Genesis Evangelion really does go fucking hard

[mirrorgrets]

a chung myung

[fizziepopangel]

No Bad Vibes

“Please, don’t!” I cried as Lute approached me, ripping my weapon from my hands and tossing it aside. I backed up, stumbling over something and falling back into a puddle leaking from the nearby dumpster. “Lute, please don’t do this. Please… You’re my friend!”

Lute looked down at me, scoffing. “You’re just as pathetic as Vaggie.” She spat, raising her spear, not even a hint of remorse in her eyes despite me thinking that we had been friends. “You deserve to rot in this hellhole just like that backstabbing, demon-fucking whore!”

The pain of her spear piercing my skin was so intense that I couldn’t even scream. Blood gushed from the wound across my cheek as I fumbled for my own weapon, my efforts cut short when my friend’s boot slammed down on the back of my hand. I didn’t have time to cry out before I felt her grab a fist full of my hair, tossing me against a wall as if I were a ragdoll.

Blood gushed from wounds, but the pain was too intense to tell where exactly I was hurt; it felt like everywhere. I was struggling to breathe, only barely getting to my hands and knees before I felt it; searing pain around the base of my wings…. Nausea hit me and there was this ripping and suddenly, my vision went dark….

I woke up drenched in sweat, my chest tight as I shot up, clinging to the blanket I had burritoed myself in at some point throughout the night. The scars on my body seemed to ache as if the wounds were new, yet somehow I felt numb as I sat there, eyes focused straight ahead into the darkness of the bedroom.

“You have another nightmare, princess?” I jumped, head snapping toward the doorway where Husk stood, undoing his tie. Although I hadn’t heard the hellcat come in, I couldn’t help the overwhelming sense of relief that flooded me seeing him standing there.  

“I…I..” The words wouldn’t come, so I just sat there, shaking my head and holding onto the blanket, tears slowly beginning to roll down my cheeks.

Husk made a soft sound of sympathy as he crossed the room and took his place in bed beside me. “Aw, princess, don’t cry..” His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me into his side. “The scars botherin’ you again? You want me to rub ‘em?” He asked, carefully wiping the tears from my eyes.

Nodding hesitantly, I let the demon slip my shirt off and direct me back to the bed. I wait a few moments before feel the cool sensation of the cocoa butter against my back. I couldn’t help but stiffen; despite having done this multiple times since we had been together, I couldn't help but be self conscious at the fact that he could see the deep, jagged scars down my back where my wings once were.

His pressure was gentle as his hands massaged the scars. “They ain’t as sensitive as they were before.” Husk said in a soft, gruff voice. “I guess Vaggie was right about massaging ‘em helpin’.”

Humming in response, I let my eyes slip shut, trying to ignore the thoughts of the day I fell. It was a moot point with Husk working to massage the angry scars down my back. “Thank you…” I mutter softly, though I knew it was probably muffled and hardly audible with my face buried in the bedding as I lay there.

Husk let out a chuckle, placing a kiss between where my wings once were before gently rolling me over and pinning me to the bed. “You ain’t gotta thank me, princess, I may be a grumpy old man, but I’d do anything for you, you know that.” His eyes filled with something I hadn’t really seen before, but something familiar all the same as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. “And I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you like that again.” 

Before I could say anything, Husk had moved, grabbing a fresh set of blankets and a fresh set of pajamas for us each. “Charlie said carrying bad vibes with ya ain’t healthy so come on, let’s get you into somethin’ you ain���t had any nightmares in.”

A giggle bubbled up in my throat as I got up to change. “So you believe in bad vibes now?”

“Nah, I still think it’s a bunch of bullshit.” Husk chuckled as he spread new sheets over our bed. “But I believe in you gettin’ your beauty sleep.” He teased.

Smiling sleepily, I flop onto the bed, nightmares and pain forgotten as I lay on the fresh bedding. “You’re coming to bed too, right?” I ask, giving him my best puppy dog eyes. “I sleep better when you’re next to me.”

The hellcat let out a sigh, running a hand down his face. “It’s poker night, baby….”

“Please?” I pout my lips slightly. “I wanna cuddle.”

“Ugh… Fuck…” He sighs again as he laid down beside me, pulling me into his chest. “You know this may be the first time I’ve ever skipped a poker night for a chick?”

“I love you too, Husk.” I yawned, already snuggling into the hellion’s soft, warm fur, feeling safer than I had in a long while as I listened to him grumble about missing his poker game while he continued to stroke my back gently. Nothing mattered in that moment, not my past, not my scars or how I got them… In that moment, it was just us.

[welcome-to-alice-in-helll]

[samicomofficial]

Jonah has a bad dream and nothing else happens (totally)

[queerfanfiction]

okay okay okay okay, so. your requests are open, right?

how about a larissa weems fic? the night has already fallen and shy reader want cuddles with larissa but she's still working. r mustered up courage to ask for it, and larissa just need a bit more time to finish what she's doing. r then agrees, and waits up until the night has gone deeper. r decides to just try to sleep because larissa is still deep in work, and that's when larissa eventually notices the time. what happens next is up to you (please make it fluffy)

of course, only if this is alright with you. thank youuu!

- ♡

Guardian Angel

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 2.2k includes: nightmares, scars, ptsd discussion, domesticity, fluff

The sky twisted and darkened overhead while a breeze rustled your hair and gave you goosebumps down your arms and legs. A nervous energy pulsed through the air. No one was around, even though it seemed like someone was just in the corners of your vision. Your breathing quickened, as you began to feel as if you were being watched. You moved across the empty streets, begging for anyone to appear and comfort you. Echoes of your footsteps and breathing rang out, bouncing against the vacant, crumbling structures.

You slump against a broken down, dusty car to bury your face in your arms, overwhelmed with emotion. After a few moments you peek between your fingers at a nearby pothole filled with water that began to ripple. A rhythmic tremor had begun to erupt below you from deep within the earth. Was something huge crawling up from within the ground? Were these impact tremors from something unseen further down the horizon?

You weren’t able to consider a better answer, because suddenly you could not see. The darkening purple and navy sky spilled black. Or maybe your own eyesight went? The only thing that tethered you to the previous moment was feeling the asphalt against your thighs beneath you. A shiver trailed down your spine as a crack of lightening sparked through the sky, illuminating the scene before you. Fog rolled in when you weren’t looking, and it seemed that each flash of light revealed more and more shadow creatures moving in fast pace closer to you.

In a panic and hoping your mind was playing tricks on you, you shut your eyes tightly. After a shaky breath, you opened them once again and saw red. Your torso was stained with thick, dark liquid, and you fingered the area—blood.

You awaken with a fright, letting out ragged breaths. Sitting up allows air to reach your lower back where sweat is pooling against the bedsheets. Your fingertips instinctively outstretch to cover the scars on your stomach.

Another nightmare.

You swallow hard as you attempt to regulate your fluttering heartbeat. You had been doing so well staving off the night terrors recently. You can’t help but be a little disappointed in your progress. You glance to your side to see the bed freshly empty. Just as your heart rate began to slow, you felt it jump seeing Larissa’s side empty. You check the clock. 3:16am.

Before you could flip the covers away to investigate her absence, she rounded the corner and almost spilled the drink in her hands. “Jesus” she exclaims before quickly controlling her voice, adding a measured smoothness to it before speaking again. “My dear, you’re up.”

“I was worried you were having another night terror. Here.” Larissa gently hands off a warm cup of golden milk to you before settling back into the bed.

You immediately felt your shoulders relax and your jaw unclench at her company. With a slight shutter, you let out a “Thank you” before bringing your lips to the edge of the cozy drink.

Larissa had gotten into the habit of bringing you calming drinks or snacks when you were unsettled or having a panic attack. Mostly she’d bring sleepy time or chamomile tea, but when she sensed the nightmare was particularly awful, she would make the tumeric drink currently before you. You don’t think either of you ever spoke of the distinction, but you were grateful that she was never wrong in how to succor you.

One night early into your relationship when you were having trouble sleeping, tossing and turning about the bed, Larissa warmed golden milk for you. She didn’t know that you hadn’t had the drink since you were a child or that it provided such comfort to you. Somehow she naturally prepared it; she was always this way. The act made you feel immediately indebted to her kindness and thoughtfulness. It seemed to flow from her so freely.

You’ve never had a partner be so attentive and understanding to your PTSD. Usually your needs were considered exaggerations or inconveniences—something “extra” to deal with or put up with begrudgingly in order to love you. But never with Larissa.

She would hold you close against her and stroke the hair by your temple while lightly peppering kisses against your forehead. You would snake your arms around her torso and press your face into the crook on her neck. Occasionally she would hum, and sometimes you would too alongside her. Not only was this a tender moment you two shared, you knew it was good for you in more ways than one. Humming stimulates the vagus nerve and plays a key role in activating the parasympathetic nervous system. You knew that, but you swore there was something about Larissa’s distinct, saccharine scent and powdery soft skin that propelled your recovery.

—

It was possible that as the anniversary of receiving your scars grew nearer, an uptick in your night terrors occurred. The past week had shown more restlessness, and you decided to lean on Larissa a bit more. You were reluctant to do so, but she kept insisting you deserved to be taken care of the same way you often supported her. Thus, you had been asking her to wind down with you during the night.

You usually thought Larissa’s dedication to her work was endearing. Sometimes she might bring a laptop into bed and rub your back while scrolling through emails. Other times she would try to leave thoughts about work at the door, which was also nice to experience. Being at the center of Larissa’s attention was something you weren’t sure you could ever tire of; it felt addictive. More than that, though, domestic life with her was everything you could hope for.

Larissa’s home life growing up was not as positive as her demeanor would suggest, and your own family life was a trash fire. Claiming domesticity in your own ways together seemed rather revolutionary considering.

However, as much as you admired her work ethic, lately she has been zoning out and hyperfixating on her perfectionism. One email often turned into two or eight and needed to be written out flawlessly in tone and grammar. Other duties that typically needed more brainpower, like securing bands and caterers for the Rave’N, salary negotiations with faculty, curriculum changes/proposals, and meetings with the school board, started taking up for of Larissa’s free time.

As a boarding school, there really was no such thing as clocking out or leaving work at work. You understood that. It’s one of the things that made you fall in love with Larissa, even though she scoffed at the idea when you disclosed it. Her earnest desire to propose up outcasts as a force of good, as well as bridge our world with the normie world, was so powerful to experience. You loved seeing the looks on others’ faces when Larissa came to save the day in the Jericho town square or knew exactly what to say during a debate between students.

She was Nevermore.

Tonight, though, that was the problem. You’ve been having a hard week. You had been feeling fatigued, had a lack of appetite, were breaking out in acne, everything that signaled your body was under too much stress.

Larissa had been buzzing with misplaced adrenaline too, since she was in “fix it” mode over an incident with some normie and outcast kids at Pilgrim World over the weekend. You wondered if she had stopped to take in a full breath—one that reached deep into her diaphragm and provided relief and endorphins to her brain.

She had missed dinner together. You two were going to make a new colored pasta recipe using yellow and green dye, hoping to infuse it with lemon and herbs. As the time passed, it took everything in you to just order something and bring it to her office instead. Otherwise you weren’t sure if you two would be eating that evening. Your anxiety flared with the impromptu social interaction of ordering and picking up the food—something you were not expecting for your night in together.

When you dropped off dinner, Larissa had promised work would be done soon. …but that was hours ago.

You entered her office in the cutest and comfiest oversized shirt, one she adored on you since it hung down to your knees. With the sweetest voice you could gather, you tiptoed towards her desk to ask her to come to bed and cuddle you. You knew it would be good for her to rest her eyes from the screen. You read somewhere that people looking at screens for a long time should consider something called the 20-20-20 rule to prevent eye strain. For every 20 minutes someone looks at a screen, they should look at something 20 feet away for 20 seconds. It seemed like a small exercise that wouldn’t be too awful to complete, but you were sure she had forgotten any hope to do it this week.

After mustering up the courage to ask for her to help you get to sleep, she agreed and reassured you that she would meet you in the bedroom.

Satisfied with the knowledge that security and safety was imminent, you decided to lay and prepare the space. You put on Calm’s washing machine sound; having white noise of some sort always seemed to help you settle down. After you had whispered something about how nice hearing her work in the background was, Larissa had bought you a lifetime subscription to the app so that you always had something to listen to if you needed it.

You attempted to relax your breathing, not sure why you were feeling panicked. You told yourself to accept it and try to breathe into it. The body’s response to trauma has been something you’ve been unpacking in therapy the past couple weeks. You typically turn to avoidant behaviors, and your therapist suggested utilizing somatic therapy techniques instead.

As you considered how far you’ve come in your recovery, you stretched your various limbs in ways that were meant to discharge the tension you felt. Intellectualizing your stress and panic helps, but you were informed that moving through and feeling your emotions head on and diffusing them would be more beneficial.

That’s why it was such a big deal that you asked for help in getting to sleep. You felt on the verge of tears and needed the comfort of Larissa’s arms to be able to fall apart, to feel your feelings. You needed a safe space to let loose.

—

More and more time passed. You knew Larissa was trying her hardest to wrap up her work, but there was a nagging feeling in your stomach that wondered if she had forgotten you.

Trying not to let it bother you, you decided that you should try to sleep. Your arm reaches out to shut off the marble side lamp while your other hand pulls the duvet up around you, like a protective barrier.

Not long after you resigned to sleeping alone, Larissa notices the time.

Larissa had been trying to cram as much work as possible into the last few hours so that you two could have an uninterrupted sleep. No worries about writing down a suggestion in the middle of the night on the note pad she kept nearby and no mental rephrasing of emails in her head as she lay beside you. In fact, she had been trying to get a head start on some of the other items on her agenda so that the upcoming nights were solely devoted to you. However, she didn’t expect the time to slip away and betray her like this.

She rushes to shut off her lights, computer, and fireplace. Larissa slips into the dim room, with only the light of the moon poking through half drawn curtains illuminating the path to the bed. She removes her clothes, feeling how her skin aches for freedom. Mentally she chastised herself for being late and worried her lip at whether or not you were cross with her.

A soothing whisper melts around you, caressing your cheek with its softness, “I’m so sorry for not coming sooner, my love.”

You feel the weight of her shift into the bed. Suddenly her warm arms are finding their usual place at your back and sides. With a tired voice, you roll around and press into the taller woman’s body, mumbling, “S’okay.”

Your hands clutch onto her as she says, “It’s not, but I am here now and plan to make it up to you.” At this promise, you feel her arms begin to rock you back and forth. Her face begins to nuzzle the top of your head as you two sway.

Larissa’s lips kiss your hair while she gently lets out a “shh” here and there. After a few minutes, she isn’t sure if your even breathing means you have drifted off to sleep or not. She pulls back slightly to gaze onto the face before her, taking in all your beauty, grace, and strength.

“I am in awe of you, little one.” Her long fingers tuck hair behind your ear as she continues, “Every day I am grateful to be met with your existence and your selfless love.”

You hear her whispered confessions and swell with warmth, knowing when sleep momentarily claims you that you will be protected. Larissa resumes, unsuspecting of the weight and solace her words have on you, “I love you and will always be here for you.”

[limeykaa]

I think of Aziraphale everyday (I'm very normal about him) and I've been wondering about his potential breaking point. How many times can our little angel thwart the Will of God, as presented by Heaven, and act directly against Heaven's direct orders, before he cannot make sense of what makes him an angel anymore?

I'm sure he's often thinking of how Crowley was cast out of Heaven for asking questions (allegedly). Meanwhile, for the past 6000 years, Aziraphale has been "fraternizing" with the Enemy, tempted humans in place of Crowley under the Arrangement, felt Things He Shouldn't Be Feeling (because it's forbidden, taboo, and he simply SHOULDN'T BE ABLE TO), lied to his hierarchy, enjoyed all types of Hedonistic pleasures, had sinful thoughts at the mere sight of Crowley, QUESTIONED the decisions made by God and Heaven (although not to God's face, but isn't she all-knowing?), acted directly against the Great Plan resulting in Armageddon's massive failure, tricked Heaven and Hell, and basically quit his job at the Heavenly Company™ (before accepting a new one, but let's not talk about that now). (List non exhaustive, we could go on.)

How much more of this can he take before having a massive identity crisis?

It looks like the whole Fallen Angels business was a one time thing that happened after the War in Heaven, and no angel has fallen ever since. Then, that means Aziraphale will never fall, whatever he does, possibly because it's all according to Plan, or simply because God doesn't care anymore.

What does that mean for Aziraphale? What is the point of living up to the angelic values dictated by the Archangels? How long can Aziraphale handle the pressure of being a failure of an angel (according to everything he's always been told)? Our girl has some serious PTSD after all :(

Of course I don't have any answers, but I drew a couple pages on him having a breakdown. I'll probably share them tomorrow.

[scottcyclopssummers]

This fan fiction is set after the events of X-Men #3 (2024). Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Scott Summers/Warren Worthington III Characters: Scott Summers, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Hank McCoy Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Scott Summers Deserves Happiness, Hurt Scott Summers, Warren Worthington III Deserves Happiness, Love, Friendship, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Anxiety, Scott is tired of it all, Friends to Lovers Series: Part 1 of Breakthrough

[carelessflower]

to be honest im not too keen on the idea of everyone becoming mundane at the end. not even gonna go over how for some their power/magic are essential parts of themselves (shadowhunters, warlocks, vampire) or vampire would turn into dust if they get unvamped. shadowhunter are child soldiers. they're trained to kill, to die for the cause, dust and shadow and all that. do many of them have this weird supremacy going about purity, bloodline and angelic nature? absolutely! but nephilim is born, shadowhunter gets made. even without rune, a fighting machine isn't going to stop just because there's no threat. do you really think dropping hived mind lethal killers into the wild while people who are capable of stopping them have lost their advantages (warlock magic, vampire, werewolf speed and strength, seelie can stand a good chance though) is a good idea?

[maternity-morningstar]

ANGEL!

Angel: *on his bed, looking extremely panicked* I’m in that bed…I’m in that bed again!!! NO I CANT BE!

Angel: NO! Nonononono! *gets up and tries to leave the bed but sees flames around him, trapping him and it scares him to no end*

In reality Angel is having a manic breakdown and he’s not coping well.