⛓️‍💥 Bovinophobia ⛓️‍💥

The side characters helping their partner with the trauma of being killed.

Includes: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, and Simeon + Luke.

Brothers ver.

CW: Luke is in this PLATONICALLY, PTSD, trauma recovery, references to strangulation and attempted murder, panic attacks, nightmares, emotional distress, disordered eating themes, and others I may have missed.

A/N: sorry everyone! This post explains my inactivity. If you’d take the time to read that, I’d really appreciate it!

⛓️‍💥 Diavolo

Diavolo notices your change in posture before anything else. You stand straighter now. Speak more formally. Smile more carefully. It’s subtle, but it’s wrong.

You stop letting yourself look weak in front of the future king. You volunteer for everything. You insist you’re fine. You over-function.

After surviving something where you were powerless, you start chasing control. Perfect grades. Perfect diplomacy. Perfect behavior. If you’re flawless, no one can hurt you. If you’re indispensable, no one will discard you.

Diavolo admires your strength at first. He praises your composure, your resilience. And then he realizes you haven’t cried in weeks.

You don’t flinch at stairs around him. You don’t freeze when Belphegor enters. Instead, you go cold. Distant. Politely detached. That hurts Diavolo more than fear would have.

You start sleeping less. Productivity becomes your shield. If you’re busy, you don’t dream. If you’re exhausted, you don’t remember.

Diavolo recognizes the signs because he does something similar. He buries emotion under responsibility. Seeing you do it feels like watching someone build the same lonely cage he lives in.

The first time you have a stress-induced breakdown in private, Diavolo feels something dangerously close to rage.

He wants Belphegor imprisoned. Truly. Locked away where he can never touch you again. The urge is immediate and violent and absolute. He doesn’t act on it.

Because Lucifer asked him not to. Because the fragile balance of the Devildom matters. Because you said you didn’t want a war started in your name.

But the desire doesn’t leave. It sits under his skin like a live wire.

Your coping mechanism evolves into emotional suppression. You refuse comfort. You don’t want to be handled gently. You insist you’re past it. When he reaches for you during a vulnerable moment, you straighten and say, “I’m alright, my lord.”

That title cuts deeper than any accusation.

Diavolo begins countering your hyper-independence intentionally. Not by taking control, but by removing pressure. He cancels appearances. Reassigns tasks. Publicly praises you for resting.

When you try to argue, he doesn’t overpower you. He softens. “You are not valuable to me because you endure pain quietly,” he says. “You are valuable because you are you.”

He introduces something new to your coping. Not structured therapy like Satan. Not distraction like Levi. Not sensory like Asmo.

He invites you to sit with him during paperwork. If you start spiraling into productivity mode, he gently closes the file and says, “That can wait.”

When nightmares slip through despite your exhaustion tactics, Diavolo doesn’t wake you abruptly. He rests his hand over yours and waits for you to surface naturally, reminding you of the year, the season, the present.

You confess once, voice tight, that you’re terrified of being weak again. That if you fall apart, you might not survive it a second time.

Diavolo kneels in front of you when you say it. A prince lowering himself deliberately.

“You survived because you are strong,” he tells you. “Not because you were composed.”

Around Belphegor, Diavolo becomes watchful. Not openly hostile. But there’s a weight in the room now. A reminder that forgiveness does not equal forgotten consequences.

He does not punish Belphegor. But he never forgets.

The saddest part is how careful Diavolo becomes with joy. He used to laugh loudly, physically, exuberantly. After seeing how thin your composure is stretched, he tempers himself, afraid that overwhelming energy might overwhelm you too.

Healing with Diavolo looks like learning that you don’t have to earn safety. That you can be messy in front of a future king. That power can kneel for you.

And if anyone ever harmed you again, political balance be damned, the Devildom would tremble.

⛓️‍💥 Barbatos

Barbatos is the only one who remembers the timeline where you died. He saw it. Lived it. Felt the absence of you like a physical tear in the world.

So when he looks at you now, breathing, alive, there is relief layered over something darker. Because he knows how fragile this version of events truly is.

You lose track of days. Stare at clocks like they’re lying. Sometimes you say things like, “I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be here.”

That sentence makes Barbatos go very still.

You sometimes forget conversations from earlier in the day. Not fully, just hazy. Like your mind is protecting itself by softening edges.

When stairs appear, you hesitate like you’re remembering two different outcomes at once.

You occasionally ask, very softly, “Did I die?”

Barbatos never lies to you. But he answers carefully. “Not in this present.”

You don’t cry much. You don’t react strongly. It’s like you’re afraid that feeling too deeply might snap the thread holding this version of reality together.

Barbatos notices you testing existence. Pinching your own wrist. Watching your reflection too long. Checking if shadows behave properly.

He understands dissociation intimately. He exists slightly outside linear time himself. But seeing you untethered frightens him.

“It is Thursday. You had tea this morning. You laughed at Mammon at precisely 2:14 PM. You are now here.”

He starts creating temporal anchors for you.

Repeated routines at exact times. Identical tea preparations every evening. Small rituals that repeat perfectly so your mind can latch onto consistency.

When you drift, staring into nothing, expression flat, Barbatos gently says your name once. Not louder. Just firm enough to pull your attention back to the present thread.

The first time you say you sometimes feel like you’re haunting your own body, Barbatos’ composure fractures, only for a second.

Because he saw that reality. He saw the Devildom without you. He saw the grief and he refuses to let you fade from this one.

His anger toward Belphegor is not explosive. It’s surgical. His politeness becomes edged.

“Belphegor, do be mindful of your positioning behind them.”

“Perhaps you should refrain from sudden movements.”

It sounds courteous. It is not.

If Belphegor so much as startles you, Barbatos’ smile sharpens into something ancient.

He would undo time again if he had to. That knowledge sits heavy between you.

Sometimes your dissociation gets so deep you feel like you’re observing your own life instead of living it. Barbatos combats this with present-moment tethering, asking you specific, grounding questions only you could answer.

“What book did you leave unfinished?”

“Which brother annoyed you most today?”

“What would you like for dinner?”

Choice reinforces existence. The saddest nights are when you wake up calm. Too calm. And say, “It would have been easier if I’d stayed gone.”

Barbatos’ hand tightens almost imperceptibly.

He tells you, very quietly, “I have seen that world. It is not better.”

He does not elaborate. He doesn’t trust his voice to remain even.

Healing with Barbatos looks like learning that this timeline is not fragile. That you are not a misplaced anomaly. That survival did not make you a glitch.

He keeps the world steady around you.

And if time itself ever threatens you again, Barbatos would tear it apart without hesitation. He already has once.

⛓️‍💥 Solomon

Solomon notices the change in you long before you say anything about it. He’s lived long enough to recognize the quiet symptoms people try to hide. The way your laugh cuts off too quickly. The way your eyes flick to exits without meaning to. The way your shoulders tense whenever Belphegor’s voice drifts too close.

It fills him with a very specific kind of anger. Not loud anger. Old anger. The kind that settles deep in his chest and stays there.

Because it reminds him of something he hates thinking about.

You can die.

You’re not like him.

Solomon has watched centuries pass. He has seen kingdoms collapse, friends age into dust, people he cared about disappear one by one. He learned a long time ago to keep his attachments loose… then you showed up and ruined that strategy completely.

Now when he sees the way trauma clings to you, he isn’t just upset about what happened. He’s furious about the reality of it. The fact that one mistake, one moment, one demon’s bad decision… and you were gone.

Sometimes he watches you when you don’t notice. Not in a creepy way. In a calculating way. Like he’s measuring how breakable you are.

It scares him how easy it would be.

Your trauma response with Solomon ends up manifesting as hypervigilance and magical self-protection rituals.

You start carrying charms everywhere. Little wards you ask Solomon to help you make. Protection circles under your bed. Enchanted jewelry. Layers of magical safety nets.

At first Solomon helps without question. If you want protection spells, he’ll give you protection spells.

Eventually he realizes you’re not doing it out of curiosity or excitement about magic, you’re doing it because you’re scared of dying again.

Sometimes you wake up from nightmares and immediately start checking your wards. Touching charms. Recounting spells under your breath like prayers.

Solomon tries to joke the first time he sees it. “You know, if you stack too many wards, they start interfering with each other.”

You laugh weakly and say, “I’d rather overdo it than die.”

That sentence sits wrong in his chest for days.

His frustration sometimes slips out sideways. Not at you, never at you, but at the situation.

“You shouldn’t have to protect yourself this much,” he mutters once while adjusting a charm on your wrist. The unspoken second half of that sentence is obvious.

You shouldn’t have to protect yourself from them.

Solomon has never liked the idea of you living in the House of Lamentation. Not really. He trusts the brothers in a broad sense, but he knows demons. He knows how volatile they can be. Now he has proof.

The worst moment for him is the first time you ask him if there’s a spell for immortality. You ask it lightly. Like it’s just curiosity. Solomon doesn’t answer immediately because the truth is complicated, dangerous and deeply personal.

Instead he just says quietly, “You wouldn’t want that life.”

You shrug like it doesn’t matter. But he notices how your fingers tighten around one of your protective charms.

From that point on, Solomon shifts your coping strategy slowly. Instead of stacking more wards, he teaches you confidence-based magic.

Spells that require you to stand your ground. Defensive magic that activates through intention instead of fear.

He shows you how to create barriers from your own willpower instead of relying on objects.

“Magic listens to conviction,” he tells you. “Not panic.”

At first you struggle. Trauma makes your magic shaky. Defensive spells flicker. Solomon never laughs at you for it. He just stands there patiently and says, “Try again.”

The first time your barrier holds perfectly, he smiles in a way that’s almost proud. Not proud like a teacher, but proud like someone watching the person they love reclaim power.

His anger toward Belphegor never fully disappears. He’s civil, but the tension is obvious. Solomon’s smile toward him becomes sharper. His sarcasm more pointed.

He never openly challenges him, but the message is clear.

If it happens again, I will not be as patient.

Sometimes Solomon catches himself imagining a different arrangement.

One where you live in Purgatory Hall with him. Just two humans navigating the Devildom together. The thought lingers longer than it should.

When he brings it up once, casually suggesting you could stay there more often, you smile and say you like being with everyone.

The answer makes him both relieved and strangely bitter.

He knows you’re strong. Strong enough to choose where you belong, even if that place isn’t with him.

Solomon eventually realizes something important about your trauma: your wards and charms weren’t just about fear.

They were about proving to yourself that you could survive here.

Once you start believing in your own strength again, the charms slowly become fewer. The spells steadier. The fear quieter.

Solomon still checks your wards sometimes when you’re not looking.

Because even after centuries of surviving everything… the thought of losing you still terrifies him.

⛓️‍💥 Simeon

Simeon does not raise his voice when he learns how deeply the trauma still affects you. He simply goes very quiet.

Angels are not unfamiliar with violence. They’ve witnessed wars, rebellions, the fall of their own kind. However, seeing harm done to you, someone fragile in ways celestial beings are not, settles into Simeon’s chest like a slow-burning ember.

He had already risked everything for you once. He had already fallen. He had already given up the safety of the Celestial Realm, the certainty of being an angel, because protecting you mattered more.

Still… you were hurt.

When you flinch at the sound of footsteps on stairs, Simeon notices immediately. When your hand drifts unconsciously to your neck during tense moments, his gaze softens with quiet understanding.

Your trauma response around Simeon shows up as avoidance and emotional withdrawal when you feel overwhelmed.

Instead of panicking outwardly, you retreat. Conversations get shorter. You disappear into quieter rooms. Sometimes you excuse yourself from gatherings entirely without explanation.

At first people assume you’re just tired. Simeon knows better.

He notices the way you linger in doorways like you’re debating whether it’s safe to enter. The way crowded rooms drain you faster now. The way you sometimes sit with your back to the wall so nothing can come up behind you.

He never calls attention to it in front of others. Instead, Simeon quietly adjusts the environment around you.

When gatherings happen at Purgatory Hall, he subtly arranges seating so you have space. A clear path to the exit. A comfortable chair tucked slightly away from the noise.

He begins inviting you over for smaller visits instead of large dinners. Tea for three, just you, him, and Luke.

Luke is the first one to react emotionally when he realizes how badly you’re hurting.

“They shouldn’t have done that to you!” he blurts out once, small fists clenched. His wings puff in agitation like an offended little bird. Luke takes your trauma very personally.

In his mind, someone hurt his friend. That’s unforgivable. He starts doing small protective things without even realizing it such as: walking on the side of you closest to staircases, standing between you and Belphegor during visits without fully understanding why he feels the urge, bringing you snacks when you seem distant.

Simeon sees all of it. It makes his heart ache and warm at the same time.

Your coping mechanism around Simeon slowly becomes safe emotional expression, mostly because Simeon is patient in a way very few beings are.

He doesn’t demand explanations when you go quiet. He doesn’t push when you withdraw. He simply stays near enough that you know he’s there when you’re ready.

Sometimes healing with him looks like sitting in silence while he reads aloud from a book, sometimes it’s Luke tugging your sleeve to show you a drawing he made, and sometimes… it’s crying.

Simeon is the only one you’ve cried openly in front of more than once. The first time it happens, it’s quiet at first. Just a few tears slipping down your cheeks while you sit at the table. Luke immediately panics.

“Did I say something wrong??”

Simeon gently reassures him while moving closer to you. He doesn’t rush you. He simply places a hand over yours and waits.

Eventually the tears turn into shaking breaths. The kind that come from deep in your chest after holding everything in too long.

Simeon pulls you into a gentle embrace, one hand cradling the back of your head the way someone might comfort a frightened child. His voice stays calm, warm.

“You are safe now.”

It’s not said like a promise that the world will never hurt you again. It’s said like reassurance that you don’t have to carry the pain alone anymore.

Luke ends up hugging you too from the side, small arms squeezing tight like he can physically protect you from bad memories.

After that day, Luke becomes extremely attentive to your moods.

If you look distant, he drags you into activities. Board games. Baking. Drawing.

“You’re not allowed to disappear on us,” he declares once with stubborn determination.

Simeon just smiles softly at the two of you. His anger toward Belphegor is the quietest of all the reactions, but it exists.

When Belphegor is nearby, Simeon’s gaze becomes steady in a way that almost feels like judgment.

Someone who once gave up his place among angels for the sake of protecting the person Belphegor hurt.

That silent reminder is sometimes heavier than open anger.

Healing with Simeon doesn’t happen through dramatic breakthroughs, but through steady warmth. Through tea shared at the same table every week. Through Luke insisting you taste-test his baking experiments. Through Simeon reminding you gently that pain does not define your worth.

One evening, after a long quiet moment, Simeon tells you softly:

“Even when you feel broken, you are still someone worth protecting.”

Luke nods fiercely beside him.

“Yeah! And we’re really good at protecting people.”

⛓️‍💥 Poly!Side Chars

The four of them notice the lingering trauma in different ways, but the moment they realize it’s still affecting you, something in the entire relationship dynamic shifts. You’re not just one person being supported anymore. It becomes a quiet agreement between all five of you that healing is now a shared responsibility.

The first time you freeze halfway down a staircase in the castle, it’s Diavolo who notices. You stop mid-step like your body forgot how to move. Your hand grips the railing so tightly your knuckles pale. Diavolo’s cheerful conversation dies in his throat instantly. He walks up the steps slowly, not wanting to startle you, and gently places a large hand over yours on the railing.

“We can go another way,” he says softly, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

From that day forward, Barbatos quietly adjusts routes around the castle whenever possible. Elevators, alternate hallways, longer paths that avoid steep staircases. He never announces it. It simply becomes the new normal.

Your trauma response in this relationship eventually shows up as seeking physical closeness when you feel unsafe. Not clingy in an unhealthy way, more like instinctively gravitating toward the group.

If you feel overwhelmed at gatherings, you drift toward one of them without realizing it. Leaning against Solomon’s shoulder. Standing close to Simeon. Reaching for Barbatos’s sleeve. Sitting beside Diavolo where his presence blocks the room. None of them ever tease you for it.

Diavolo, in particular, becomes extremely protective in subtle ways. He positions himself between you and Belphegor whenever they’re in the same room. He still smiles, still laughs, but there’s a quiet edge beneath it.

Once, late at night, he admits to Barbatos and Solomon in private that he almost imprisoned Belphegor again after learning how badly the trauma affected you. Barbatos doesn’t tell him he was wrong. Solomon actually looks tempted by the idea. Simeon is the one who gently reminds them that vengeance won’t help you heal.

Your relationship with each of them plays a different role in helping you cope.

With Diavolo, you feel safe through presence. He’s warm, grounding, physically comforting. When nightmares wake you, he’s the one who pulls you into a crushing hug and murmurs reassurance until your breathing slows.

With Barbatos, healing happens through structure and quiet care. He keeps track of when you’re sleeping poorly. Makes tea designed to calm anxiety. Adjusts your environment in ways so subtle you only notice weeks later when you realize things feel easier.

With Solomon, your trauma turns into learning empowerment through magic. He teaches you protective spells, grounding charms, and defensive magic so you don’t feel helpless anymore. He hates that you’re mortal, hates how easily you could disappear, but helping you grow stronger is the closest he can get to easing that fear.

With Simeon, healing comes through emotional gentleness. He’s the one who lets you cry without trying to fix it immediately. The one who reminds you that being hurt doesn’t make you weak. Luke ends up involved in the healing process whether anyone planned it or not.

He starts showing up during visits with protective little habits. Sitting next to you. Handing you snacks. Glowering at Belphegor like a tiny, angry guard dog. Solomon teases him about it constantly.

“Careful, Luke. At this rate you’ll be promoted to royal bodyguard.”

Luke crosses his arms and says, “Someone has to make sure they’re safe!”

The four men exchange quiet looks after that because honestly… they’re all thinking the same thing. Someone should have protected you better.

One evening you have a panic response during a dinner gathering. Nothing dramatic. Just your breathing going shallow, fingers trembling, eyes darting toward the door.

You don’t even realize it’s happening, but all four of them notice immediately.

Simeon gently shifts the conversation away from whatever triggered it. Barbatos slides a warm cup of tea into your hands without explanation. Solomon rests a hand against your back, grounding your breathing. Diavolo quietly tells the rest of the room the dinner will end early tonight.

No one makes a scene about it. Healing becomes something that happens in layers between all of you.

Some nights you sleep wrapped in Diavolo’s arms while Barbatos reads nearby and Solomon argues with Simeon about magic theory.

Other nights Simeon hums soft celestial melodies while Luke braids your hair and Solomon pretends he isn’t watching to make sure your breathing stays steady.

Your trauma doesn’t disappear overnight. Sometimes Belphegor’s presence still makes your stomach twist. Sometimes stairs still make your chest tighten, but the difference now is that you’re not facing those moments alone. There’s always someone beside you. A hand to grab. A voice reminding you to breathe. Aroom full of people who love each other just as fiercely as they love you.

Slowly, over time, the Devildom starts feeling less like the place where you almost died… and more like the place where you learned you were worth protecting.