#stolas and stella

[pinkthick]

Just answer Via

Summary: "I understand you're upset, Octavia. But I love you more than anything. Please don't shut me out like this. I'm begging you."

Notes: Mind you, I didn’t watch Helluva Boss yet. (Just watched 3 episodes but the Goetia family got my heart so I needed to write something. 😭) Again, there is a bit of self-harm so um yeah. Enjoy

Warnings: Blood and Self-harm(cutting), Hurt No Comfort

A Octavia lay on her bed, ignoring the incessant buzzing of her phone. Messages and calls from her father flooded her notifications. She couldn't bear to listen or respond; the pain was too fresh. Stolas, on the other hand, found himself alone in bed, tears streaming down his face as he sent desperate apologies to his daughter.

He was drowning in regret. His perfect starfire, how could he hurt her? Tears cascaded down his face as he lay in bed, haunted by the distance between him and his beloved daughter. Desperation fueled his fingertips as he composed messages, pouring his heart out in a digital plea for forgiveness. The room echoed with his cries as he poured his emotions into each desperate attempt to connect with his daughter.

Octavia, however, was resolute in her decision to shut him out. She couldn't bear the disappointment and pain that seemed to accompany Stolas wherever he went. And fuck him. She didn’t need him. And dad Stolas sure as hell didn’t need her.

"Via, my love, please hear me out. It's all a terrible misunderstanding," Stolas pleaded in a shaky voice through a voice message, his vulnerability exposed.

But Octavia just tossed and turned in her bed, drowning out the incessant buzzing of her phone with a pillow over her head as more of his messages were coming in.

"I understand you're upset, Octavia. But I love you more than anything. Please don't shut me out like this. I'm begging you." He clutched his phone tightly, fighting back his own tears, but to no use. "I know I've been a fool, but you are my world. I would never willingly hurt you. And Blitzo—he doesn't mean more to me than you do. I never left you for him," he sobbed into the phone as he fervently composed one apology after another.

She didn’t want to entertain his attempts to explain himself. That was what she was telling herself over and over. In truth, she knew that if she allowed herself to listen, she might be swayed by his words. That were probably lies. All he did was lie.

Stolas' voice cracked with emotion as he spoke “You're my little girl, and I can't bear the thought of losing you. Please, let me make things right. I don’t want to spend an eternity without you, Via.” I’m so sorry my baby.

Stolas continued to call, each ring intensifying her frustration. Unable to endure the constant intrusion any longer, she seized her phone and, fueled by anger and disappointment, hurled it with all her might against the wall. The shattering impact silenced the incessant ringing and buzzing, providing a momentary respite.

The room fell into an eerie quiet, broken only by the sounds of her sobs. Her chest was heaving with a mixture of anger and relief as she glared at the broken pieces scattered on the floor.

She just..stood there. Breathless even. The moonlight streamed through the shards, casting an eerie glow that seemed to mirror the shattered fragments of her own emotions. She couldn’t take her eyes off the glinting shards—they suddenly seemed sharper, more defined.

The pain sometimes provided a twisted solace. Not always. But sometimes it did.

She bent down to pick up the scattered remnants of her phone. As she started to gather the broken pieces, a small shard embedded itself in her hand. There was a brief pause, but Octavia's expression remained stoic. It didn’t feel bad. It didn’t feel — enough.

Examining the shard in her hand, she felt an odd sense of detachment and she calmly removed the shard, and a slow trickle of blood began to stain her hand. The black droplets fell, but she continued cleaning up.

The room felt colder and despite the discomfort, a strange tranquility settled over her as she gazed at the glistening blood on her hand.

But it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

—

Stolas paced around his trashed room, frustration boiling over. "Damn it, Octavia! Why won't you let me explain?" he muttered to himself, fists clenched. The shattered remnants of his belongings lay scattered on the floor. His attempts to reach Octavia only led to the voicemail now "Blocked me, hasn't she?" Stolas seethed, resentment simmering beneath his feathers. He felt abandoned, misunderstood.

Stolas couldn't contain the turmoil within him any longer. With a guttural scream, he hurled a crystal vase across the room again, the shattering sound punctuating his frustration. “Satan forbid I try to be happy for once!” he growled, his fists now indiscriminately demolishing everything in his path. He knocked over a grand bookshelf, sending leather-bound tomes crashing to the ground.

His anger manifested in every strike, every shattered item a reflection of the shattered connection with his daughter. Stolas grabbed another vase, memories of happier times with Octavia flashing before his eyes. With a furious yell, he sent it flying, watching it disintegrate against the wall. "Stella, you wretched fiend!" he spat, resentment fuelling his rampage. He tore down curtains, the rich fabric torn to shreds in his hands.

The contents of drawers spilled onto the floor as Stolas overturned a dresser, the crash punctuating his fury. He kicked at the debris, uncaring of the damage inflicted upon his once-stylish attire.

Why wasn’t he allowed to be happy?

Stolas's rampage came to a sudden halt as his eyes fell upon a small, damaged frame. He bent down, trembling hands carefully picking up the remnants of a drawing — Octavia’s drawing. "No—no, no, no!" Stolas gasped, horror etched across his face as he cradled the fragile piece in his hands. The once-pristine frame lay shattered, and the drawing bore the scars of his unchecked fury.

A choked sob escaped him as he traced the lines of Octavia's childish strokes. "Not this drawing—oh, fuck," he whispered, guilt and regret intertwining in his voice. Stolas hastily searched for tape, his hands shaking as he fumbled through.

With a watery chuckle, he found the tape and delicately began piecing the frame together, his movements careful, as if mending this small drawing could somehow mend the larger wounds. As the drawing took shape again, albeit marred and fragile, Stolas looked at it through tear-filled eyes. The crayon depiction of a happy family seemed to mock him as he gently wiped away a tear that threatened to stain the paper.

I would never hurt her.

But you did.

Stolas settled onto the debris-laden floor, clutching the repaired drawing against his chest. Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at the innocent depiction of a happier time. Silent sobs racked his frame as he whispered to the drawing, "My baby... my starfire," with a trembling hand, he reached for his phone.

He scrolled through his messages and soon the cruel reality struck. Octavia's name remained devoid of any response — what did he expect really?

Desperation etched across his features, Stolas dialed Octavia's number once again. The familiar tone of voicemail filled the air, echoing the emptiness of his heart. He clutched the phone, tears streaming down his face, as he whispered brokenly, "Please, Octavia, just talk to me." Stolas pressed a hand to his chest, as if physically trying to ease the ache within. "I've messed up," he admitted through choked sobs, his vulnerability laid bare. “I know I did, Via.”

Gasping for breath between sobs, Stolas's trembling hands scrolled through his contacts. After a moment of hesitation, he scrolled down to 'Stella.' A deep inhale preceded the press of the call button, the phone ringing.

Then, against his expectations, a begrudging voice answered on the other end. "What do you want now, Stolas?" Stella's tone dripped with irritation, a testament to the strained dynamic between them.

Stolas hesitated, his voice catching in his throat before he managed to stammer, "Stella, please, it's about Octavia. I need to talk to her." His desperation clung to his words.

A heavy sigh on the other end hinted at Stella's exasperation. "How many times do I have to say it? Octavia doesn't want to talk to you. Is that so hard for you to grasp?" The blunt truth struck Stolas like a blow, and he felt the weight of his actions press down on him.

He didn’t know what to say but Stella's voice turned colder, cutting through the strained air. "Was the sex worth it?" she asked as Stolas felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

His words stumbled as he tried to justify himself, "It wasn't just about that, Stella. I needed something more, something that made me feel alive."

A bitter laugh escaped Stella's lips, a sound tinged with both anger and disbelief. "Alive? You chose momentary pleasure over your daughter's happiness. What kind of father does that?"

A simmering anger brewed within Stolas as he clutched the phone as he retorted, "What kind of mother does what you do? All you ever did was show her off to your friends—you never cared for her! I don't even know if you love her!"

Stella's voice, now laced with a mix of anger and hurt, responded, "Don't turn this around on me. You're the one who shattered our family for some demon's affection. I did my best for Octavia, and I won't let you blame me for your mistakes."

Stolas, undeterred, retorted, "Your best? She needed both of us, Stella. We both failed her. You were more concerned with appearances than being there for Octavia. Don't pretend you're innocent in all of this."

A bitter laugh echoed through the phone as Stella responded, "But where is she now, Stolas? Is she staying with you?" The question hung in the air, a cruel reminder that Octavia had chosen to distance herself from her father in the wake of his mistakes. Stolas felt a lump forming in his throat, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. He glanced around the shattered room, now devoid of any semblance of the life he had once known. "No, she's not with me," he admitted, his voice carrying a defeated tone.

Stella's laughter persisted on the other end, a sound that grated against Stolas's ears. "Of course she's not with you. Why would she want to be? You've made your bed, Stolas, and now you have to lie in it."

A heavy silence settled between them, and Stolas struggled to find the right words. "I... I messed up, Stella.”

No shit.

"I'm going to check up on my daughter since you probably disturbed her night with your calls," Stella declared, her voice stern and resolute. The weight of her words hung heavily in the air, leaving Stolas with a sinking feeling that he had pushed Octavia further away.

"Stella, please—" Stolas began, his plea interrupted by the decisive click of the call ending. He stared at his phone in silence, the dim glow of the shattered room casting shadows over his disheveled appearance.

—

Octavia stealthily made her way to the kitchen, ensuring that her mother or uncle were not present. And they weren’t, thank Satan. She cautiously opened drawers, her search focused and deliberate. Her hands sifted through the utensils until she found what she was looking for – a cold, gleaming knife tucked away among the ordinary cutlery. Octavia's gaze lingered on the blade, reflecting the moonlight that streamed in through the window.

Via found herself descending onto the cold kitchen floor, the knife held loosely in her hands. Conflicted emotions swirled within her, a storm of pain, anger, and confusion. Her own mind was a battleground, torn between the yearning for control and the dread of succumbing to old habits. She traced the edge of the knife with her fingers, contemplating the scars that adorned her past.

The temptation to cut again clawed at her again. It would be so simple. Peaceful even.

She closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. She just felt numb thinking about her insignificant existence. Her parents didn’t want her. They needed a heir and they got one. She realized that no matter what she’ll do, her life will atone to nothing. The only time the emptiness was filled was when the slits from her wrists were open and blood poured down her arms.

Memories of Stolas flooded her mind. She couldn't escape the vivid recollections of his face, a mix between concern and disappointment, every time he discovered the evidence of her self-harm. His eyes mirrored the pain he felt for her, a silent plea for her to find solace without resorting to self-destruction. My beautiful girl. My beautiful miracle girl. Why would you do that to yourself?

He always asked the same questions.

Octavia could almost feel Stolas' gentle touch as he cleaned her wounds, his hands moving with a tenderness that belied the frustration and sorrow etched on his face. His gentle touch, the careful application of bandages, his tears for her.

Lucifer knows, one of them had to pretend to care .

The knife felt heavier in her hand for some reason. She didn’t.. set out to do this tonight. Gripping the knife tightly, she steeled herself for the familiar dance with pain. She held her breathe as she pressed the blade against her skin, tracing lines that mirrored the scars of her past.

It was always fascinating. Hypnotizing. And before Octavia really understood what her body was doing, the knife was squeezed tightly in her fist and was cutting again. The pain was sharp and sudden, but faded as soon as the beautiful red started to run. She never realized how beautiful blood could be. The color was bark and painful but soothing at the same time. Stunning.

It’s scary. She shuttered to think of what Stolas would think of her if he knew she had intentionally cut up her arm again. Blood isn’t comforting, she knew that.

What did she really do?

—

Stolas summoned a hologram of a little Octavia. The ethereal form glowed softly, capturing the innocence and purity of his daughter in happier times. The miniature figure stood before him, her eyes wide and curious.

"Why are you crying, Daddy?" the holographic Octavia asked, her voice a sweet echo from the past. Stolas looked up, his tear-streaked face met with the spectral image of his daughter, a painful reminder of the joy he had inadvertently traded for fleeting moments of pleasure.

He struggled to find words, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. "I'm sorry, my starfire," he whispered, reaching out as if to touch the hologram, only to grasp at the emptiness.

The holographic Octavia tilted her head, her innocence contrasting starkly with the broken reality surrounding them. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, confusion clouding her ghostly features. Stolas shook his head, his heart aching at the notion of his little girl blaming herself. "No, no, my love. Daddy made some mistakes, and I hurt you. I hurt us," he confessed, his voice trembling.

"Can't you fix it, Daddy?" she asked, her small form glowing with hope.

"I'll do everything I can to fix it, my precious. Daddy promises," he vowed to the ethereal image.

A gentle, playful giggle emanated from the holographic Octavia, her form shifting to mirror an older version of herself. "You're still embarrassing as fuck, Dad," she quipped, her tone filled with a teasing familiarity that sent a wave of relief through Stolas.

He was stunned and looked up from his tear-stained hands, and his eyes widened at the sight of the hologram transforming into an older, more mature Octavia. The glow of the projection illuminated the room, casting an ethereal light on the wreckage. A tentative smile played on Stolas's lips as he took in the image of the holographic Octavia, her features reminiscent of the daughter who had distanced herself from him. "Via, my dear, I... I miss you," he admitted, his voice carrying a mix of longing and regret.

The holographic Octavia, now resembling the older version who had grown distant, rolled her eyes playfully. "You've got a lot of making up to do, old man," she said, her tone softening as she reached out, the glow of her hand brushing against Stolas's cheek — but he didn’t feel it.

He wished he could feel it.

"I'm so sorry, Octavia," Stolas began, his voice heavy with remorse. "I never meant to hurt you. I've made terrible choices, and I've hurt you. I just want you to know that I love you, more than anything."

The holographic Octavia regarded him with a mixture of warmth and skepticism. "You messed up big time, but you’re lucky I love you too." she responded and Stolas melted before her.

As their interaction deepened, Stolas found himself immersed in the illusion, the holographic Octavia's laughter and responses feeling so authentic that, at times, he forgot she was merely a projection. So Stolas allowed himself to believe that the hologram before him was his actual daughter.

—

Stella burst into the kitchen, her eyes widening in shock as they fell upon Octavia, blood running down her arms. Anger and concern clashed on Stella's face, her expression darkening. "What the fuck, Octavia? You're cutting yourself again?" The words were sharp, a mix of frustration and worry. Octavia felt a pang of guilt and shame. She stammered, searching for words that could explain the inexplicable.

"Mom, I—" but before she could finish, Stella's voice cut through, more forceful this time. "I can't believe you're doing this again. Fuck, we need to clean up before anyone sees, especially my brother." As Stella moved towards Octavia, a mix of urgency and irritation, Via instinctively tried to shield her actions. "No, I can handle it myself," she protested weakly.

Stella, however, wasn't having it. "Handle it yourself? Look at you, bleeding all over the damn place. We don't have time for your bullshit. Now, give me that knife, and let's clean you up." She hesitated but she did give the knife to her mother.

As Stella examined the wounds, Octavia winced, and a cry escaped her lips. "It hurts!"

"Stop acting like a baby," Stella snapped, her tone harsh. "This is your mess, and you're going to clean it up.” Her mother retorted, her voice stern as she led Octavia towards the sink. The moonlight painted a macabre scene as Stella started cleaning the wounds, Via started to watch as her blood fell to the bottom of it and mixed with the water until it turned pink and pooled around the drain.

Stella, frustration etching her features, demanded an explanation as she asked, "Why did you do it? You stopped doing this awhile ago." Octavia, still sniffling, looked up at Stella and whispered, "You know why." Her mother’s eyes softened briefly, a mix of sympathy and exasperation in her gaze. "He's not worth it. Doing this to your body isn't worth it." she insisted, reaching for a cloth to start cleaning Octavia's wounds.

Via, her voice shaky, responded, "I can't... I can't get his face out of my head.” As Stella dabbed at the cuts, Octavia winced "Why can't you see that you're worth more than whatever he did?" Stella pressed, frustration tingeing her words. "Cutting yourself won't make the pain go away. It only adds to it." Octavia, tears streaming down her face, struggled to find a response.

Stella, her hands continuing to move methodically to clean Octavia's wounds, couldn't hide the frustration in her voice. "Now stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can't waste a pretty face like you have," Stella remarked, her words sharp and tinged with frustration. "You can't be pathetic like him."

Octavia, still sniffling, met Stella's gaze, her eyes reflecting a tumultuous sea of emotions. "Why did he choose him over me?" she asked, her voice tinged with a vulnerability that echoed through the room. "The Imp?" Stella clarified, pausing for a moment. Octavia nodded, prompting Stella to scoff. "Because he's a fucking moron who gets crazy over a dick," she retorted, her disdain evident in her tone.

The truth in Stella's words hung heavy in the air, a bitter acknowledgment of the absurdity that had fractured their family "You're better than this, Octavia. You're worth more than someone who would choose... that, over his own daughter. Don't let his colossal mistake define your worth."

Octavia, her voice heavy with pain and resentment, confessed, "I hate him. He promised he would never leave me, but he didn't even bat an eye when he had the chance."

Stella, finishing up and turing off the water, frowned at Octavia's raw confession. "As I said, he's a fucking pathetic old gay—"

"Mom," Octavia interrupted, her tone pleading. "I just wanted him to love me more than he loves Blitzo."

Stella's expression hardened briefly, a flicker of anger in her eyes. "His name doesn't even deserve to be in your mouth," she asserted as she continued "You're his heir, Octavia, and he should have put you first. I don't care about his reasons; abandoning you was inexcusable."

Octavia looked down, her mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions. "I thought I meant more to him," she admitted, her voice a mere whisper.

Stella's tone grew more unbearable as she patted Octavia's head with a forced semblance of affection. "You're a fool for thinking that," she remarked, her words a cold reminder of the harsh reality they were grappling with. Octavia, looking up at her mother, felt a surge of frustration and yearning for understanding.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Stella cut her off. "Now, we had a great heart-to-heart talk, but you need to clean up here. We'll talk tomorrow," she declared, her abrupt shift in demeanor signaling the end of their conversation. As Stella stood up, leaving Octavia on the kitchen floor, she stopped in the doorway, her gaze lingering on her daughter "I don't think I need to tell you that you need to wear shirts with long sleeves the next few weeks?" she remarked.

"No, Mom," Octavia replied, her eyes downcast as she reached for a towel.

“Great! Now chop-chop," she declared as Via nodded, her movements mechanical as she began the task of cleaning up the blood from the floor. The room seemed to blur as a vivid memory transported her to a moment years ago, a time when Stolas had bandaged her wounds.

Octavia sat on the bathroom floor, tears streaming down her face, her arms marked with fresh cuts. Stolas knelt beside her, gently cleaning the wounds with a tenderness that seemed incongruent with the pain etched on his face.

"I'm sorry—" Via began to apologize, but Stolas, his eyes welling up with tears, cut her off with a quiet intensity. "You don't need to apologize for this," he insisted, his voice a mix of sorrow and genuine concern.

He pressed his forehead to hers, a tender moment that spoke of a father's love grappling with the pain of seeing his daughter in such a state. "I just wish you'd stop doing this."

She just continued to scrub at the floor.

—

The holographic Octavia, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, suggested, "How about we go to dinner this Friday at that new local place? Just you and me, Dad." Her proposal hung in the air “Just like old times.”

A surge of joy mixed with sorrow filled Stolas's heart as he tried to reach out and touch her, only to be met with the intangible glow of the hologram. Frustration etched his features as the realization dawned upon him. "You're not... real, Via," he admitted —to himself.

The holographic Octavia simply smiled, her expression retaining a gentle warmth. Which wasn’t real. It was only in his head.

A profound sadness gripped him as he realized that this connection, no matter how comforting, was merely a mirage—a fleeting illusion that couldn't replace the tangible presence of his estranged daughter.

In a moment of despair, Stolas clenched his fists, his vision blurred by fresh tears. "I'm so sorry, Via," he whispered, the sincerity of his remorse echoing in the quiet room. He raised his hand and swiped through the holographic projection and the radiant image flickered, and Octavia's form began to dissipate like mist in the wind.

Stolas cried out, a raw and anguished sound as he sank to his knees, the weight of the real world crashing down on him once more. But the sudden ring of Stolas's phone shattered the heavy silence in the room, jolting him up. Hope flickered in his eyes as he fumbled to retrieve the device, a desperate anticipation that maybe, just maybe, Octavia was reaching out.

However, as he glanced at the caller ID, disappointment and frustration welled up within him. It wasn't Octavia; instead, the name "Blitzo" blinked on the screen. Stolas hesitated, his thumb hovering over the answer button.

He chose to not to answer though, letting the call go to voicemail.

Oh, Via..

As he glanced out of his own window, the moonlit sky seemed empty. Stolas knew, more than ever, that he needed Octavia.

—

Octavia, sat by her window and her arms now bandaged, her gaze was fixed on the distant horizon. The city lights twinkled below, reflecting in her eyes, yet the flicker of resentment lingered. She convinced herself that she no longer needed Stolas. The night sky stretched above her, mirroring the vast expanse of the void that had replaced the warmth of their connection.

Separated by physical and emotional distance, father and daughter found themselves gazing at the same sky, yet the chasm between them seemed insurmountable.

[wholahayola]

[defiedfate]

give me Stolas having nightmares about Stella's abuse while he's with Blitz.

[nifftyisgonnakillu]

LGBT stands for Let’s Get Blitzo Therapy

[glitzbot]

dancing with the right partner

[fizzierolli]

NEW LVL UP PRINT IS EVERYTHING

[pfluffygum]

🤫shh, he hasn't seen Octavia🌈

💖the inspiration for the drawing and many of the dialogues that appear are based on this:

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Stolas, Millie, Loona, Vaggie, Stella, Husk, Beezlebub and Asmodeus accidentally hitting their S/O During a Fight.

Stolas

It shouldn't have even been an argument.

Looking back he felt awful about the whole thing, it was all so stupid.

Now, despite his extensive and near limitless wealth, at the beginning of your relationship you made it clear you refused to mooch off of him.

Completely that is, he still spoiled you rotten, and you weren't planning on stopping him, But you had a job, maintaining a level of independence, something you took great pride in.

Stolas supported this with gusto, loving your independence as well as adoring the simple assurance you weren't just with him for the money and status.

It all spawned from when he'd asked you to preform a simple chore, something he'd normally do but had a packed schedule, so asked you to do it.

But of course, with your own busy schedule, you'd forgotten, the task going undone the entire day.

Coming home Stolas would snap at you, having endured a particularly stressful day, only for you to snap back.

You'd break into a heated argument, the both of you picking at every petty thing about each other you could.

Snapping at each other for the sort of things you'd never think to bring up before, but in that moment the both of you were just looking for things to get mad about.

But it'd be after Stolas made a remark, a shallow, but derogatory remark on your status as a Hellborne.

And that, well, that gave you something to genuinely be mad about.

You'd snap back at him, bringing up a moment of vitriolic anger, genuinely hurtful information, the sort you'd never have brought up otherwise.

Stolas, completely shocked by such a vicious outbreak, would snap.

Not mentally, but physically.

He didn't even realise what had happened until he looked down, seeing you holding your cheek, staring up at him in horror.

Cold dread filling him, his stomach dropping as he realised what had happened, the man stumbling back, horrified with himself.

"I... I..." He tried to speak but failed, unable to say anything.

You'd turn away, breathing shaky as you struggled to keep yourself composed.

Stolas would reach out to you, hoping to fix the situation. To prove he hadn't meant it.

If you pulled away, the man would break down, apologising profusely, the Owl in an exceptionally fragile state, apologising again and again, having a full breakdown as he begged you for forgiveness.

Your relationship would suffer heavily, but could heal depending on how willing you were, the man profusely apologetic, promising that'd never happen again, terrified he'd be a monster like Stella was to him.

If instead you allowed him to embrace you, he'd pull you close, crying profusely as you held each other, accepting what had happened and your mutual role in it.

You'd end up in his arms, the man holding you to his chest fluff, your favourite spot, the two of you just sat there for hours, holding each other close.

Yous talk softly, both of you apologising, but Stolas practically begging for forgiveness.

He'd feel awful for bringing a physical element to your relationship.

Not that you didn't already get physical, 17 broken bed frames in 9 months proved you got plenty physical, but becoming physically abusive was literally the very last thing he EVER wanted, especially for his partner.

It would take some time, the two of you spending countless hours holding each other close, talking through your issues countless times.

It'd be after stolas would apologise for the hundredth time, you cupping his face and telling him gently you forgave him, that your relationship would really begin to heal.

Stolas would be on edge for a while, going above and beyond for you, ensuring you knew exactly how much he loved you, being extra careful to be as un-intimidating as physically possible.

But your relationship would heal, you loving the owl boi and him loving you, the two of you handling and moving past the bump in your relationship in a surprisingly healthy fashion, the man only loving you even more by the end of it.

Millie

Now, Millie was an interesting contradiction.

On one hand, violence was natural for the girl. Growing up on Wrath It was necessary, becoming second nature for the Imp'et, but despite this she was also exceptionally good at keeping her cool.

She'd only get violent when necessary, and usually in your defence more than anything.

But it'd be some massive fight, the two of you really going at it, that her Wrathern side would kick in.

The girl shoved you.

And this is Millie, so a 'shove' actually meant she pretty much threw you across the room.

Millie covered her mouth as you slumped against the wall, groaning as you got up.

Millie would move to you, rushing to your side, doing her best to care for you, your arm being injured in the crash.

Getting up Millie would attempt to help you, clearly distraught, trying to assure you she was sorry.

If you pulled away from Millie, the farm girl would be totally distraught.

Never had she had to fear her body nor her killer instincts before, in fact, you loved her body, and the way she was usually the most deadly person in the room, hoo boy, you adored it.

That was one of your favourite parts of her.

And not just for the sexual aspect, though there was plenty of that but for her sheet ability.

She was confident and had the physicality to back it up, which in and of itself, was insanely hot.

But, getting hit by her, even it it was unintentional, would drastically change your view of it all.

You'd stumble back, tears building in your eyes as you stared up at her.

Millie, covering her mouth, would feel horrified.

She'd never mean to hurt you. That's literally the last thing she'd ever wanted to do to you, at least not like this.

But sure enough, she'd hit you, her baser instincts kicking in, the girl striking on pure instinct.

She'd move to you, already apologising, trying to assure you.

You'd be emotional, adrenaline pumping hard as you made the choice.

She'd reach out for you, hoping to show she wasn't evil, that she was sorry and meant only the best for you.

If you pulled away, Millie would feel downright awful. She'd probably pull in herself, freaking out internally as she pulled back.

She'd be entirely distraught, the woman becoming horribly self concious, paranoid of her every action, fearful of if she could hurt you again.

She'd try to reach out to you, trying her very best to reach out to you, but unless you were willing to reconcile with her, seeing it from her side, she'd likely have a minor, though well maintained breakdown, the woman freaking out over the whole thing.

Your relationship could recover, but it'd take a lot of communication and understanding, the both of you working through the event and the subsequent issues in a slow, healthy manner.

If you instead leaned into her touch, the two of you would hold each other close.

Millie and you would sit there for a long while, sat there, speaking softly.

You'd go back and forth for a while, both of you apologising. Talking through the issues that led to the argument.

The next few weeks would be tender, you obviously hesitant whenever she got mad, or became physical, the girl noticing how you flinch or watch her warily, fearful of her body.

She hated that. You used to worship her body, and while it wasn't about her ego, she missed be able to be herself around you, it stinging all the more that she only had herself to blame.

As such she would make sure to smother you in positive affection, the girl near constantly hugging or holding you close, never too harshly but enough that you'd get used to her physic, learning to trust being in her arms again.

Her favourite act to simply have you on her lap, holding you close in her muscular, yet feminine form, the girl holding you possessively, gently kissing or whispering in your ear, purring sweet nothing's.

Your relationship would be damaged, absolutely, the whole thing becoming a scar on your relationship, and yet, with some mutual care and respect, you'd not only recover, but your relationship would grow stronger from the affair.

The both of you would acknowledging your part in the argument, promising each other to do better.

It'd take some time to get back to where you were before the incident. To truly trust and love each other like you had before, yet with an abundance of love an dcare for the the other, you'd grow an even stronger, more intimate bond, the two of you coming to truly love and trust each other, your relationship becoming unbreakable.

Loona

Your relationship with Loona would be... odd.

Both in good and bad ways.

You'd have a passionate, if immature relationship, loving each other deeply but struggling to express it properly, the both of you immature and unable to properly work through your emotions in the best ways.

Fights... weren't exactly common, but they weren't rare either, though in fairness, most of your fights were just petty squabbles that worked mostly as an excuse for amazing make up sex.

But well, Loona was a temperamental woman at heart, and well, that temper had a habit of flaring on a whim.

It'd be on a particularly off day, the girl just looking for a fight, but when it became clear you simply couldn't avoid or talk through this random bout of aggression, you'd let her pick the fight.

You'd go back and forth for a while, arguing and yelling at each other, though throughout it, it was clear your heart wasn't in it, you just going through the motions to let Loona let off some steam.

The problem was, Loona's was.

And it'd be after some sarcastic remarks that Loona would snap at you with a genuinely hurtful remark.

You snapping back with a slightly harsher retort, and that's when the actual fight began.

You'd quickly break into a screaming match, the both of you trying to shout down the other.

But after Loona made a snide comment on you, you'd snap back, insulting her just as harshly, if not worst, really twisting the blade as it were.

Loona, shocked you'd make such a comment, would jump at you.

Now, to be clear, you and Loona often got physical, when fighting or otherwise. But this was different then the usual rough housing you'd do.

This wasn't the teasing hands on stuff you'd done countless times before, the wrestling and headlocks she used to do to assert dominance.

No, this was an attack.

She snarled, the two launching across the room, crashing into the wall, you trying to get away only for her to hit you, something halfway between a slap and a punch.

But that was enough to leave you stunned, staring up at her as she raised her fist again.

She sat there, teeth bared, fist clenched, staring down at you as you stared up at her in horror.

Loona, breathing harshly, realised what what she'd just done, staring down at you as tears formed in your eyes.

You looked scared.

Scared of her.

She threw herself off of you, horrified realisation rocking her form, the feeling only growing worse as you moved away from her.

She'd sit there for a minute, processing everything that'd happened, analysing her part, then yours, then her part.

Tears would well in her eyes, the girl slowly getting to her feet.

She'd apologise through tears, hands shaking as she held back ugly sobs, the woman moving to you, pleading and apologising profusely.

She'd get so close she could almost touch you, pleading for you to believe she'd never mean to hurt you.

If you pulled away, Loona would have a full on breakdown, pleading, begging you to believe she never wanted to hurt you.

She'd likely sit there sobbing for a long time before getting up and running to the only person she could think of.

Blitzø.

Now, upon finding his sobbing daughter, he would naturally become enraged, the man wanting to track you down and neuter you.

But Loona would demand he shut up and sit down, the girl explaining what had happened.

Now Blitzø was no expert on relationships, Satan knows had more failed relationships then teeth, and knowing she'd hit you would really put him in the a pickle.

So, he'd pull in the best relationship he knows.

Millie and Moxxie.

Millie would immediately go into mumma bear mode.

She'd be firm, but fair with Loona, the woman acknowledging that she was in the wrong but not entirely one sided, as you had engaged, but ultimately she was at fault.

Striking your partner is never alright.

Mostly.

So, she'd take the initiative, reaching out to you on Loonas behalf.

Now, she wouldn't do all the work, not at all, but she'd open the doorway to reconciliation.

From there, it'd truly be in yours and Loonas hands, the both of having to decided if you could make it work.

But if instead you let her approach you, letting the girl hold onto you.

She'd sob, apologising profusely, apologising for everything, the girl latching onto you.

You sit there for a long time, loona having a good cry. But eventually she'd calm down, the girl apologising profusely for hitting you, for starting the argument. For being such a bitch.

You'd speak for a long, long time, talking over the argument, going over both your parts, acknowledging and apologising for your part in the fight, though loona was far more apologetic, the girl deeply ashamed for her part in it.

You'd set some new rules and boundaries, the two of you knowing you couldn't let something like that happen again, as such you'd both set a list of rules.

The most prominent of which being that when your frustrated or angry with each other, you'd text the other. From there you'd talk a little, likely call the other, then you'd meet, speaking it through.

It was a system you both adhered to religiously, the two of you communicating through text or phone often, discussing any and all issues you had.

Your relationship would be uneasy for a while afterwards, you still on edge, flinching when she was angry. Over all, this whole ordeal got the young hellhound to calm down, learning some much needed restraint, your mutual affection developing in a slow, constructive and healthy manner.

Vaggie

Now, Vaggies temper was actually one of the things you loved about her.

She was firy and passionate and took no shit from nobody, something you loved.

The problem with your relationship was that you loved to tease her, and that got her riled up the quickest.

Now, it was was always in good fun, usually just to get a rise, followed by some soft kisses and apologies.

It was always in good fun.

But, on that fateful day, you made the decision to tease her.

Vaggie, while not the biggest fan, normally didn't mind your teasing, but on that day, having dealt with both Charlie and Alastor, she was in no mood for your teasing.

So, when you prodded and teased, the girl warning you to stop.

You not taking her seriously would prod her again, Vaggie on her last nerve, would slap you, leaving you shocked.

Vaggie, realising what she'd done, would cover her mouth, horrified.

Now it would definitely be stiff for a moment, both of you realising what had happened.

After a moment Vaggie would apologise.

Now you could take this two ways.

You could walk off, Vaggie feeling awful for hitting you.

It would be up to you whether you forgave her.

If you instead stayed there, the both of you would stand there for a moment, the both of you tense before suddenly, a smile broke across your face, the both of you breaking into laughter, the two of you having a laugh.

Vaggie would step closer, gently touching your face, seeing how your cheek swelled in a hand shaped pattern.

She'd apologise, you taking her hand in yours, gently kissing the appendage, apologising as well.

You'd share an intimate little moment, acknowledging your mutual faults, before laughing it off, agreeing to move past that.

You'd hold her close, the two of you sharing a warm smile before a kiss, holding the short Queen close.

Stella

Now Stella... Didn't get violent.

At least not to you. You were her S/O after all.

But the woman was prone to outbursts, usually angry and especially during an argument, the woman able to go from zero to a hundred like it was nothing.

Granted, those fights usually ended in even more passionate fuckings, the two of you having am... unhealthy, yet passionate romance. Both of you aware of the fact yet neither wishing to really change it.

It'd be one night, the two of you at it again, scream and yelling, Stella throwing a pot at you, you mocking her for having shit aim.

Only for her throw herself at you, hitting you right across the face.

You'd both pause, you grabbing her arms, pinning her to the wall, the woman unable to escape your grip.

You'd hold her there, showing her who held the physical edge in your relationship.

Now, this was the first time Stella had actually struck you, as while your relationship wasn't exactly the healthiest, not many are in hell, but it was never downright abusive.

Now, you did have the option to walk away, this potentially becoming a vital role in the development of your relationship and be the catalyst to Stella genuinely changing her ways.

But let's be real, this is Stella were talking about, and you were with Stella, you knew thing about her, so that's not really gonna happen.

What would likely happen was sex.

Hot, passionate, and nasty sex, the two of you going again and again like a pair of Hellhounds in heat, you showing Stella who's the boss.

Youd make it clear that she wouldn't do that again, though with what happened last time she hit you, it was incredibly tempting.

But well, at the end of the day, Stella is Stella and with a sex life like yours, I doubt either of you would really wanna change it.

Husk

Alcohol.

Husk's Sinful mistress. A mistress you tolerated. For a while.

Now you liked a drink, Hell that was how you met. And with Husk, and Drink always became several.

And you had plenty of fun with Husk, both ina nd out of the sheets, but well, there was a limit.

You could barely communicate with the man in the later parts of the day, and with night the man became almost incoherent, not to mention how he reeked of an abandoned distillery at all hours of the day.

Granted, you'd spent plenty a night curled up with the man, Husk drunkenly adoring you, the Kitty cat curling up with you, acting very cat like as he reeked like a seedy bar.

Not that he'd ever admit such behaviour when sober.

But over time, you'd become more adamant that he start controlling his alcohol intake, and with this steady increase in your insistence, came a steady increase in fights.

You'd begin with a minor argument on his alcohol intake, it quickly growing into serious fights.

It'd be one night, you and Husk having plans, only for you to find him absolutely fucking sloshed.

You, sick of your S/O constantly being lost in the sauce, would start screaming.

You yelled at the cat demon, the man quickly yelling back.

You'd really get into it, yelling and screaming, going back and forth, the two of you screaming till your throats were sore.

But it'd be as you tried to snatch the bottle out of his hands, wanting him to pay you, ya know, his S/O, some attention.

And it'd be as he yanked the bottle back, that the man swung his arm back at you, smashing you in the face hit his big paw, knocking you to the floor.

Your face would sting, burning as tears stung your eyes, staring up at the cat.

Husk sobered up real quick as the man realised what he'd done.

There would be a long pause before you got up, sniffling to yourself before turning and walking away.

You'd end up sleeping in one of the other hotel's random rooms, you too emotional and frustrated to care which.

The next day you'd walk down stairs with a swollen cheek.

Husk would be waiting at his bar, the man thinking.

He'd been up most the morning, guzzling 2 pots of coffee to keep himself coherent, the cat waiting for you.

Seeing you enter the lobby, the man would jump up, asking, pleading with you to wait, to hear him out.

You'd pause, staring at the floor for several seconds.

If you just walked past him, ignoring his gaze, the man would be crushed. The cat finding himself torn between the bottle and his want to be with you, a desperate want for the familiar blur of intoxication.

He'd try, really hard to get better, to BE better, but with every refusal to engage he'd become more tightly wound, and unless you opened up, trying to work things out with him, he'd end up right where he began, but this time, it'd be all his fault.

If instead you turned, giving him a chance to speak, Husk wouldn't miss the chance.

He'd apologise, telling you he was painfully sorry. He wanted to change. He WOULD change, he just asked that you'd give him a chance.

You'd stand there for a while, but after a moment you turn to him.

You'd tell him he had one chance, if you saw him change, really change, you'd be willing to work it out.

Husk would agree, swearing he'd do his best to be the S/O you deserve.

Youd simply give him a soft smile, telling you hoped he would. You were rooting for him.

That being all the motivation he needed.

Husk really would do his best to go clean, unfortunately going absolutely cold Turkey wouldn't work, the man almost having a psychotic break at the lack of alcohol, and after finding him in such a state, you made a deal.

You'd ration out alcohol, a moderate amount each day, the man allowed to drink whenever he pleased in hopes it would diminish, if not help to ween him off of his alcohol dependency.

So, that's how it would go for the next several weeks. Husk drinking his daily allowance, working through willpower exercises and general hygiene care.

He'd also spend more time with you, and it'd be over the dates and the nights in that the man realised he barely knew you. The cat realising he'd really been an absent S/O.

The whole thing only solidifying his resolve to be better.

Over the next few months Husk's resolve would grow stronger, his willpower higher and most importantly, your relationship would become incredibly strong, the both of you coming to love each other deeply once more.

You'd never directly say it, but you forgave him for the smack, the man thanking you in his own way.

The two of you living a happy, mostly sober, existence with each other, happily in love and able to appreciate it.

Beezelbub

Fights with Bee would not be common, not at all, as despite her somewhat airheads nature, she was surprisingly mature, as well as able to read emotions well, so if you were ever in a mood she'd be on that like sexy was on her.

But well, we all have our off days.

And it'd be on a particularly off day that it'd go down.

Now, you understood that she was the Queen of Gluttony and a major foodie, the woman always eager to eat or drink something.

The problem was the drugs.

Now, dating her, you'd tasted just about every Sinful substance in Hell, but where as bee was happy to do mountains, you always tried to keep it at a healthy level, or well, healthy enough to not lose it, or developed any serious addictions, something Bee respected.

That night, in particular, Bee was on a real bender, the sort for the history books. If they have History books down here.

It'd be as she liquefied some powdered drug, mixing it into her drink, that you'd try to step in.

You'd ask her to slow down a little, not wanting her to freak out and demolish half the house.

Again.

Bee wouldn't like that, eagerly pulling you into join her, practically forcing the bottle down your throat.

That'd be when you snap at her, telling her that was enough.

You were all for fun and games, but this was too much. Every night?! You couldn't stand seeing her drugged out of her mind, not to mention the alcohol, woman barely able to speak coherently, let alone function as an S/O after her daily bender, even if she didn't suffer a hangover like everybody else.

Bee, while usually the kindest most understanding S/O you could ask for, but after a full night of drugs and drinking, she didn't take so well to you harshing the fucking vibe.

The two of you quickly getting into a screaming match, going back and forth, Bees palace empty by the end of it.

Bee would grow a few sizes, screaming at you, it being as you snap at her, telling her she clearly doesn't care for you as much as she does for her drugs.

The now massive Sin of Gluttony snarling, spinning around as she intended to yell about how much of a pain in the ass you were being.

However she she spun, he now Massive hand, slammed into you, launching you across the room.

Luckily for you both, you didn't hit anything, simply sliding across the palace' polished floors, but it would still hurt like a bitch, knocking the wind out of you.

Bee would shrink immediately, rushing to your side.

You were winded, struggling and whining as you tried to breath, in pain and deep discomfort, unable to do anything as she fussed over you.

Eventually you'd get your breath back, panting and wheezing, body sore from the smack.

Bee would be distraught, apologising profusely, the woman in hysterics, crying her eyes out as she tried to convince you she was telling the truth.

You could let her hold you close, allowing her to apologise, to help you recover.

If instead you pulled away, wheezing and struggling to your feet. Bee of course trying to help, you simply snapping, telling her she's done enough.

Your relationship would he frayed, Bee trying her absolute best to make it up to you, to be better and save your relationship.

If instead you let her hold you, letting the Sin care for you in your battered state, Bee would do everything she could, caring for you until you fully recovered, the woman apologising the whole way.

The two of you would take some much needed time together, talking and working through your issues.

It wouldn't be easy, you making sure she knew you didn't wanna control her, but you wanted to be with your S/O, and when she was higher than a kite every night, that became difficult.

While Bee would explain such indulgence was part of her being. It would be like holding back a laugh to not indulge in it.

It would take soem time but the two of you would come to understand each other on a much better level.

Asmodeus

Arguments and fights weren't really a thing for you and Ozzie.

Like, you'd get into tufts. Squabbles and arguments. But never quite a fight.

But this was different, the two of you getting into an argument.

You couldn't even remember what started it, but it was like you'd both been holding something in for months and it was finally let out.

You argued and yelled, going back and forth, arguing over nothing and yet, everything, neither of you willing to stand down.

It'd be as you screamed yet another profanity at the man, moving towards him to let him know just what you thought about him.

And it'd be as you reached the man, about to scream another explitive, that he'd suddenly spin about face, planning on tearing you a new one, only for a loud 'smack!' to ring out, the Sin freezing in place.

Raising his hand, he'd find it stinging ever so slightly, the man looking up to find you turned away, clutching yourself.

Ozzie, realising what had happened would try to reach out to you, trying to process what had happened.

He'd turn you around, finding you clutching your face, your right cheek already swelling.

Ozzie, lowering himself down would apologise, telling you he was so very sorry, assuring you he meant no harm, he'd never intentionally harm you.

You could pull away, leaving him as he pleaded with you to believe he was sorry, that he'd never mean to hurt you. Never!

This, as always, could be the event that makes or breaks your relationship. You could move away from him, still loving him but unable to truly forgive him hurting you, despite it being an accident, your relationship never healing.

Or, as he stood over you, you could let him care for youthe man pulling you to his massive chest, holding you tenderly as he whispered softly apologies, carrying you to your bed.

He'd curl up with you, checking your swollen face, apologising profusely as he tenderly cared for you.

Ozzie would apologise profusely, the two of you holding each other close, holding the other close for a long, long time.

You'd talk for a long time, softly apologising to the other, you nuzzling the man's neck, the Sin holding you in his powerful arms.

You'd spend some much needed quality time together, the silent, tense moment slowly giving way to a warmer mor intimate moment, the two of you quickly giggling and teasing each other, laughing at how ridiculous the whole fight had been.

It'd be as you shared a kiss, you straddling his chest as his powerful hands gripped your body.

It'd be as you parted, a Web of spittle still connecting you that you'd grin, grabbing his collar as you purred out that you kinda liked it.

Ozzie, snapping out of his schoolboy blush, would grin, the man pouncing on you, the two of you making passionate, wild love all night long.

Congratulations everyone! We've reached 3,500 followers!!!

So, as promised I give you a brand spanking new headcanon, I hope you all enjoy it and I hope you had a fan-freaking-tastic holiday season.

I love each and every one of you and wish you the very best, bye bye.

[blitzwhore]

And pine, and yearn, and sob, and weep, and grieve, and—

[cipher-club]

Oh hey, look. Stella isn't here to hog the bedsheets anymore

[wazzi2ya]

Paimon: That's it, you're grounded! Get in the fridge, get in there!

Stolas: This house is a FUCKING NIGHTMARE!

[shellforbrains]

something something helluva boss text posts

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

[geekgirles]

The show: Mission Weeaboo-boo foreshadowed Mastermind's plot

Me:

[mintaikk]

Divorce Selfie!

@houngry

[nifftyisgonnakillu]

VIZIE???

[shoutmon1v1]

GET MY GIRL OCTAVIA AWAY FROM THIS WOMAN AND BACK TO HER DAD PLEASEEEEE