#therapy sessions

Alcohol Addiction Help

THERAPY SESSION GATE

The air in the Hazbin Hotel’s primary therapy lounge was thick with the scent of lavender and fresh earth. Sometime into his intensive psychiatric rehabilitation, Stolas sat deeply cushioned in a velvet armchair, his long, feather-soft hands resting flat on his knees. Stripped of his volatile, glitched celestial powers by the highest forces of Heaven, the civilian dragon prince looked smaller, trimmer, and remarkably peaceful—though his four red eyes were wide with a quiet, lingering anxiety.

Flanking his chair were Princess Charlie and Seraphim Emily, their expressions radiating a gentle, unyielding patience. Across the room, Blitzø leaned against a low bookshelf, his arms crossed over his rugged chest, his golden eyes locked onto Stolas with the protective, unblinking focus of a guardian gargoyle.

"Alright, Stolas," Charlie said, her voice dropping into that soft, melodic cadence she used for major milestones. She held up a small, sleek digital tablet, its screen reflecting a soft white light. "Your heartbeat is regulated, your system is completely clear of the dreamscape haze, and you've processed the diary archives. You are ready to see this now."

Stolas swallowed hard, his downy neck feathers rustling. "I... I suppose I am. Though I admit, my heart still quails at the memory of my own arrogance. I had meticulously planned such pomp, Charlie. I had drafted structural ledgers of star-crowns, ceremonial daggers, and centuries of Goetia weapons. I thought... I truly thought it was the only way to shield my Starfire from the void."

"We know, Stolas," Emily murmured, placing a warm, glowing hand over his trembling arm. "But prophecies are riddles, and your family broke the cycle. Your siblings destroyed those throne materials because they loved you enough to stop the cage from closing on Octavia. Watch."

Charlie tapped the screen. A large, crystal-clear projection hummed to life in the center of the room.

Stolas immediately braced himself, expecting to see a battlefield, or the cold, rigid, weapon-laden isolation of his own late 18th-century coronation. Instead, the screen displayed a vibrant, sun-drenched street right outside the Hazbin Hotel. The calendar watermark on the bottom right read June 1st.

The crystal doors of the hotel swung open. Out stepped Octavia.

Stolas gasped, a soft, avian clicking sound escaping his throat.

Via was seventeen years old, two months shy of the cursed rule-of-18 throne requirement. She wasn't wearing heavy, suffocating imperial armor. She didn't carry a spear or a ledger of celestial debts. Instead, she was dressed in a simple, flowing, beautifully tailored lapis lazuli robe—the signature royal color of her grandmother, Queen Amethyst, and the Lust Court. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high, secure ponytail, an exact mirror of the ancient matriarchal style.

She walked with a serene, unbended grace. Flanking her were the Hazbin Hotel crew, walking side-by-side with the imps of IMP. There was no royal distance; they were a singular, unified found family.

As Via stepped into the open air, the camera panned out to reveal a sight that made Stolas’s breath hitch. A massive, endless sea of Hellborn and Sinner citizens lined the streets. They weren't cowering under military-grade earmuffs to escape a prince's grief. They weren't dodging catastrophic blue dragonfire. They were weeping. They were throwing their hats into the air. They were cheering with a raw, thunderous joy that shook the digital frame.

The Thrones of Stars were gone. The sky keys had been safely handed back to Heaven. The solar and lunar viruses were deleted.

On the screen, tears of pure relief spilled down Via’s cheeks. She didn't look at a throne. She looked straight past the crowds, her voice cutting through the cheers as she called out, "Dad! Stop... I never wanted a throne. I only wanted a home... come back to us..."

In the therapy lounge, the projection faded into a soft twilight glow.

Silence fell over the room for exactly ten seconds.

Then, Stolas completely unraveled. He buried his face in his feather-soft hands, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed—not from the agonizing, heart-attack-inducing grief of his tyrant days, but from a profound, world-shattering release. The pride, the defensiveness, the centuries of psychological brainwashing Stella had used to convince him he was an unlovable failure—all of it washed away into the dirt.

"She never wanted the Crown of Stars, Stolas," Charlie whispered softly, her own eyes bright with tears as she knelt in front of his chair. "She belonged to the soil... just like you. And that video is the ultimate proof that she is already a Queen of the people. She freed the entire lineage."

"I was so blind," Stolas wailed, his voice raw, yet clear of any dark distortion. "I wrote in my diaries that I wanted to dedicate the severed head of Stella to her for her birthday... I thought vengeance was security! I thought the fire was protection! And all she wanted... all my little girl ever wanted... was a garden."

Blitzø walked over, his heavy boots silent on the rug. He didn't say a word. He just sat on the wide arm of the chair, wrapping one powerful, red-scaled arm around Stolas’s shaking shoulders, pulling the tall owl tightly against his chest. Stolas immediately leaned into him, burying his beak into Blitzø’s neck, finding the physical anchor he had forgotten existed for eons.

The door to the therapy lounge clicked open.

Octavia walked in. She looked exactly as she did on the screen—unburdened, crownless, and completely at peace.

Stolas looked up, his four red eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Via..."

Via didn't hesitate. She crossed the room and threw her arms around both her father and Blitzø, squeezing them tightly. "I'm right here, Dad. The old Lunar Castle is rubble. The new rehabilitation village is blooming. We don't have to look at the sky anymore."

Stolas held his daughter tighter than he ever had before, weeping silent, happy tears onto her lapis lazuli shoulder as his heartbeat regulated into a perfect, steady rhythm. The Blue Comet had finally landed, and for the first time in his life, he was home.

───

BIRTH OF MELODY

The sun was setting over the newly constructed civilian cottage, casting long, warm amber light across the hardwood floors. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains, carrying the scent of fresh rain and the non-magical soil from the garden outside.

Stolas sat propped up in bed, a patchwork quilt sewn by his mother, Queen Amethyst, draped over his lap. He looked remarkably different—his feathers were a soft, healthy down, free of the jagged, plasma-burnt edges of his past. His four red eyes were clear, blinking with a gentle curiosity as Moxxie and Millie walked into the room.

Millie was carrying a tiny bundle swaddled in a soft green blanket, while Moxxie walked beside her, carrying a small tray with a steaming mug of ginger tea.

"Hey, Stolas," Millie said softly, her usual fiery voice dropping into a tender, reverent whisper. "Look who's awake and ready to meet her favorite uncle."

Stolas’s breath hitched in his throat. An instinctive, ancient dragon purr rumbled deep in his chest—a low, rhythmic vibration of unconditional acceptance and welcome. He carefully extended his long arms, his hands trembling slightly as Millie gently transferred the tiny bundle into his feathers.

There she was. Baby Melody. She had Millie’s round, expressive features and Moxxie’s prominent, beautifully curved little horns, her tiny tail twitching contentedly against Stolas’s chest. She let out a small, soft imp chirp, blinking her large, bright eyes up at him.

The sight broke something loose in Stolas’s chest. Tears immediately spilled from his eyes, splashing silently onto the blanket. He buried his beak into the soft fabric, weeping with a profound, unburdened joy.

"Oh, my sweet little darling," Stolas sobbed, cradling her as if she were made of spun glass. "I am so, so deeply sorry... My mind was completely shattered. I was so consumed by that wretched, glitched throne and my own terrifying psychosis... I completely forgot that you were meant to arrive on June 1st. I almost burned the world down around your cradle. Can you ever forgive your foolish uncle?"

Millie sat down on the edge of the mattress, placing a comforting, calloused hand on Stolas’s forearm. "Hey. Look at me, Stolas. Sit the fuck down—spiritually, I mean," she added with a soft, tearful chuckle, referencing her past anger. "You don't need to apologize anymore. You didn't ruin her birth. You helped save her."

Stolas blinked his four eyes, looking up in confusion. "I... I helped? But I was told I had a massive heart attack mid-rampage. I was a monster of vengeance in the sky."

Moxxie set the tea tray on the nightstand and stepped forward, his eyes bright with historical awe as his Master’s in Theater Studies brain naturally wove the tapestry of the story. "Stolas, you don't understand the extraordinary circumstances of the night she was born. It was the peak of the Lunar Pandemic. Stella and the DiGalaxis hunters had specifically targeted Millie because Stella hated seeing an imp glowing in the warmth of a protected pregnancy."

"We had to hide out at the Fireburst Ranch in Rodeo Town for my whole trimester," Millie explained, her eyes shining as she looked at her daughter. "And on the night I went into labor, Andrealphus’s remaining mind-bent legions tried to storm the perimeter. It was pure chaos. The Wrath Royals and my entire extended family formed a literal wall of meat and steel to protect us, but the sky was tearing apart because of your grief. The moons were jagged, Stolas. They were literally screaming."

Stolas shuddered, tightening his hold on Melody. "A horrific nightmare..."

"But then, it stopped," Moxxie said, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute reverence. "We felt the kinetic shockwave through the ground. We looked out the window and saw Queen Amethyst fly directly into your blue fire. She cradled you mid-air, and the High Heavens activated the Cradle of Light. The Thrones of Stars were completely abolished. The sky keys went back to the Angels."

Millie leaned in closer, a massive smile breaking through her tears. "The exact second you collapsed onto the stretcher, anchored into safe mode, the cosmic pressure over the entire universe just... evaporated. The relief was so immense, Stolas, that my body completely relaxed. I gave one final push, and Melody was born the exact moment the old Lunar regime died."

Stolas’s eyes widened in profound shock. "The exact moment...?"

"The exact second," Moxxie confirmed, smiling proudly. "And when she let out her very first cry, the entire population of Rodeo Town—thousands of refugees, imps, and Hellborn citizens—completely lost their minds. They threw their cowboy hats into the air, cheering. Her birth didn't happen in the shadow of your disaster, Stolas. Her birth signaled the definitive arrival of the New World."

Stolas looked back down at the baby in his arms. Melody let out another tiny chirp, yawning and stretching her small, clawed hands to boop Stolas’s beak.

The realization washed over him like holy water. The cursed, weapon-laden June 30th coronation of his youth was officially dead. June 1st was no longer the anniversary of a prison cage; it was the day the sky went quiet, the day the soil reclaimed the stars, and the day this perfect, untainted life began.

"A cosmic correction," Stolas whispered, his voice cracking with pure emotion as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Melody's forehead. "A beautiful, earthly melody to quiet the screaming moons." He looked up at Moxxie and Millie, his heart regulating into a perfect, steady rhythm. "Thank you. Thank you for anchoring me. I vow, upon the very soil beneath us, that I will spend the rest of my days being the uncle this darling child deserves. No more fire. No more thrones."

"We know, Stolas," Millie smiled, wiping her eyes as Moxxie wrapped an arm around her waist. "You're already doing great. Now drink your tea before Blitzø comes back in here and yells at us for making his favorite bird cry."

Stolas laughed—a bright, genuine, theatrical sound that echoed beautifully through the quiet room—as the baby purred contentedly against his chest, safe in the heart of the New World.

───

FELINE MEMES GATE

The air in the Hazbin Hotel’s main therapy lounge was light, a stark and welcome contrast to the heavy cosmic interventions of the past year. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the plush velvet sofas where the newly minted civilian leaders of the New World sat.

Stolas was curled into the corner of a massive chaise lounge, his long legs tucked completely under his torso in a perfect, fluffy feather-loaf. A patchwork quilt sewn by his mother, Queen Amethyst, was draped over his shoulders. Right beside him, Blitzø sat with his boots kicked up on the mahogany coffee table, casually tossing a glowing, heart-shaped Lapis Lazuli stone—their custom dimensional key—up and down in his red-scaled hand.

Across the room, Princess Charlie and Seraphim Emily stood near a large digital projection screen, while Moxxie, Millie, and Loona shared a couch near the refreshments table. Angel Dust and Husk leaned against the back bar, fully enjoying the show.

"Alright, everyone," Charlie announced, her face beaming as she tapped her tablet. "As part of today's emotional integration session, the Saints suggested we review how public perception has shifted since the dismantling of the Thrones of Stars. Let’s look at the latest media analytics from the Pride Ring!"

The screen flickered to life, displaying a massive compilation of viral memes and Sinner TikTok videos that had swept across Hell’s network over the last month.

The very first image was a high-resolution screenshot of the "6 AM Rooftop Caterwaul" incident. It featured a digital fanart reproduction of Prince Vassago and Prince Stolas sitting on their haunches on the gravel roof of Blitzø’s old apartment building. Their eyes were wide, dinner-plate orbs, and their wings were folded tightly like grumpy owls, looking down at a tiny, pixelated Moxxie who was holding a neon yellow megaphone. The bold white caption across the top read: "MEOWSTEROID VALUE: WHEN THE CELESTIAL PRINCES DISCOVER PIGEONS."

The lounge immediately erupted.

Blitzø let out a loud, snorting laugh, nearly choking on his own spit as he fell sideways against Stolas’s shoulder. "Oh my god! Look at your faces! You both look like you just got caught tearing up the bathroom toilet paper!"

"Hey! It was a very complex, emotionally raw morning!" Stolas protested, his face flushing a deep, brilliant purple as his feathers completely flattened in sheer embarrassment. He buried his beak into his quilt. "Vassago was merely trying to ground my glitched magic with an ancient demon tongue melody!"

"Sir, with all due respect," Moxxie chimed in, pointing a finger at the screen while Millie giggled uncontrollably beside him, "it didn't sound like a cosmic melody. It sounded like a multi-winged car alarm trying to fight a vacuum cleaner. I had every right to use that megaphone!"

Charlie giggled, tapping the screen to bring up the next slide. This one was a viral video edit titled "The Telenovela Feline Fiasco." It was a split-screen. On the left, a terrifying historical archive clip showed Prince Ipos roaring over his thirty-six legions in a storm of Envy Ring water. On the right, a hidden-camera clip captured by an Envy naval intern showed Ipos in his white-haired human form, completely loafed on a breakroom sofa, aggressively purring like a literal motorboat while whispering sweet, dramatic nonsense into his phone to St. Desdemona.

"Oh, look at the mighty warlord!" Angel Dust howled, slamming his fist on the bar counter. "Thirty-six legions of absolute terror, undone by a goth girl over FaceTime! Look at him vibrate! He's gonna shake the cushions off the couch!"

"Bless," Husk muttered with a deep, rumbling laugh, shaking his head. "I mean, my clan, the O'Malleys, are winged alley cats, so I get the instinct. But seeing a Goetia lord hit an operatic note just to end it with a groggy cat yawn? Pure gold."

Stolas deflated even further into his seat, pulling the quilt completely over his head. "I shall never face my older brother again. The family dignity is entirely compromised."

"Oh, sweetie, don't be embarrassed!" Emily cooed, her white wings fluttering happily as she cast a warm, comforting glow over the room. "The Saints and High Angels said these memes are an incredible milestone. Look at the comments section underneath!"

Charlie zoomed in on the public text feed. For centuries, the comments under any Goetia broadcast would have been filled with terrified prayers or political panic. Now, the feed was a chaotic mess of internet humor:

• @PrideSlumSinner: "Honestly, the next time the DiGalaxis faction tries to start a turf war, we don't need weapons. Just shake a bag of premium treats.

• "@WrathRingRebel: "Is it true Duchess Gremory got neutralized by a laser pointer last week? Can someone confirm?"

• @HellbornChef: "Shoutout to Prince Orobas for drop-kicking a whole hunted bison into the IMP lobby. Best #CatTax ever, we ate like kings for a month."

Blitzø reached over and gently pulled the quilt down from Stolas’s face, smirking affectionately as he looked into his partner's four wide, mortified eyes. "See, bird-brain? Nobody's afraid of the big, scary 'Blue Terror' anymore. The illusion is dead. They don't see a tyrant; they just see a giant, dramatic housecat who needs a safe space to nap."

Stolas blinked, the purple blush slowly fading from his cheeks as a small, genuine smile broke through his embarrassment. He let out a tiny, involuntary, squeaky-toy meow of relief, causing Millie and Charlie to coo in unison.

"The sky is back with Heaven, Stolas," Charlie said softly, walking over to pat his feathered arm. "And the people of Hell don't want a dictator to bow to. They love you for exactly who you are—a civilian who belongs to the soil."

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