#trauma implied

[odball]

I want to have sex I want to trust someone enough for that but anytime I get close to it I panic cause I don't want them to remind me of what happened to me I don't want to mix them up in my mind with my past :(

[the-forestry-system]

I wonder if when you look in our eyes you see me. I wonder if you remember the despicable things you did. the unspeakable things you put me through. you don't though do you? you don't see that. you don't see a broken person who took it all and was torn apart piece by piece. you just see the mask of a smiling face and pleasant words because there's no point in telling you what you did. because you know. you just feel no guilt.

[obae-me]

I like to imagine an MC with ~Trauma~ (because same) that is just completely oblivious to how much all the other characters will back-flip and change entire habits for them. Like, I'm envisioning:

MC is just casually hanging out like usual when some of the brothers break out fighting in the house...like usual, and the shouting and sounds of things breaking causes them to tear up and panic a bit. Although they don't really notice that for the next month, none of them get into fights and when they start to do so, they end up taking it outside.

Or maybe MC avoiding the angels for a good while and no one can figure out why till they mention that they're not used to people treating them like that and it's very unnatural. "At least being around demons feels more normal." And none of the characters take this well. Even Diavolo has to sit down and stare at a wall for a while and reevaluate his whole outlook on things. Simeon tries sounding a bit more "rough" for a while and it flops terribly.

Or even:

MC: Oh, there you guys are, I was wondering where some of you went.

*A few of the brothers lift their head as the human enters the living room.*

MC: Is there something going on? Why are you all here?

Mammon: Sittin' here watchin' the races.

Satan: Reading.

Lucifer: Taking the time to catch up on old Devildom infrastructure.

Levi: Playing the newest Hell Souls!

MC: *A bit confused.* So you're all doing your own thing...in the living room?

Satan: That's typically what the living room is for.

MC: But...doesn't that make you uncomfortable?

*All of them realize they've never really seen MC come out of their room unless invited otherwise.*

Lucifer: *Physically vibrating in his seat trying to hold back the "Take Them Under Your Wing" urge he's started to experience at least once a week now.*

I just...listen I know they're demons but they comfort they would bring...

[02511213942]

claiming my @aftgtandn canon-divergence fest prompt: what if lola had partially blinded neil?

ao3 | full T&N collection 🔀💚 sorry for posting late after reveals!!! 🙇 no surprises lol these are my guys! thanks SOOO much to the t&n mods for the wonderful event!!!

click for the emotional support drawing i had to make to keep myself from losing it:

actor au lol 🥹

[knightofleo]

Angela Orosco Silent Hill 2

[perdamian]

hey guys… we all know that it’s okay for mithrun to have a caretaker for the rest of his life, right? that even after he heals and potentially regains his desires he will probably still need support?? that the goal of healing is not to become a “normal person”, but to build skills to navigate the world in a way that accommodates your disability??? that relying on the people around you is not a failure, but proof of your desire to live????

[hey-heigo]

normal day at the future foundation

[timmydraker]

There were a lot of hypocrital things about Tim’s parents, as with most living beings. A lot of these things weren’t all that important and usually just came with out of touch rich folk, like the expensive of things and service expectations.

But one thing that really affected Tim was their opinions of material things.

His entire life growing up was filled with as ‘modern’ designs as they could find and all minimalistic. White walls, marble tiles and counters everywhere, abstract art that could be made by a two year old and most importantly, no clutter.

Except of course for all of their artefacts that just ‘didn’t count’.

Tim’s room was the same. He was allowed toys of course, but only ones that would assist his intelligence growth and hand eye coordination. If it didn’t benefit in him getting smarter and more productive quicker, it wasn’t allowed. It also had to be either white, grey or beige coloured.

Needles to say, when Tim saw his class mates with teddies and toys and all kinds of things, he was often left with a sense of imposter syndrome.

When he got his camera that went away for a while, at least until he was told he couldn’t actually print any out because they would shut he left in a box and take up space. The idea that they could be placed upon the fridge or walls just didn’t occur to them at all.

Then when he was eleven and well on his way to living a life only hearing about how smart he was for his age, he had to hide in a dumpster lest he be attacked by Two Face’s goons.

That’s where he found a teddy bear with a missing arm and gross stains all over it.

It was the beta things Tim had ever had. Despite the guck and gunk, it was soft and smooth and the most treasured thing he had touched since his camera.

He hid Watson, named after the most beloved partner to the smartest man alive, from his parents for years. He stitched up his arm, washed him three times, and stuffed a floral scented car smeller inside him.

Naturally after Watson came more, though it took him time to pluck the courage to do so.

Sabrina the white cat plush came into his home four months later, soon joined by Salam the black cat plush just a week later when he felt Sabrina was lonely.

It was never about anything more than the comfort at first, the joy of having something so innocent and childish that he never got to have, but as he got treated with kindness from friends at school and heroes and bats, it became a sort of rebellion.

By the time he lost his mother he had nineteen plushies and teddies hidden away under his bed.

When he lost his father and officially moved into the manner, he had twenty four.

When he moved out he decided he didn’t have to hide them anymore even though he knew full well that Dick had plushies and some of the others and no one cared. Something about it just felt so… personal. It wasn’t for anyone else.

So, when he gets his apartment that’s more like a penthouse, it’s easy for him to have a decoy office and a real one.

A real one that had half of its floor made up of a sunken lounge lined with soft carpet and filled to the brims and over with teddies.

It’s only logical for him to buy thirty six more to make it full after all.

He doesn’t tell anyone about them even though he had a list of all their names on the wall of the room, nor does he feel as if it’s some kind of age regression or something similar.

It’s just… a hobby that soothes some of his problems with his parents.

At least, nobody knew about it until he let his team come over and suddenly found a super boy plushies at his bedroom door.

[oddlylovingaddiction]

Mark Grayson and you wrapped up in bed, the warmth tickling your bones as you hold each other.

You don’t need to vent or rant to each other, just the sound of each other’s gentle breathing. You’re both facing each other, tangled together to the point you can hear each other’s heartbeat. Maybe because he’s half Viltrum his heartbeat is a bit different. But you don’t bring it up, he’d prefer to ignore his past as do you.

The rain hits hard and falls quickly, reminding you of how cozy, warm and safe being in his arms feels.

“I love you.” You say softly, you can feel his left foot slightly twitch at your words.

“I love you too.” He says as he slightly buries his face into your hair. “Please… don’t ever leave me. I don’t want to be alone without you.” It’s a desperate plea that he whispers softly to you, like at any moment you’d disappear, your smile being only a memory. It scares him that thought. He doesn’t want to lose anyone..

Especially you.

You giggle slightly as you squeeze him in reassurance, “I wouldn’t even dream of it. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” You feel him breathe a subtle sigh of relief.

Eventually your mutual breathing and heartbeat lull each other to sleep. Tomorrow you might have to face your anxieties and face your fears, but not now.

Now is only you and him.

[neonghozt]

My first time drawing man mammaries

[imadhatt3r]

We really don't talk about the fact that Koujaku was raised as the son of a fucking YAKUZA LEADER enough. You KNOW he was forced into doing the most insane shit, and you KNOW he's like that stereotypical dad that randomly drops some lore about the horrific thing that was done to him in childhood and never elaborates.

He plays shogi with Aoba for some reason, and he has a crazy winning streak, so Aoba obviously asks "Damn, how are you so good at this?" and Koujaku casually replies "I was forced to play shogi with my father's buisness partners for money and he'd hit me if I lost" in the most casual tone ever, like this is how everyone was taught.

And it never ends with him. He just randomly remembers insane things from his childhood when he talks to Aoba and says them. "When I was 15 I was goaded into snorting coke at my father's buisness party"; "My father took me to a brothel on my 18th birthday"; "I was forced to cut off the finger of one of our subordinates when I was 14". He never says anything more.

And Aoba is, of course, is mortified every time. He tells Koujaku that this is crazy and his father was evil and none of this should've happened, and that he's always there to talk about anything he wants, but Koujaku doesn't understand why Aoba is so worried for him- it's the past, it doesn't bother him at all now (so he thinks). To him, it's all small potatoes when it comes to what happened in that period of that life, which, after all, included him being branded and attacking/killing his mother.

So he downplays it all, because he thinks it shouldn't bother him anymore- and you know, it doesn't, it really doesn't. He gets paralyzed for a second when he remembers and feels dread festering in the pit of his stomach, like he's once again a kid with no way out for a second, but it's nothing. It's nothing.

[abigailmoment]

It wasn't just bad luck that Staeve was targeted. It was a calculated attack. Halsin knew well enough how a caster could examine their enemies for tells. Halsin did it himself. Considered an opponent's tactics, and guessed at the places their mind would be most vulnerable.

You didn't have to be a gifted empath to watch how Staeve hurled himself into the thick of combat, right at the biggest bandit wielding the two-handed great sword, and think that the man might be vulnerable to a spell that exploited wisdom.

The fact that it took down Astarion too, well, perhaps that one was just bad luck.

It happened like this:

-

This is written about @velnna's Tav, Staeve. I was delighted to discover that they don't mind fan fiction being written about him.

I'm always cautious about writing for other people's OCs--getting voices right is so important to me. I have elegantly avoided that issue here.

-

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

-

The fight was an incidental bit of banditry. Dangerous banditry, certainly. Bandits with  great swords, supported by wizards. Halsin hung back with Gale while the two rogues dashed forward to give truth to the old adage that the best defense was killing the other fellow extremely quickly. 

They cut down the man with the great sword and the woman with the mace and shield. Reinforcements were coming from around a rocky overhang. Halsin coaxed the earth to throw up entangling vines to slow them down. Gale drenched them with glimmering light that illuminated all their vulnerable points for Astarion and Staeve to shoot at.

Only the half-orc made it through the vines and the light. He was bloodied and wrathful. He was huge, but it was two against one, and the two were flanking with each other. It would have been an easy end to the combat, except that apparently there was a bandit wizard hidden somewhere in the trees who chose this moment to cast a spell. 

One second Staeve was a blood spattered half-drow sprinting full-tilt, sword out, towards a fighter twice his size. And then he was gone.

Some sort of teleportation? Banishment? Gale was saying something about trajectory and scanning the treeline. Halsin was yelling, he wasn't sure what, the concern was more important than the words. He started running forward. Because two rogues against a barbarian was fine, but one rogue against a barbarian was an extremely fast way for that rogue to die.

And Astarion knew that so he should be running away. But he wasn't running away. He was darting forward and ducking low and almost getting hit by a greataxe as he snatched something off of the ground. 

Then he was running, thank the Gods. There was something cradled in his arms, which meant he didn't have his rapier out as he scrambled back.

It was a cat. Halsin saw. They were ten feet away from each other when Halsin realized that Astarion was carrying a large, extremely upset tabby cat with grey-green fur.

That was when Astarion vanished. No. Not vanished. As the tabby tumbled to the ground, something small and white was already there, darting for cover. 

Then the half-orc arrived. Bellowing and huge, at least when compared to cats. Not quite as huge when compared to Halsin. 

Halsin decided to turn into a bear. It was amazing how many problems you could solve by turning into a bear. 

-

"I am feeling my oversight in not preparing dispel magic today," said Gale. "Or counterspell."

"This is not a situation we could have anticipated," Halsin said.

Staeve contributed to the conversation, but because of present circumstances, it came out as a meow.

He was large for a cat. His fur was pale brown, tabby-striped with green. His stripes crisscrossed in a way that reminded Halsin of his tattoos. His scar was a fur-less groove in his face. He had the same pale green eyes as always. That color was quite appropriate in a cat.

He meowed again, more insistently this time.

"We will," Halsin assured him. 

"You're speaking with him?" Gale asked. 

"Not magically," Halsin said. It had been a long day and he had barely anything left to cast with. "But I think I understand him."

"Do you?"

"Think a moment and I am confident that you too will guess what he wants from us."

It did only take a moment. Gale was an intelligent man, when prompted. And they'd all seen the small white cat vanish into the woods during the bear-orc fight.

"Ah. Of course." Gale addressed the cat, voice reassuring. "Astarion should be relatively safe though. Polymorph is temporary and even if something did happen to him in the interim, he would just revert to his natural form."

Staeve's whiskers went back and his ears went flat in a thoroughly unimpressed way. 

"I think it would be best to find him and make sure nothing happens," Halsin said with mellow diplomacy. 

"Of course." Gale paused, then said delicately: "Given my skill in woodland matters, or lack thereof, I may best serve this cause by getting out of the way."

Halsin smiled. "It is a wise man who knows his limitations."

"I'll meet you all back at camp then?" said Gale.

"Take a potion of invisibility for the trip," Halsin suggested. "There might still be bandits about."

Staeve had gotten impatient with them, and was padding off into the forest. Halsin handed Gale the potion and hastened to follow.

-

Staeve scampered about the forest like he was looting the place. No hole, hollow log, wasp nest, or brown recluse spider-web was left uninvestigated. The loss of seventy five percent of his gray matter had done the man's already flagging survival instincts no favors. Halsin spent half of his attention looking for signs of a small white cat, and half of his time making sure Staeve's efforts at tracking didn't get him killed.

After being only a hairsbreadth quick enough to pull Staeve away from the entrance to a dire-badger-burrow Halsin decided that his partner was now going to be carried. Staeve made a meowling, writhing objection. He was terribly invested in the search. A compromise was reached when he was offered a perch high on Halsin's broad shoulders. Staeve proceeded to clamber from shoulder to shoulder as Halsin walked, ears always forward and alert, eyes bright, head turning this way and that as he scanned the woods.

Small cats with stealth training were not easy things to track through dense forest. Halsin did end up using his last spell slot to cast speak with animals. The local mice and voles always noticed when predators passed, even small ones. Halsin spoke to them while keeping one hand on Staeve, who watched the tiny creatures with bright, newly interested eyes.

Halsin of course spoke with Staeve as well, but it wasn't quite the same. Talking to a person who had been transformed into an animal was not the same as talking to that person. Shape changed you. How you saw things. How you thought. The mind of a cat was a fraction of the size of that of an elf or half-elf. Thinking with it was different. The change was easiest for druids. It was hardest for the cursed, who did not choose the new shape. Who were surprised by it.

He spoke to Staeve and learned things he had already known from observation. He reassured Staeve that the mice had given useful guidance.

That guidance led them north, then west, and then to a long hollow log, moss covered and broken in two places. A good hiding spot, and the sort of shelter that had a lot of escape routes. Staeve jumped off of Halsin's shoulder as the druid knelt down and they both peered inside.

In the darkness, Halsin could just make out a pair of ruby-bright eyes staring warily back at him. 

Beside him, Halsin watched Staeve relax for the first time since becoming a cat. He wasn't actually as large as Halsin had first thought--it was just that his hackles had been up and his tail puffed out for the duration of the transformation.

It could be a painful thing indeed, to have one's heart so completely entwined with another's safety. A deeply worthwhile thing, but a painful thing, sometimes. 

Halsin made a deferring motion to Staeve, who nodded in a rather un-catlike like way. Halsin stepped back from the log, moving slowly so as not to startle anything. He shifted a few feet away and sat close enough to watch, but far away enough that his looming size wasn't an ominous thing.

Staeve didn't go inside the hollow log. He sat at the entrance. Lay down at the entrance, body long and casual, head up on the lip of the log so he could keep looking inside. Modeling relaxation.

He started to purr. Halsin could hear him purring even from a few feet away. A loud, constant, soothing rumble. It somehow did not surprise Halsin that Staeve had a loud purr.

And then Staeve waited. Patient as anything. Waiting and watching and purring in a low buzz, as steadily as a beehive.

Halsin could not see inside the log, but he could guess at when Astarion moved because Staeve's ears would flick. Staeve had a fine poker face, but everyone had tells. 

Something happened, or occurred to him, that made Staeve raise his head and sit up slightly from his sprawl on the ground. Then he stood up entirely. He gave Halsin a significant look, and trotted off into the underbrush. 

Conscious that he had just been assigned new responsibility, Halsin shifted so that he had a good view of the log's entrances and everything around it. There wasn't much danger, Halsin’s presence in general kept most predators away from this space. But still.

During his vigil, Halsin saw the glimmer of red cat-eyes once. And only briefly. 

Staeve came back soon. He had a dead vole in his mouth and he looked exceptionally pleased with himself. He dropped the vole at the mouth of the log, took a few pawpads back and watched expectantly.

It took another long minute, but after that minute a small white cat crept out of the darkness.

This should surprise no one, but Astarion was a beautiful cat. Slender and graceful with large eyes. His fur was pure, silvery white and just long enough to curl slightly. He moved with a cautious precision that Halsin recognized as his habit, and that deeply suited his new form. 

He sniffed at the vole. He shot Staeve a judgmental look, because Gods forbid the man accept any kindness without prevaricating about it in some way. He glanced at Halsin. And then he leaned down to slide exceptionally long canines into the corpse's chest.

Staeve flopped down about a foot away and watched him with an expression of pleased devotion that would honestly be a bit more appropriate on a dog.

Astarion ate fastidiously, and without getting even a blot of blood on his snow-white fur. When he finished he licked his teeth.

When Staeve was quite sure Astarion was done eating, he sidled up slantwise, sauntering around the vole corpse as if he just casually happened to be taking a stroll in this part of the forest for no particular reason. He stopped just short of Astarion. His ears were forward. His tail flicked lightly from side to side. 

Astarion regarded him levelly with his 'I know what you're doing and I know you think you're being clever about it but you're not' expression. Then, as if granting a boon, he deigned to rub his forehead gently against the underside of Staeve's chin.

Staeve took this as the invitation that it was and pressed back, much more enthusiastic and honest in his delight at the contact. Which in turn gave Astarion an excuse and space to do what he wanted and enjoy it.

They were always very dear to watch together. Whatever form they took. In about a minute they were curled over each other on the ground and Staeve was industriously grooming Astarion's head.

Halsin let this go on for as long as he could. But the shadows were lengthening, and they were very close to the Shadowlands, and he was out of spell slots, and the rogues were currently housecats.

"It is getting late, dear ones," he said softly. 

Astarion twitched at the interruption, and Staeve licked him three times along the neck and chest in a soothing way. Then they disentangled from each other and padded over to Halsin.

Halsin picked up Staeve, but he knelt down and laid his arm on the ground so that Astarion could climb up and find what perch he wanted by himself. They did both end up in his arms. Staeve was tired and quite ready to be carried, and Astarion didn't want to be out of contact with him.

As Halsin walked through the woods with an armfull of cat, Staeve started to purr again. It was really the most marvelous sound. A soothing distillation of satisfaction and care. Almost enough to tempt one away from being a bear.

Astarion did not purr. Some cats didn't. Or purred only very rarely. But Astarion did, at one point, look up at Halsin and blink his bright red eyes very slowly. 

And that was a precious thing.

****

Other stories like this.

****

[writer-room]

Its so funny that Arin and Sora have shown to have significantly better emotional intelligence than any of the ninja from all of the old seasons combined. "You should be taking care of your mental health" and "yeah saving the world is upsetting! no wonder you're having stress dreams" oh my precious children. You are surrounded by a teen dad with massive self-worth issues, the only one of two people who remembers the genie incident and also turned into the sea once, guy who's died like 3+ times and committed genocide under mind control, and a child soldier who's been living the hard knock life since age 2.

I hope to god you two are prepared to witness the most mentally unwell behavior you've seen in your entire teenage lives. You think you've already seen how bad it can get now? Fools. Just wait until you get a mission involving the Departed Realm

[gh0stbeeee]

Thinking about ballet dancer Light.

Preteen Light choosing a sport and taking up ballet because he's always loved the grace, the power, and the emotion in the way the dancers move, because maybe this could be a momentary freedom for him, from the pointless competition that is his life.

Light being asked hundreds of times if he's sure, if he wants this, if this will distract him, if he can work hard enough to catch up to the other kids that have been doing this for years.

Light walking into a ballet class for the first time, one of the few boys, and leaving at the end ashamed at how clumsy he was in comparison.

Light working himself to the bone to catch up, for the first time determined to finish his homework as fast as he could because he found something he wants to really do, staying for hours at the little studio every day and leaving with screaming muscles and blisters on his feet.

Barely able to feel the pain in comparison to this burning passion he felt for the first time.

Quickly catching the attention of the teachers, they tell him if he keeps at it he will have a very promising future ahead of him.

He never tells Soichiro this might be more than just an extracurricular for university.

His first recital goes spectacularly, even though he was only a supporting role, he caught the eye of a recruiter from a prestigious ballet company who told his mother they would keep an eye on him, as his future was bound to be successful (his father was too busy to come.)

The drive home his silent, his face rubbed raw from removing the stage makeup in the bathroom before leaving, when Sachiko says she can talk with his father, if this is what he really wants to do.

Light smiles, saying he'll think about it more before they commit in the future.

The girls start learning on pointe, and Light is intrigued. His instructor says the boys can learn as well, and it would make them better dancers for it.

Light and one other boy agree.

It's an extra layer of work, the stiff shoes feel somehow too much and too little as he stands in a pair for his first fitting, alone as he hadn't told his parents.

But he feels a warm flutter in his chest when he sees himself in the mirror, on his toes like Odette in Swan Lake, his first ballet.

He takes to it even faster than when he'd started. Even when the basic lessons ended, he continued to dance on pointe in his own time. He learns the girls' lead choreography alongside the boys, who were mostly supports for the lead ballerina.

He adds his own twists on it, every movement he makes sharp yet graceful, makes it look effortless yet full of power.

His instructor is amazed, watches as he dances better than the girl who got the lead.

"It's such a shame," she says slightly regretfully, "if you were a girl, I think you would've had a real chance at being made a prima ballerina. That being said, at this rate, if you get picked up by a professional company, I'm sure you'd make premier danseur in no time." She laughs as she says it, a kind joke to highlight his incredible skills and potential, and Light laughs too.

When Light is fifteen, his school is putting on a production of Swan Lake.

And for a brief moment, his heart is over the moon, it has always been a dream of his to dance the ballet. It sinks immediately the next moment, when they call only for girls to audition for Odette and Odile.

He still puts his name in to audition for Prince Siegfried, he learns the choreography, but he can't stop himself from putting his pointe shoes back on and dancing Odettes parts when he is alone. Male point dancers were only used as a joke in classical ballet, he had no hope for the part, but for a while, he dreamed.

He danced Odette, and he danced Odile's Variation, twirled with more grace than a human should have, and he felt like he was flying.

It was after he'd perfected Prince Siegfried's parts to know, and danced Odette's death as his last run for the night, that as his fluttering wings stilled for the last time, he felt trapped again.

The audition was in a day. If he got the part, he was nearly guaranteed a spot in the nationally top company. And he would dance as a man was expected, and he would never dance on pointe on a stage.

He packed away his pointe shoes for the last time.

The next morning, the day before the auditions, he handed them his resignation from the school. He would never forget the despair on their faces when they looked into his eyes and saw that his passion had died. (He'd murdered it in cold blood.)

"Good." His father had said. "A healthy phase, but it was time to get serious about school. You made the right choice."

Light just smiled blankly. His mother pretended not to notice the tear stains on his face when she brought him some apples that night.

(It wasn't until midnight eyes, raven hair, and a chain that he danced again, twirling gleefully to hide the blood stains on his feathers as he showed the detective his old passion.)

[dragon-queen21]

Agere prompts: SA recovery

tw: sexual assault, nothing graphic but very heavily implied/focused on

~Caregiver who had to try and slowly coax their little one back into regressing x regressor who keeps pulling themselves out of headspace despite needing to be small in order to heal

~Rewriting childhood with someone who actually listens to them, even if it's only over something deemed 'ridiculously small' like not like a certain food, or a clothing texture, or a tv show that is being played.

~Little one who doesn't like sleeping alone in a big scary bed. Their caregiver suggests co-sleeping next to them. If that doesn't work then a hot water bottle or a warmy of a cute animal that can be heated up and snuggled with. Or maybe it's as simple as a huge wall of pillows

~Making cozy pillow forts/nests to hide away in at bed time. The baby logic of 'If I can't see you, you can't see me'

~Caregiver who helps wash their little one's hair when taking a full shower is too overwhelming

~Caregiver who wears gloves all the time, practically 24/7 to help their kiddo get used to non threatening touch again

~Caregiver who has to deal with slamming of doors, and tantrums. Sitting behind locked doors and telling their little one over and over again that they're here, they aren't going to leave them alone to deal with these big emotions. They aren't going to look at them any differently when everything is over and the guilt and shame hits. It’s alright.

Masterlist

[that-hazbin]

Happy New Year's, have an AU

AU where Alastor wasn't doing the horrible things that would land him in hell, and God panicked and realized that their Grand Plan of Redemption was falling apart from this single divergence. After all the hassle and headache of getting Charlie Morningstar into existence (TEN FUCKING MILLENNIA, LUCIFER, IT TOOK YOU THAT LONG TO SHAPESHIFT A DICK???), the Grand Plan can NOT be ruined because this one soul refused to go down and play their part.

Apparently, divine omniscience isn't good enough because it can't predict a Mama's Boy. Alastor promised his mama that he'd see her at the pearly gates, and he's damn well going to keep that promise. He's channeling all of his homicidal tendencies by airing out the dirty laundry of immoral scum on his not-so-legal radio broadcast. And anonymously sending the evidence to the news. And hey, you know what? Ruining people's lives seems to be a fate worse than death, because they're forced to live in misery! Mama was right, resisting temptation DOES grant reward!

(The temptation being homicide, and the reward being a fate worse than death, if he wasn't being clear.)

God is, of course, losing it, because one of the big pawns in getting The Grand Fucking Plan to work is not doing what they are supposed to, and seems to be on the track towards heaven. Which, what the fuck? HOW. That should not be POSSIBLE with a soul like this!

(Mama Alastor is just THAT good of a parent.)

So. God has to do something drastic here, obviously. They are NOT going to wait another ten thousand years for redemption to become possible, they've already waited long enough for shit like the EXTERMINATIONS to happen, and it'll just get worse in the future if they don't hurry this along.

God decides to do as their darling son Lucifer does, and makes a deal. With Alastor.

Alastor rejects the deal. Sorry, sir, his mama's waiting for him in heaven and he refuses to disappoint her.

God: Are you serious right now. Are you serious. I'm God.

Alastor: Yes, and?

God: I could literally grant you anything??

Alastor: I want to go to heaven and spend the rest of my afterlife with my mother. YOU want me to go to hell. Literally.

God: Well, yes, BUT. Once The Plan is finished, you can totally go to heaven afterwards?

Alastor: Uh huh. And how long do you anticipate this plan to take?

God, knowing full well that Charlie is mentally a teenager right now and is in no position to be making her dreams a reality for at least another century: UM.

Alastor: No deal, I'm not leaving my mama waiting.

To think, The Creator of All is DESPERATELY trying to get the cooperation of a mere mortal. Alastor is completely unmoved, and has made it clear that he only cares about his mother and her happiness. Which brings an idea to mind...

God: I could... make your mother a powerful figure in heaven?

Alastor: What? What use is power in heaven, isn't it already a paradise?

God: Uh. No, actually, otherwise heaven wouldn't be committing yearly genocide. Not all angels are virtuous, despite my best efforts.

Alastor: EXCUSE ME?!

Getting a deal was a lot easier after that.

Alastor kills a man (ONLY ONE, he can't disappoint his mama any further than that...) and then gets himself sent to hell. Fortunately, his deal grants him quite a lot of power to protect himself with! Unfortunately, he has a direct line of communication with God via sound waves. He hears God in his head. All. The. Time.

He has REGRETS.

All God seems to talk about is their favorite child, Lucifer, and The Plan. It is distracting and EXTREMELY annoying. Alastor knows more about Lucifer than any mortal in the universe, and he HATES IT.