#the wounded angel

[leighlew3]

every new guardian angel I get after the first 24 hours

[pmamtraveller]

THE WOUNDED ANGEL (1903) By HUGO SIMBERG

The painting depicts two boys carrying a stretcher with an angel in white angel on. The angel looks sick, her eyes are closed, her wing with blood stains, and she struggles to hold the stretcher with her arms. This is one of SIMBERG'S most famous paintings, and it was voted FINLAND'S "national painting."

The procession goes through a familiar place, ELÄINTARHA in HELSINKI, with the view of the lake in the distance. The path along the lake is still there today. In the time of HUGO SIMBERG, this park was a place of leisure for the working classes.

In “THE WOUNDED ANGEL”, the healthy boys carry the injured girl to the blind girl’s school and the home for the handicapped. She holds a bunch of fallen snowdrops, a symbol of healing and resurrection.

SIMBERG didn’t like to explain his work and always refused to explain what he was trying to say, telling people to figure it out for themselves. But we know that SIMBERG had meningitis at the time, and that this painting was a source of strength during his recovery.

Meningitis can also cause neck stiffness and lethargy, as well as light sensitivity, all of which the central figure shows. If read as lungs rather than wings. This diagnosis explains the minor injury as well. Tubercular meningitis leaves abrasions on the upper lungs.

HUGO SIMBERG spent many years preparing THE WOUNDED ANGEL. He left plenty of sketches and photographs, which now tell us about the painting’s process.

[theoreticallytheological]

Just saw Neil Gaiman talking about Hugo Simberg’s painting “Haavoittunut enkeli” aka “The Wounded Angel”

Absolutely stunning art, but let me tell you, there is more gorgeous art by Simberg

My favourite is The Garden of Death. Also known as Kuoleman puutarha.

I could give a lecture series about how incredible Simberg’s works are, how much of symbolism there is✨

[notwhatiam]

Look, I know we’re all intrigued by the concept of Alastor’s angelic wound being healed by Lucifer, but. He is from the 30s. Is there also a possibility that he’s just gonna do some cocaine about it

[romcomeon]

"Are the wings winging?"

"H. . . eh?"

"Do the wings look like, I don't know, wings?"

Simeon lets out a near inaudible 'oh'. The angel's gaze shifts toward your new crafts project, his ocean eyes scanning through every paper feather. Every not-so-carefully cutout piece that you start to layer onto the self-made frame of wood and wires.

Much to your genius efforts of nearly avoiding getting yourself cut from each dash of the razor-sharp cutter , you have yet to attain any injuries.

Simeon lets out a soft hum, eyeing you back as he gives you a smile. "I see the vision, hm?"

"Vision?"

You playfully rolled your eyes in mock offense. Not that you didn't mind the other's near lack of understanding with non-literal phrases and/or slang. Honestly, you'd actively seek out his company given the chance to do so.

Which is why when the House of Lamentation had been safeguarded upon a mythical infestation, you were forced to continue your project at Purgatory Hall. You'd even consider 'forced' as too hard of a word; "ecstatically allowed to" is the much preferred term.

"That's how others would put it if my intuition is correct," he says as he follows it with a chuckle, all while his left-hand scratches the back of his neck. "I partly understand the meaning, though with context it's rather. . ."

"You're f--" FUCK!

You yelped back, hearing the loud 'thud' of the hard plastic hitting the floor. Your index finger had gotten red, stinging as the heat of scorching hot metal courses through your veins, making the surrounding area go red while white circles bump up and form tiny blisters.

Just as you started blowing your poor little finger, you could faintly hear Simeon's voice. Frankly, the pain was getting irritating to focus on anything else.

"Oh my, dear, are you alright?" Simeon fretfully said. He went beside you, his gloved hand carefully grabbing your wrist as he inspected your burns. Not the worst, but being unharmed was better.

"I.." you muttered with a small hiss. "I'll be fine."

But the brunette's worrisome expression not once faltered. Instead, he ran his fingertips along your palm, bringing it closer to his face.

"E-... 'meon?"

"Shh..."

You couldn't even protest. The sensation of his soft lips against your burning fingertips sent a separate fire boiling in your veins, pumping to-and-fro your heart. Speechless.

Simeon releases your captive hand, observing how the redness fades away from his simple touch. How in a small instance, it returned to your usual unscathed skin; not once burdened by the overheated steel of a glue gun.

"There, I hope it helps a bit," his thumb gently caressed the back of your hand as he whispered out those words in a serene tone. Simeon hummed along a soothing melody, his hands applying slight pressure as if to massage out what tension remained.

"It wasn't as bad as I though it would be. While you still should get a proper check-up, I wouldn't mind sparing some of our power for your safety."

"..."

"... dearie?"

You know, the irony of making wings from scratch. Days worth of crafts, and yet you could almost imagine the glowing ivory feathers perched behind your lovely guardian angel's back.

Damnit. There can be no better cure than a lovely ethereal blessing.

[luxlightly]

Stay with me, here

STAY WITH ME STAY WITH ME

STAY WITH ME

God is telling me something, here, I must only open my heart and mind and also several articles on wikipedia to comprehend it.

[asherashedwings]

We are trans Alastor truthers in this household

I love hitting my faves with the trans beam

[angel-hole]

SUPTOBER 14 / 15 - fever / abstract

2 Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly.

3 And one cried unto another, and said, Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory.

Isaiah 6

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Hugo Simberg (1873-1917) "The Wounded Angel" (1903) Symbolism Located in the Ateneum, Helsinki, Finland The angel is depicted clutching snowdrops, symbolic of healing and rebirth.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Crack That Whip: Chaggie & Hazbins

Slight Puppy Love reference.

Vaggie: (wearing a pair of black jogger sweatpants with the cuffs rolled up to her knees and a sports bra) Are you sure you want to do this, babe? You're not really much of a fighter. (Hastily) Which I love about you.

Charlie: (drooling and giving little puppy pants at the sight of Vaggie's abs, shoulders, and traps) I wanna lick you so bad right now...

Vaggie: (stretching and warming up) What was that, hun?

Charlie: This is the best way I can learn how!

Angel: (sitting on a bench with a bowl of popcorn) Nice save, Toots.

Husker: (hosting a betting pool) Place your bets. How long will the Princess last?

Cherri: (takes a handful of popcorn) Put twenty hellbucks on her lasting one minute.

Charlie: I know I'm not much of a fighter. Adam wiping the floor with me proved that. I want to at least be able to hold my own in the future if that ever happens again.

Inner Sin - Lust: (growling) And if we can get scissors between those molten caramel thighs, all the better~

Charlie: (mentally) Shut up, Lust! Now is not the time!

Vaggie: (completely oblivious to Charlie's inner steuggle) Alright, if you say so. Just.... tap twice if you yield.

Charlie: Wait. What?

Vaggie: (lunges forward, grabs Charlie's shirt, leans back while shoving her foot into Charlie's hip, flips them over, and pins Charlie down while cutting off the blood flow using her own shirt collar)

Charlie: (getting lightheaded/swimming as dark circles encroach on her vision and taps Vaggie's thigh twice)

Vaggie: (releases her hold and scrambles to her feet, holding her hand out to help) Oh. Shit! Charlie, are you okay?????

Charlie: I'm good! I'm gooooood. Hmmmm.... (grows tail and swipes at Vaggie's wrist)

Vaggie: (Catches the tail and uses it to roll Charlie over, pinning her down to the mat with her knee) Nice try, babe. Don't think I wouldn't have this thing in mind.

Tail: (thrashing and trying desperately to wrap around any part of Vaggie's body)

Vaggie: Oh, no. You behave. (straightens out the flailing limb and cracks it through the air like a whip)

CRACK!!!

Charlie: (immediately groans filthily as her eyes pop red and her horns burst from her head) Mommy!~

Angel & Cherri: (drop their handfuls of popcorn and blushes) Mommy!

Husker: (dollar bills slip through his fingers) Mommy....

Emily: (watching the whole thing from the crystal ball in heaven, spits out her tea with a deep blush) M-M-Mommy!

[blednokrov]

Angel cracked open spills out its soul

It sinks into the ground, deep, deep, deep

Poisoning it forever

[allastoredeer]

Hey I have a question about the “Undercover angel au” that being. Is Al still human? Like as in was he once a human that died and went to heaven? Or is he part of heaven’s hierarchy? I ask this cause I remember reading a fanfic with a similar idea this and the had Al be apart of heaven’s hierarchy. Also is his character background changed too or is that the same?

Al was a human who'd died and went to Heaven, so he's a not part of the Heaven's hierarchy.

His background is actually more or less the same. He did murder a lot of people when he was alive, but the only reason he's in Heaven is because it was only BAD people he killed. Legitimately bad people. People who definitely wouldn't have made it into Heaven.

He was also a social activist and used his radio show to both entertain and keep his audience informed of current issues. He was on the front lines of a lot of local, political issues, challenged the status quo, and helped his community in a lot of ways.

He murdered a lot of people,

buuuuut

he helped a lot more people.

So when he died, up to Heaven he went. (He was very surprised too.)

I kind of see this loop hole in the same way that Adam gets to get away with killing mercilessly, via the Exterminations, and isn't condemned for doing it. To Heaven, the people he's killing are Sinners--you know, the bad people, the ones who "threaten" Heaven's power--thus it's for a "good cause" and can be "excused."

The people Alastor murdered were bad people, and like Adam, he enjoyed killing them. He enjoyed it immensely. It was his own, dark way of performing social justice, his own way of fighting for a "good cause," and he doesn't regret any of it.

So, technically, when he died, he fell under the same little loop hole Heaven made for Adam, and despite knowing that Alastor killed people when he was alive, they can't question his right to be there.

Afterall, Heaven doesn't make mistakes.

[sumeruin]

tag, you’re it!!

pairing: yandere! dottore x afab test subject! reader

tw: written by a minor!!!, dddne, heavy noncon, wound fucking, gore, biting, mentions of vomiting but it doesn’t actually happen, biting, lots of blood, blood drinking, kidnapping, drugging, use of weapons, stalking, pet names, dehumanization, i think that’s it, but if i missed anything please let me know!!

a/n: i honestly can’t defend myself on this one um. enjoy <3

minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable!!

you don’t think your heart has ever beat so fast. you can feel it racing beneath your skin as you run barefoot through the forest, blood rushing through your veins as you hold a hand over your mouth to muffle your desperate, horrified sobs. behind you, you can hear the man that’s been chasing you for the better part of an hour. his heavy footsteps, his terrifying laugh, his sickeningly mocking remarks as he spots the footprints you leave in the mud, unable to cover them up with him right behind you. the wind cools the tears on your face, and it feels like the archons are mocking you. you internally curse them for not granting you a vision, a way to get out of this horrible situation.

your legs burn, and your pace involuntarily gets slower as you sob helplessly, his voice filling your ears, condescending and horrible. “what’s the matter, little rabbit? i can hear you crying.” your legs give out, and you collapse on the muddy floor, your sobs increasing in their urgency as his footsteps get closer and closer. you squeeze your eyes shut, curling your body against the tree you fell against as he finally reaches you. you haven’t gotten a good look at him yet, and you hope you never do. you don’t want to put a face to the voice that’s been tormenting you all night.

you flinch when he reaches a hand out and strokes your cheek, shockingly gentle compared to what you had expected, and he lets out a condescending chuckle and yanks your jaw up to meet his eyes, growling out his words as he speaks. it seems he’s dropped the faux kindness from earlier. “look at me. look at me.” when you obediently open your eyes, sniffling and letting out pained sobs every few seconds, he grins, baring his unnaturally sharp teeth from below his mask and nodding as he appraises you. you feel like a piece of meat, and you’re sure that’s his intent. to dehumanize you, make you feel less than.

he nods to himself, then speaks again. “good. you’ll make a fine specimen, i’m sure.”

you stare up at him in fear, doe eyes widened as you try to flinch away from his iron grip. he doesn’t let you, you didn’t expect him to, though your struggling does seem to please him. you find yourself only more terrified at that fact. your voice is quiet, weak, and he only grins more at the sound. “what… what do you want from me?”

he doesn’t respond, only gives you another horribly wrong looking smile before, almost inhumanly fast, pulling out a syringe and sticking it in your neck. the last thing you remember before everything goes black is how painless it was. like he’s had practice.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

when you wake up, the first thing you notice is the apparent lack of foliage around you, instead replaced with sinister looking metal structures and cages that are stained with something that looks horrifyingly like blood. the second thing you notice is how securely restrained you are. there’s tight, thick straps around your wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, neck, and waist, all of which have locks on them, presumably so you can’t escape.

your mind wanders back to the man in the forest, and what he injected you with. how quickly it worked and left a gap in your memory. as you think more about it, you consequently get more scared. you’re suddenly pulled out of your thoughts by a loud, horrible beeping noise, which you come to realize is the heart rate monitor you’ve been hooked up to. you try to take deep breaths to lower it before the man comes in and realizes you’re awake, but you fail. of course you fail.

his footsteps fill the room, and the beeping gets faster as your heart rate increases more with the terror he inspires in you. he smiles at you again, and his voice rings out, terrible and anxiety inducing. “i see you’re awake. tell me, what’s gotten you so worked up, hm? is my laboratory scary? do you not enjoy your accommodations?”

he leans in closer to you, and you feel tears starts to pool in your eyes as your body fills with dread. the man seems amused by this, cooing softly at you and pinching your cheek in a way that’s somehow more dehumanizing than anything else he’s done so far. “please… please let me go,” you’re painfully aware of how pathetic you sound as you speak, but you hope he’ll take pity on you instead. realize you aren’t meant for whatever he has planned and release you, though you know deep down that you aren’t that lucky.

he laughs, then shakes his head no before speaking again. he talks too much, you think. “i’m afraid i can’t do that, little rabbit. though, i suppose some introductions are in order. i am il dottore, the second of the featuring harbingers, and your new master. i’ve had my eye on you for some time, dear. you… intrigue me. i have never seen someone quite as pretty as you are. so, you see, i just had to have you. you understand, i’m sure,” his voice gets on your nerves, though you know it’s best to be compliant when dealing with lunatics, so you simply nod your head as best you can with your restraints as he continues.

“good. you must be wondering what i plan to do with you, correct?” you nod again. “i have many ideas, i can’t say i’ve ever felt this way before, especially about someone as insignificant as you, so there’s quite a few things i’d like to try. of course, i will bathe you, then examine you more thoroughly than i managed in the forest. after i’ve collected your baseline vital statistics, and you have been thoroughly examined and cleaned, i will take you. for my research, of course. i believe it would be beneficial to encourage in coitus with you, as it might help me to better understand the origin of these feelings.”

you’re sure he can see the alarm on your face at how casually he mentions violating you in such a personal way, for he gives you a pat on the head that you think is meant to be comforting. it has the opposite effect, it only makes you more concerned. you shake your head no and give him a desperate, pleading look, your eyes filling with tears at the thought. “please, no! anything but that, i swear i won’t ever try to leave, just… please, don’t!”

his eyes light up, and you finally realize he’s removed his mask. you had been too caught up in your panicked fear to really pay attention to him, but as you examine him, his heavily scarred face, his blood red eyes, his aquiline nose. he’s… undeniably attractive, your brain supplies. you immediately try to push those thoughts away, he just said he was planning on raping you, for archon’s sake, you cannot find him attractive. he clearly picks up on your inner struggle, judging from the amused smile he wears and the way he leans in closer to you, softly caressing your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“i suppose if you’re that against me taking you vaginally, i could find another way to have you. though i can’t promise it will be as pleasant. it is quite hard to give the recipient pleasure in other orifices,” his cologne fills your nostrils as he leans in so close to you, your lips just barely touching. he smells like roses and leather, with just a hint of blood and bleach along with other chemical smells you can’t quite place. you hate yourself for thinking it, but it’s not an entirely unpleasant scent. in fact, you think you’d quite enjoy it on anyone else.

he hums, nosing against your throat and leaving a bite where your neck meets your shoulder. it’s painful, and you have to bite your tongue to resist crying out as the tears that had been building finally start to fall. you can’t hold back the choked sob that escapes when you feel the copious amount of blood that falls from the wound, sure to leave a scar. an inescapable, undeniable, permanent reminder of what he’s done to you and what he plans to do to you.

he ignores your distress, only whispering half hearted coos as he licks up all the blood from your fresh bite mark and groans softly at the taste. the realization that he’s getting pleasure from this makes bile start to rise up your throat. “shh, shh… you taste divine. perhaps that’s why i’m so enchanted with you. you’ve put a spell on me.”

dottore softly laps up the blood that pours from your wound, and you hate yourself a little more for thinking the feeling is somewhat pleasant. his tongue is soothing on your wound, his saliva is unnaturally cold, and surprisingly doesn’t make the cuts sting. you don’t know if it’s the blood loss or the paralyzing fear you’re feeling, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

he pulls his mouth away from your wound and wipes the last few beads of blood away from it with his thumb. he examines the way the ruby red liquid reflects the light and contrasts the back leather of his glove as it sits on his finger, and then he brings his thumb to your lips, his tone leaving no room for argument as he commands you. “open.”

you reluctantly obey, looking at him tiredly as the blood loss starts to hit you more and more, your vision slowly starting to become fuzzy at the edges, painting everything in a sort of giddy haze as the pain mixes with the pleasant feelings his sweet words and scent invoke in you. he gives you a smile, patting your head once again as he slides his thumb, still carrying your blood, into your open mouth. “good… good pet,” his hand strokes your forehead comfortingly, and the lights suddenly seem all too bright, your eyebrows furrowing weakly as you try to turn your head away from them.

“shh… just sleep, little rabbit. i’ll take good care of you. when you wake, i’ll be ready for the last part of my plans.”

you don’t have time to really think about what he means by that before the fuzzy edges of your vision fade completely to black, your consciousness quickly ebbing away.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

you’re passing out far too often for your liking, you decide as you come to. this time, you’ve been restrained on a soft bed in what looks like the private chambers of some very wealthy individual. it takes a moment for everything to come back to you, but the dull, throbbing pain in your shoulder quickly helps you remember.

you examine your surroundings once more, taking note of the black and dark blue color scheme of the room, along with the silver accents and luxurious feel of, what you assume is, dottore’s sheets. as you try to move to assess how secure your bindings are this time, you come to a horrifying realization. you aren’t wearing your knee length, cotton chemise anymore, and there isn’t a trace of any mud on your skin. someone has bathed and changed your clothes, into a much more revealing, practically see through babydoll dress.

you realize something even more horrific as you examine your body more closely. someone has also shaved you completely bare.

your attention is snapped to the door as dottore enters, holding a briefcase that gives you a horrible feeling. “good, you’re awake. i was almost worried i had injured you fatally.” he sets the briefcase down on the bed, not giving you a moment to speak, and pulls out a terrifyingly sharp dagger, turning to you with a small smile.

“now, since you seemed so distraught over me having vaginal intercourse with you, i’ve decided on an alternative,” he doesn’t elaborate further, only approaching you and inspecting your body as he marks out various places, mostly on your upper thigh or abdomen. you feel horribly exposed, wearing nothing but a sheer, short babydoll, but there’s nothing you can do about it. you have no idea what he plans to do, but you’re sure it will be torturous.

he finally settles on a spot, a fatty area just above your belly button on the left side, and he walks over to that side of the bed with the blade. he marks out a relatively large circle with a pen, and you realize what he means to do.

your struggles are reignited, and you start to sob as he places the pen back in his breast pocket and gently shushes you. “calm down. it will only be worse for you if you struggle, dear.”

your sobs grow louder as he makes the first incision, you start thrashing around in your bindings and trying desperately to get away from his blade. you give him a pleading look as he continues to carve a horrifyingly deep hole into your skin, and your voice is weak, breaking with every word from the excruciating pain of getting carved into without any sort of numbing solution. “p-please, can- can’t, ‘s- ‘s hurting me, st-stop-!”

he completely ignores you, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic from his bag and spraying it on the large wound. your pain is only increased, and you realize why you’re retrained so tightly. he finally looks back at your tear covered face, and gives you a smile as he pets your hair. “there, the hard part is over. now it’s time to continue the experiment.”

you sob, shaking your head no as you cry out from the pain, watching in horror as he undoes his pants just enough to pull his cock out. he positions it at the hole he’s created for himself, and, without any sort of warning, thrusts himself deep inside. you cry out, choking on your sobs and gagging from the all encompassing pain as bile starts to rise up in your throat once again.

he gives a deep moan as he starts to move, completely uncaring of your protests and the agony you’re in as he chases his own pleasure inside of you. his fingers curl around the other side of your torso, and he pulls you into each of his thrusts, only increasing your pain. “you truly are fantastic…”

you think you’re going to be sick.

how dare he enjoy this? how dare he violate you in such a way and have the gall to moan about it? if you had the strength, you think you might kill him.

you dissociate for most of the experience, something your eternally grateful for. you don’t want to remember any of it. the feeling of his thrusts into your limp body starting to falter and his cock twitching inside your, now more of a gash, really, remind you of the very real threat that he’ll cum inside of your large wound.

before you get a chance to plead with him not to, though, you feel the burning, hot liquid fill the space nothing should ever touch. it hurts, almost more than the actual fucking did, and you think you pass out from the feeling.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

when you come to for the third time, you’ve been bandaged and stitched up and dottore holds you in his arms, tucked snugly against his side while he writes notes, presumably about the torture he’s just put you through. he smiles down at you, petting your hair once again before he stands up, leaving you tied to the bed. “i wished to make sure you would wake up. now i must get back to my work.” he pauses in the doorway as he leaves. “you were wonderful, and my hypothesis was incorrect. having intercourse with you did not cure me. in fact, it only made me more taken with you. …i have decided to keep you, in light of this revelation.”

with that, he swiftly walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. you cry softly to yourself, and then feel a sudden weight on your lap. as you look down, you feel bitterness fill you at the sight.

there, sitting perfectly on your lap, taunting you, is a shiny, anemo vision.

[crushedsweets]

They multitask (being evil and cute)

[fishgut]

The Lord's Prayer

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Marks

(Masterlist)

girl help i can't stop making bonus content

this is set right around Part XIII, in regard to the “I should probably give you more visible marks.” comment.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, obedient whumpee, somewhat reluctant whumper, dehumanization, power imbalances, physical abuse, minor blood, brief drug mention, death mention)

==============

He got approximately ten million fucking emails calling him an arsonist, or telling him that the experiment is an accident waiting to happen, or asking why he was letting the A-bomb walk around off-leash, why he was letting the bomb walk at all. Accusations he wouldn’t dare repeat. It was all so stupid. Delta was good. Paris never worried about him fragging. But the appearance of insubordination was damning all on its own. It was not a good situation.

Unfortunately, the messages kept coming. From staff he actually respected, too. People he needed. He didn’t even know how word reached them that quickly. He sometimes forgot just how scared they were of Delta. It had never been a popular project. That night, he received many requests for him to be killed outright. Not fucking happening.

Fucking Nezu telling him what to do with his fucking psychic. He was more mad about that than he ever could have been at Delta. That was why he’d gone easy on him. It gave him serious pause whenever his wants overlapped with Nezu’s — sometimes enough to evaporate them completely. He really wasn’t in the mood.

Something had to be done though, by the time the next meeting rolled around. They had to know that Delta had been punished for it, that Paris didn’t just let him get away with everything.

Delta didn’t fight him on it — not that he’d expected him too. He kneeled in front of the desk like he’d been asked. Paris leaned back against it, hitting the pen a few more times than he needed to. 

Delta looked bad. That day had been the only time Paris had ever seen him cry — even weeks later, he hadn’t seemed to recover from it. His eyes were still so pleading, in a way they’d never been before. It was unsettling.

Paris readjusted the only ring he wore on his right hand. It was sapphire — and it was clean. There wasn’t any reason to drag it out. He tilted Delta’s face up a little, tucking the slick hair back behind the webbed fin of his ear. 

“Hold still.” He didn’t want to hit his eye by accident. The jewel was sharp.

He backhanded him hard across the face. Harder than he would have normally. It needed to bruise.

Delta’s head was forced sharply to one side. His hair fell back in his face, totally obscuring it when he looked down at the floor. He didn’t outwardly react, but his next breaths came out shallow and shaky. Yeah, that hurt. 

Paris cupped his face again, moving it back up to examine the injury. It’d landed where he wanted it to — a thin cut right along his cheekbone. He could see the spot where the bruise would form over the next couple hours. Delta winced. Paris gently smoothed over the flushed skin with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry.” Delta’s voice was quiet. It was all he would say recently. 

“I know.”

It was hard to be mad at him when he was so clearly repentant. When he was being this good about it. Paris released him. He’d planned on hitting him across the other side of his face as well, in the interest of covering all his angles. It didn’t feel worth it anymore.

“Hand.”

Delta placed his hand gingerly into Paris’s own. Paris tightened his grip around it, supporting the palm beneath so that it’d absorb the full force of it. Knuckles facing up. Paris reached back for the ruler left out on the desk.

It cracked down hard against his knuckles, fast enough that he didn’t really have time to flinch. His injured hand reflexively tightened around Paris’s in the aftermath; it was the only real physical reaction he’d had. His claws dug painfully into Paris’s hand, not yet breaking the skin.

Paris released his grip on the hand. Delta’s hand relaxed and the claws withdrew, but he didn’t pull it back like he’d expected. He just left it resting there in his grasp.

“Other one.” 

He offered it without resistance. Same routine. Paris brought the ruler back down over his other hand, watching as the first signs of bruising appeared upon them. He placed the ruler back down and released his grip on Delta’s hand. 

“Done.”

There wasn’t much else to do, really. Delta was always dressed in long sleeves and ceremonial garb. For the most part, only his face and hands were exposed on vanguard days. It was enough, though. His expression alone was enough. If he just stayed like that, he’d be fine.

Delta folded both of his hands back into his lap, bright purple and blue against the pale white of clothes. His hair fell messily in his face, but parts of his eyes were still visible. He was still looking at Paris in that desperate, shell-shocked way.

“…Easy. You’re fine.” Paris didn’t know what to say to make him normal again. “The sting will be gone in a few minutes.”

For the hands, anyway, though the numbness would remain. The mark on his face would hurt a lot longer. 

Delta nodded slowly. A small amount of blood appeared by the cut. 

Paris gestured for him to lean forward again. Delta did so, cringing a little. Paris pressed a tissue against his cheek to stop the bleeding. He sighed as it bled straight through.

“…You want a bandaid?” He offered. The bruise would still be visible beneath it. 

“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. He took the tissue from Paris, keeping the pressure there. 

Paris disappeared for a moment, loudly knocking shit over in the overfilled medicine cabinet. He came back with the split bandage. Delta held still as he applied it over the cut, smoothing it out against his cheek. It was pale white, the same color as his clothes, standing out sharply against the dark blue of his skin.

“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. Sweetly. It fucking killed him sometimes.

Paris felt something strange in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it. He made a small, noncommittal noise as he discarded the paper into the trash. 

Delta touched the side of his face gently with the newly discolored fingers. Bruises on bruises. He put his hand abruptly back into his lap when Paris looked at him, as if he’d gotten caught. 

“We’re done.” Paris waved him off, sliding the ruler back into the drawer. The pen was starting to kick in. He was getting lightheaded. 

Delta rose slowly, giving something like a curtsy before he left. Or maybe his legs were just unsteady. Paris didn’t really care. 

The door closed quietly. Paris slid the lock shut. He pressed his forehead against the wood grain. Definitely lightheaded.

……

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