Hello hello! Did you know that among the many aptitudinal tests they made me to before allowing me to become a white collar slave (and there were many, really too many) there was one that was meant to test my levels of resilience? Well reader, my results were off the roof, which is why after having spent a few days wallowing in my sorrows at is it my right, I have decided that the solutions to bad writing is simply to write more. You are very welcome. This is a snippet on which I’ve been working for a couple of christmases already, as the subject matter is what I’d be inspired for in the aforementioned period and no other, and so this year I decided to push through it and finish it for you all. I hope you enjoy it, and upwards and onwards 💪🏼
CW: long term captivity, mention of past torture and conditioning, mention of non-con (not explicit), collar, compulsion, religious themes and religious erasure, identity erasure, golden cage, slavery, angst, forced to kneel, murder threat.
The truth was, Kai didn’t even notice the passing of the first Christmas in captivity. Harsh as his conditions were down in the dungeons, he had no way of knowing what day it was, kept chained and strung up in perennial stress positions as he was. For Kyriel did his very best to isolate him from the world in that first year, to make him forget himself and whoever he’d been before him. So that Christmas Day passed like a torture day like another, Kai writhing and sobbing as his bones were snapped, the rope tightened around his throat.
The second year was different already, once Kyriel had brought him to the belly of the Tower and allowed him to crawl alive out of the mud. The captivity had moved above ground then, more about training and reconditioning for the day Kai would eventually be allowed outside the circle of the runes to fight. So that Christmas Day passed differently this time, Kai spending it on his knees with his arms behind his back — the collar tight around his throat, Kyriel lording over him as he forced him in between his legs where he sat at his desk. Kai’s only mean of taking note of the passing of time was the snow he could spy falling from his window, the tally of days he carved on the wooden side of his bed every time Kyriel allowed him back into it and did not keep him in his.
The third year, when Kyriel’s leash had relaxed enough to let him go out on his own in the Tower, after Kai had set fire to half of it and faced its consequences — Kai noticed the Yule tree at the centre of the square in the angel’s capital, visible from the balconies of the Tower he was now allowed to roam.
“Why don’t we have one of those in the Tower, Magister?” Kai asked that night, coughing after Kyriel had finished abusing his throat. The boy’s nails digged in his palms, his mind frantically clinging to whatever kernels of light he’d found on the day to keep himself sane. “Your people have decorations outside.”
Kyriel caressed the boy’s cheek, watching with satisfaction how he’d swallowed and recovered himself in less than a minute. A wondrous improvement from the hate and vitriol he might have expected just a few months prior, his pupil’s resilience awe inspiring and terrifying in equal measure.
“Our people, sweet,” he corrected, but there was no bite in his chiding. “And why should I celebrate the birth of a rival god?”
Kai startled, taken aback.
“Yule is about the cycle of seasons. It’s not—“ he started, the old human part of him that had believed in such things resurfacing from his youth. Silly, really — but then, he knew from his studies, there had been places when Christianity had co-opted the ancient pagan traditions of his people for its purposes, covering it with a coating of its own lore. And before then…
“You could take it over.” He suggested, calming down, thinking of logs and fire and celebration and how beautiful that time of rest had been once. “The Romans did it with their sun god.”
Kyriel only hummed, brushing gently the boy’s hair away.
It was so that the fourth year of Kai’s captivity a big Yule tree was erected in the Throne Room, to the secret delight of the Fallens whose humanity had not yet fully been ripped out of their bodies. Kyriel presenting his pupil with a new set of clothes in the morning, fine gold thread woven over a bed of red velvet, and with a vibrant green belt adorned with precious stones to match his collar and a new pair of golden bracelets. Nevermind that they were all too reminding of manacles — Kai accepted them gratefully, wariness in his every movement, lest his captor found a reason to hurt him instead.
“Happy Yule,” Kyriel smiled, the angel dressed himself in a deep blue velvety tunic, diamonds sparkling over his shoulders like a starry cape slowly reaching down his navel. “I have another present for you, sweet.”
Kai only hoped it wouldn’t be slaves, given how poorly it had gone the last time Kyriel’s had thought of gifting him some.
He was left to wonder, unease twisting and growing in his gut, as the angel let him out of his rooms and down the large marble stairs leading to the lower floors of the Tower. The corridors through which they walked were adorned by golden decorations that slaves must have spent the whole night putting up, candles and everywhere the eyes lay everything sparkled, catching the streaming morning light coming from windows frosted with ice. Kyriel’s courtesans, those who they encountered on their way down coming out of their rooms, bowed and moved aside as they walked — all dressed in a similar festive way to theirs, velvet clothes matching Kai and Kyriel’s own while being careful not to be quite as fine as their emperor’s were.
Kai could feel their curious eyes on him, realising Kyriel was taking him out to court without a muzzle on him. Without chains, a leash.
The Throne Room, when they finally entered it, was magnificently adorned. Kyriel’s throne shone crystal black among the twinkle of candles and the silver and gold of lights magically levitating in the air, the Yule Tree enormous and almost reaching the heights of the cavernous space where it was placed at the centre of the hall. It too, like the rest of the room, was covered in bright silver garlands and small balls of crystal and bone twinkling and reflecting the many lights shining across the room. And at its bottom, in a pile that kept growing with every member of the court approaching to deliver a package of their own, was tribute — for Kai wouldn’t dare call it presents when he doubted they were freely given. Not when Kyriel wanted to put up a show, not when the consequences of refusal were worse than death for him and anyone else in that room.
Kai wondered, once again, what each of the Fallens thought. If they were truly content, believing Kyriel their god. If they even had a chance of free thought, given how absolutely the angel controlled them all.
“Welcome!” Kyriel’s voice was loud, magically amplified, when he addressed the crowd from the top of the dais and his throne. “Welcome, all.”
Kai kept his face composed, the boy summoning some feigned boredom to plaster on his features. A mask to hide his true feelings, when he felt the eyes of the fucker’s court hungry on him — Kyriel’s Council, who he saw almost every night, but other nobles who had only ever seen him scream at parties. And others, who Kai had terrified the last time he’d set foot in the Throne Room with a sword — those who had escaped the slaughter by running like cowards, that was.
The boy let a small smirk ghost the outline of his lips, satisfaction at the memory of how they had all screamed. He let them see a sliver of the predator, of the caged thing only tamed by Kyriel’s presence next to him.
He was going to kill them all one day, after all. He had sworn it.
“Today is a day of celebration,” Kyriel continued, the angel lifting his arms to address the crowd. “Yule, rejuvenation.”
There was a cheer, the rising of glasses from the Fallens in the hall at the words. Their clothes were splendid, crystal in their fine hands and hair — the contrast stark with the attire of the slaves standing almost invisibly at the sides of the room, dressed in rags and with trays of refreshment ready in their hands. Kai’s people, the boy always aware of them wherever he was.
“As you know, I have declared this day to be a holy one. To merge the recent traditions of the indigenous land with the more ancient immortal ones. To allow for the wisdom of the betters in our society to guide the hearty traditions of those who shall return to the mud.”
Kai felt a faint feeling of nausea rise into his gorge, the boy remaining expressionless and obedient at Kyriel’s side as he talked.
“But as much as it is my pleasure to celebrate this time with you all,” the angel smiled, and Kai’s hair rose behind his neck even though the angel had not looked at him yet, “there is another reason why I would like to command today as a day of celebration across all lands. Another cause for rejoicing and worship, for all.”
Kai braced as best as he could, four years of captivity having taught him not to expect anything good.
“Today it’s my prince’s birthday!” A pause, as a ripple of surprise run among the crowd. “And we shall celebrate as it demands his rank.”
More cheers, more celebrations suddenly so shrill they couldn’t be but forced ones. The crowd turned to look at each other, barely hidden surprise on their faces — howling their joy like perfect sycophants after a beat, loudly stomping their feet in the ground and clinking their cups around. For Kyriel’s court might walk around without a collar around their throats, but there were no doubts as to where the power lay in the room — Kai doubting, after he’d spent years killing their own on the other side of the battlefield, after he’d culled half of the court just a few years prior, than any of them held any love for him at all. The boy too stunned by Kyriel’s words to react as the false cheers washed over him, the crowd crying out as one.
Today, notably, wasn’t his birthday at all.
“Now.” Kyriel smirked, rising his voice to be heard above the crowd, “I too have a present from my pupil. A present to welcome him back at court, after he proved himself to be civilised enough for it now.” He smirked again, raising a hand. “A word of warning, though. He is allowed to bite back if attacked.”
There was an uneasy ripple of laughter, the court shifting as they all remembered what exactly Kai was capable of.
Kyriel snapped his fingers, Kai’s runes blazing under his clothes.
“On your knees, love.”
And perhaps there was some kernel of truth in the angel’s words when he’d said Kai had proved himself to be civilised enough to be brought out at court, for the boy didn’t even think about digging his heels and try to resist the command this time around. And why should he, when Kai had violently tested the boundaries of his constraints enough times already, and with them faced the painful consequences of refusal? The boy chose to keep his dignity about him, obeying without a sound — only kneeling with deliberate slowness over the marble floor at Kyriel’s feet, taking all the time he could without looking like he was frustrating the command.
There was no choice. No battle to be had, when Kyriel gave him a direct command.
The boy closed his hands into fists, the chill of the marble floor seeping into his knees. He lifted his head up to spy his master from under his lashes, trying not to show the apprehension he felt in his gut.
His stomach flipped, Kyriel looking at him with an all too fond smile. One of those that promised violence — the violence of when he was proud.
“My gift to my prince.”
The angel lifted his hands, familiar darkness beginning to form in between his fingers with the thunderous sound of clashing storms. Sparkles shone from deep inside the dark, like thunders contained into his hands — the summoned mass twisting and shuddering as if it held within itself the multitude of a roaring universe. Kyriel moulding it and shaping it to the startled awe of his court, the strength of his magic such that they all took at least half a step back — Kai, too, wincing where he knelt at the angel’s feet, but knowing better than to inch away or flinch.
It was a beautiful thing, savage and delicate at once, that Kyriel finally forged. A crown, made of glittering crystal of the same dark material of his throne, of the collar around Kai’s throat.
“A crown for a Prince.”
The cheers were genuine this time, Kai thought with faint lightheadedness, as the shouts of the crowd exploded through the hall as Kyriel placed the crown over his brow. The thing surprisingly light, solid and digging softly into his head where its shaper edges lay — the angel smiling down at him, Kai looking up surprised from where he knelt at his feet.
Part of him still braced for the moment when the runes would lit up around him, for his captor to make him scream.
“Happy Yule, love,” the angel murmured, softly, so that only he could hear among the cheers of the crowd. “Let’s start putting to use that popularity of yours. Let them worship you as my pupil, the silver prince came to save them all.” He winked at him. “It is a good idea indeed — to steal the bones of previous worship for our own. As part of my pantheon, that’s it.”
And Kai, even as it finally dawned on him that he might not be made to hurt this time around, as Kyriel took his hand in his and lifted him to his feet to the roaring cheers of the crowds, he dizzily realised what his captor had done. How he’d taken his birthday, made it into a public celebration — and in doing so stripped it from him, another piece of identify unceremonious taken away without mercy or care.
“Drinks! Drinks for all!”
Because Kyriel had made clear all along he’d use him as he saw fit, hadn’t he? And what was Kai’s history, a thing as small as his birth, if not something for him to mould and repurpose? As if it didn’t matter that it had been the day his mother had held him, the day he’d been loved by his family as he came into the world. As if the angel even knew their names, as if he cared.
“Drinks for my prince!”
Kai felt himself grow dizzy, the boy numbly accepting the gold cup Kyriel pushed into his hands. For he knew better than to refuse him, knew better how useless it would be to make a scene — even though there was a faint, roaring part of him that clamoured for him to scream.
Today was the winter solstice. And there was power in the day, for Kyriel to claim that his god-prince was born on the night of the rebirth of light. For him to make it a symbol of the conquest of the champion of the human lands, a nod to those who still resisted him and worshipped Kai. A sign, an inequivocabile political message only strengthen by religious lore, that their silver god was where he was meant to be — at Kyriel’s side, forever more.
Kai took a mechanical sip of the drink the angel had given him, the taste sweet on his lips. The crown dug into his brow, its weight unfamiliar on his neck as he watched the crowd begin to dance and sing at the bottom of the dais — Kyriel smiling happily next to him, towering on them all with his height alone.
“You are a bastard,” the boy murmured, unblinking and without changing expression an inch, voice so low that only the angel would hear among the celebration. “A fucking bastard.”
Kyriel didn’t blink either, the monster continuing to smile at his court as if nothing was wrong.
“Drink, Kai,” he ordered. “It’s Yule, and it wouldn’t do for the crown to fall on the floor because of the slap you’d deserve now.” He turned, the angel lifting his cup to Kai’s own. “I’ll straighten you out tonight. For now, relax.” He smirked. “It is your birthday, after all.”
And Kai, knowing all too well what would happen if he protested, if he too did what Kyriel would deserve in turn — if he lounged at him, closed his hands around his throat and choked him until he was no more — took a deep breath and allowed himself to drink from his cup. Deeply, gulp after gulp, the boy savouring the luxurious taste of champagne in his mouth.
It was his birthday indeed, after all.
“Huzzah,” the boy smiled, his tone sligly gasping when he emerged from his cup. Because fuck it, he might as well enjoy what was good of his captivity, since it wasn’t like he could get out of it. “Merry merry Yule, Magister.” He lifted his eyes, silver eyes shining in the Christmas lights. “May this year bring light to us all.”
They both knew, as Kyriel snorted and lifted his cup to Kai’s, that the boy’s smile promised death by a thousand cuts. That the twinkle in his eyes wasn’t joy, even though his kept his face perfectly composed — but hate, as cold and deep like the pit of hell itself.
The angel smiled, relishing the sight of his collared beast.
“Merry Yule indeed, pupil mine.” He leaned forward, softly placing a kiss to his cheeck. “And may you be as good as you have been for me this year.”
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I wanna collect every OCD gender there is, is there more OCD genders around?
OCDgenders Masterlist Part One
[TW abuse, sanism, obsessions, compulsions]
Xumgender: the state of never being satisfied with ones gender, no matter how well it fits, due to self-doubt or identity issues. This causes one to compulsively search and seek out something that fits even better though one will never because of one's neurotype and/or because words will never be able to describe one's gender and/or because one's gender is paradoxical. This inability to find a "one true gender" frequent causes anxiety and doubt and can even cause the label xumgender to feel imperfect to the individual. This term is exclusive to neurodivergent people. It was specifically coined with people with anxiety disorders, OCD, and OCPD in mind.
O-gender: a gender that is affected by one’s obsessions.
C-Gender: a neurogender heavily influenced or defined by one’s compulsions due to their OCD.
OC-gender: a gender that is affected by both one’s compulsions and obsessions.
OCDgender: a neurogender which can only be understood in the context of having OCD or when one's OCD greatly affects one's gender or how one experiences gender. It is not OCD as a gender, but is a gender that is so heavily influenced by OCD that one's OCD and one's experience of gender cannot be unlinked.
OCDniac: an identity that describes someone whose queer experience is affected by having Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Obsecompridix: a gender related to being proud of one’s ocd and that pride affecting how their gender feels.
Obsic: A gender related to one’s obsession.
Vexillobsic: A neurogender related to one’s obsession with vexillology.
OCDBiting: a gender influenced by ones OCD and biting an ableist.
FluttershyOCDic: a gender related to Fluttershy and having OCD.
PinkieOCDpieic: a gender related to Pinkie Pie and having OCD.
Categohoarder: a genderhoarder microlabel for people who feel like their genders MUST be in some sort of order whenever they show them off (carrd.co, pronouns.page, etc.), it could be their color scheme, themes, alphabetical order or more.
Pattordean: a gender related to putting things in order or in a pattern. This can be connected to ocd compulsions and be used as a neurogender, but it doesn't have to be.
Loudheadgender: a neurogender where the noise in your head prevents you from understanding your gender to some extent. Only to be used by people who experience brain noise/ loudness in the head. So like ADHD, racing thoughts, OCD, BPD, etc.
StarlightglimOCDic: a gender related to Starlight Glimmer and having OCD.
TrixielamoonOCDic: a gender related to Trixie Lulamoon and having OCD.
OCDcompuliac: a fluid neurogender influenced by OCD compulsions in which ones gender identity changes when they speak what gender identity they have due to an OCD compulsion, whether permanently or temporarily.
PrettyBoyObsessive: a gender relating to being a Pretty Boy with OCD and breaking the stigma surrounding OCD were ableists sees you as a (ableist) threat but you having psychological facts to ruin them and their social life is your threat and you're not afraid to stand up others with stimazed disorders like NPD, AvPD, ASPD, BPD, PPD, OCPD, [etc] for an example.
OCDLOVERBOY: a neurogender influenced by a man/boy's OCD, often see as an monster and beliefs he doesn't deserve love due to his OCD due to trauma, but has found love and feels less like a monster due to his boyfriend(s)/Partner(s) loving him regardless of his OCD, and very supportive of him and understands every subtype of OCD, even POCD and loves him anyway regardless of his OCD.
ObsessiveYandere: a term for PwOCD and being a Yandere.
Ocdvictim: A gender identity influence by having OCD and being a victim.
OBSEURiA: a gender that is the embodiment of one's obsessive compulsive disorder.
OCDfreak: a gender related to having OCD and being a freak.
OCDrage: a gender related to the anger/angry symptoms of OCD.
Utapulsix: a gender related to the compulsion/having the compulsion to find, compile, and organize information.
Utafpulsix: a gender related to the compulsion/having the compulsion to find, compile, and organize information, as well as the actions themselves.
BoyCreaturaticFreak: a gender that feels infected, misunderstood, falsely framed, often see as a creepy, worn out, tired, weak, hurt, dirty, and disgusting, freak of nature, emotionless, lack of emotional empathy, feels like needles sticked in your back and barbed wire around your throat, and held down to control the person, which is all influence by ones OCD and influenced by trauma of having ones OCD be used against them to hurt them, often seen as a freak due to their OCD and society views on OCD, which one turns into being a freak into a positive thing and embrace being different, embrace being a Freak, as an act of self-love and acceptance of one's self. Deep down this gender is kind, loving, sweet, wholesome, deserving of love and care. This gender is both masculine and agender/nothing at the same time. It is also althuman. The gender is also held together by safety pins, sawing needles, hello kitty bandaids and the gender, also carries a stuffed animal wolf or a stuffed animal black cat for comfort and someone to call a best friend.
Dianeticsobsic: a gender related to being obsessed with the belief system of Dianetics.
HidingTraumgender: a gender for when ones gender are a hiding from one’s abuser, stemming from the paranoia of ones abuser, watching the user constantly, believing one's abuser would emotionally harm the user again & again, a fearing a never ending loop of emotional and mental torture, viewing ones abuser as emotionally contaminated and is paranoid regardless of anyone due to user's trauma and the user's OCD being used a sick “justification” for the trauma the user want through.
OCDtoxic: a gender related to chemically toxic OCD, OCD disolving in toxic chemicals, and/or OCD mixing with toxic substances.
OCDBEiNG: A genderabeing subtype. A gender connected to having obsessive compulsive disorder and being that of a being ; An OCDbeing.
Unrealobsic: an O-Gender related to one's obessions being based in unreality. This could be things like obsessing over the idea that one is not real. Or that one is not perceiving reality in the way it really is.
NoempaOCDic: a gender related to having OCD and little to no empathy.
Fearobsic/Phobiaobsic: an O-Gender related to one's obsessions being based upon their fears/phobias. An example could be being thalassophobic and having obsessions about the ocean. Or fearing the dark and having obsessions about it
BoyPOCDic: a gender that is a boy dealing with P-OCD.
Countiobsic/Numeralobsic: an O-Gender related to one's compulsive counting, or number-based compulsions/obsessions.
InsomniOCDgendrix: a gender influenced by ones OCD, it feels like OCD is their whole identity and gender. It feels like all it is is controlled by one's OCD. This gender feels scary, terrifying, "wrong", anxiety inducing, exhausted, and like an insomniac.
Anxiobsic: an O-Gender related to the anxiety one's obsessions causes them.
IsolateOCDic: a gender related to having OCD and never fitting in with others, feeling left out, unwanted, and alone.
Slight tw for sort of health stuff and blood mentions
GE Saeran or Ray bc...my babies...with an Mc who is sort of a Germaphobe? Recently I have this awful habit of scrubbing my hands in the sink for super long, until they crack and bleed 😭 because I have a crippling fear of getting sick, I hate it its the worst ever, I have other chronic health issues caused by covid and ever since I've been just insane about germs. It's bad but sometimes I even scrub my hands raw just after holding or playing with my dog (and I hold and love on him FREQUENTLY) I have this like contamination thing, even the slightest brush up against something I deem unclean, i'm at the sink. it's bad. My hands look so gross and are in so much pain I can hardly move them from how much I wash them.
It's a bad habit and I know it needs to be fixed. I'd love some Ray or GE comfort about it ❤️ your writing always makes me feel better.
GE Saeran knows a compulsion when he sees one.
He isn't sure how many times he would have to do something for the sake of doing it so he wouldn't feel like he was going to be punished. It doesn't matter if it didn't make sense to anybody else in the room. He had to do something to make sure that it didn't feel like the walls were going to cave in on him.
For example, one way for him to gain control in a situation is to take a cold shower.
He will always revert to doing this even as he moves forward in his healing journey, because the only thing he can think to do to stop himself from feeling negative, is to shock himself. It's definitely not the best coping mechanism in the world but it's better than some of the others and he can learn how to find a better way as he goes forward.
It might not be the same as the compulsion that you deal with for your OCD, but he understands the sentiment. Understanding some of what you're feeling, it allows him the opportunity to be able to empathize and figure out the best way to help you feel comfortable again.
Sometimes, you can't help yourself and you have to go through with the compulsion otherwise you're going to feel like the end of the world. You have to follow through until you come together again. You don't need to feel ashamed of yourself for doing all the things you need to do to feel safe.
Even though it can be very distressing to know that you shouldn't be doing this to feel better. If he does know anything, it's that telling somebody that they shouldn't be doing something and that they should feel bad about it isn't going to help them. The best way to help somebody you care about is to treat them with kindness and respect in their moments of vulnerability.
So, in what ways does he try to make things better? Well, when you need to wash your hands, he has lotion ready so they don't dry out and cause further pain. That's the last thing he ever wants you to go through. It's hard for you to navigate your comfort in the long run, but minimizing any aftershock is essential to him.
It's a small thing in the grand scheme of it all, but it's better that he is able to understand what you feel and why it's not okay to force you to change your coping mechanism when you're not ready for it. This situation needs time and care, both with a therapist to help you with immersion therapy and the support of someone you trust in your life who won't make light of your pain.
"My love, I know people want you to think this is all in your head and that you've got control over it... but, I understand this isn't something that you can stop overnight. You need to breathe and forgive yourself for the hard days... I know you'd never let me feel ashamed when the compulsions I experienced suffocated me for so long... I want to be there for you the way you were there for me."
I don’t like your perfect crime, how you laugh when you lie. You said the gun was mine, isn’t cool. No, I don’t like you. I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time. Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time. I’ve got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined.
Today was the day that she was finally going to tell her mother about her relationship. It was a nerve-wracking thought. Caroline wasn’t sure that Liz was going to understand or approve of her dating Klaus, much less dating both Klaus and Stefan. Her mother had always been old-fashioned, and nerves swirled in the pit of the vampire’s stomach as she made her way out of the dorm and to her car.
Lucien had been waiting for her. The pair had not seen each other since that fateful Halloween party and he knew the blonde would be a mess just at the sight of him, so he approached slowly. “Caroline,” he greeted, keeping his distance.
Fear flashed in her blue eyes immediately just at the sound of his voice and she hoped like hell that he hadn’t seen it. Dark veins danced around her eyes, fangs snapping into place as she glared at him. “We have nothing to say to each other,” she spat out, pulling her keys out to unlock her car door.
He ghosted to her side, turning her around and pushing her back against the car. One arm stayed on each side of her head and Caroline was paralyzed with fear. The idea of his fangs in her neck again spurred her on, however. It didn’t matter how much older or stronger he was in that moment. She was angrier. Caroline shoved him off of her with all her might, hissing as he stumbled backwards.
“Why the hell can’t you just leave me alone?” she growled out, rage flashing in her eyes.
“You know why!” Lucien spat back. “You know why and you could help me and yet you refuse.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you. You assaulted me for no reason. You traumatized me for no reason. I owe you nothing.”
Lucien sighed, one hand coming up to run through his hair as he watched her try to open the door to her car yet again, only to find her hands shaking with a mix of anger and fear.
“Caroline,” he repeated, softer this time. “She won’t be waiting for you.”
Those words were enough to stop her in her tracks. She turned, achingly slowly, to face him again. “What are you talking about?” she asked, voice full of quiet rage.
“Your mother,” Lucien said simply. “She won’t be waiting for you.”
No. No, that couldn’t be true. She had just spoke to her mom only a few minutes before. Liz had been on her way to respond to a car crash just on the outside of the border and then she was going to wait at Caroline’s apartment outside of Mystic Falls so that they could go to lunch. They had just spoken.
“You’re lying,” she said slowly, taking deliberate steps towards the older man. “She’s inside the border. Even if you compelled someone to go after her, the compulsion would wear off once they were inside.”
“If they had to go inside, that would be true,” Lucien answered.
And then it clicked. The car accident. He’d planned this. This was all another part of his sick, twisted little game.
“If you do anything to my mother, I won’t hesitate to destroy you. I swear to God, Lucien, if you hurt my mother–––”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I won’t be the one that hurts her, Caroline.”
What the hell did that mean? Lucien pulled out his phone, dialing a number and grinning when the person on the other end of the line answered. “Hello, love. Yes, I have Caroline right here. She’d like to speak to you, if you have a moment.” He held the phone out to the blonde, smirking. “It’s for you.”
Caroline took his phone, staring at Lucien in horror as she put the device to her ear. “Hello?” she whispered, unprepared for who might be on the other end.
“Hi, Care. Everything okay?”
That wasn’t what she was expecting. Her stomach dropped and she could feel tears springing to her eyes. Stefan. Lucien had compelled Stefan.
“Hi, honey,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm as she spoke. Her eyes stayed on Lucien’s glaring at the older vampire as his smug smirk stayed in place. “Is...Is my mom okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” Stefan answered, confusion evident in his voice. “We’re at your apartment. Nik said that she’s not safe, so I have to stay with her for a while, but we’ll keep each other company. I’ve always liked spending time with your mom.”
Nik? There was no way that Klaus had told him to do that without informing Caroline.
“Stefan, when did you talk to Nik about that?” she asked. Lucien looked positively gleeful now and Caroline was terrified for the answer to come.
“Care, are you sure you’re okay? He literally just handed you the phone.”
Realization and horror dawned on Caroline’s face as Lucien snatched the phone from her hand. “Stefan, I don’t think our girl is feeling too well. I’m going to mend her right up and then give you a ring back. Take care of Liz for us. Kisses.”
Caroline’s hand was wrapped around the older man’s throat as soon as he ended the call. “You son of a bitch.”
It was Lucien’s turn to push her off now, sending the blonde sprawling backwards. He straightened his suit jacket as he waited for her to return to her feet. “I’m going to explain a few things to you now, darling, and you better listen close because I’m only going to do this once.”
“Stefan and I met in Chicago in the 1920′s. We,,,how should I phrase this? Rekindled our connection the night of the Halloween party. Luckily, I happened to catch him after he had been off of vervain for a few days and compelling him was easier than I could have ever imagined. At first, I just had him bring me information but when it became obvious that neither Nik nor you were going to budge on your stance regarding the sire lines, I had to take a more nuclear option. And when I heard from one of my little bird’s that the two of you threatened Casandra? Well, let’s just say that I now had the proper motivation to put my plan into action.”
Caroline remained silent, as much as she wanted to break the vampire’s neck and get to the border and rescue her mother and boyfriend. She needed to figure out exactly what he had in place so she knew how to stop it.
“So, I compelled Stefan to think that I was Niklaus. Nik and his siblings forced me to pretend to be him for over a century, so I’m just taking a page from their own playbook. I sent him to Mystic Falls, and I put in the fake call to the police station about an accident. Your mother made it to the scene, and as soon as Stefan saw her, the compulsion kicked in. The benefit of compelling someone your mother knows to kidnap her is that she’s resistant to fight back. Getting her to that handy little apartment you have on the outskirts of Mystic Falls was easy. My men are watching the building, of course, and will be quick to inform me if you or Nik go to try to stage a rescue attempt. If you do, one phone call to Stefan and my handy dandy compulsion will kick in and then it’s bye-bye Mommy.”
The blonde was coursing with rage at this point and she couldn’t stop herself from interjecting. “And what is it that you’re trying to accomplish here? What do you want from me?”
Lucien grinned. “Now, now, Caroline! I can’t spoil the game that far ahead. If I tell you what I truly want, Nik will have time to plan for it. So, in the short term, I can let you know that the way to get your mother released is simple. If you agree to come to my apartment and be spelled inside the premises by a little witchy friend of mine, I’ll let Stefan and your mother go.”
“Fine,” she said immediately. “I’ll do it. Just let them be.”
Lucien shakes his head. “No, no, no. I want you and Klaus to discuss it first. I want you to suffer, I want him to suffer, and I want to see which one of you he’ll pick to give up. Will he choose his longtime flame, Stefan Salvatore? Or you, the girl that took his world by storm? Whichever one of you he chooses to give up...well, that’s gotta hurt. I’ll give you a week or so, then you give me your decision. Until then, no funny business or Liz bites the dust. And look on the bright side! I just saved you a three hour car ride, love.”
Caroline can’t do anything but glare at him, her hands clenched into fists by her sides. How had they not seen this coming? How had she not better protected both Liz and Stefan? She had to find Klaus.
Lucien blew the blonde a kiss as he started to depart. “I look forward to your decision, love. Toodaloo!”
it starts when he catches a glimpse of it in the mirror- a cut, barely a scab, on his chin- and something pings in his brain. a sudden urge he tamps down just as soon as he registers it. his fingers will still twitch as he runs them over the rough, raised skin, but he keeps himself from scratching at it. restraint is a skill years in the making. breathe through the urge, just satisfy the curiosity.
picking starts absentmindedly as fingers return again and again to feel that out-of-place texture on his chin. the pads of his fingers aren’t enough; his nails scratch the itch in his brain so much better. he doesn’t mean to draw blood, but he doesn’t stop when he does. the urge tells him clearly what it needs to be satisfied: get it out, get it off, now, now, now. and all that’s underneath is blood.
he frowns at the sight the next time he passes the mirror. he prods at the cut, fresh all over again, no closer to healing. bound to scab again, too. his nails need washing, tinted rusty brown, so he scrubs at finger tips until he feels satisfied with the result. his face is another issue. satisfaction evades him here, so he occupies his hands with other tasks. until, inevitably, he digs into raised skin and picks, relentlessly. to appease the constant itch in his brain. to remove the impetus of his discomfort. to provide enough relief to catch his breath.
he needs it gone. he picks. he bleeds. he fails to think of anything else.
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Hey Ghost!!! So I’ve been watching Tangked The Series since I’ve been sick and gone all day and I think I have a new obsession lol
Anyways
Do you have any headcanons for Izuku? Anything included in neurodivergent term (would that be the way if phrase that?)
You don’t have to of course though.
oooh i do!
autism headcanons~~
i feel like he would love the feeling of fingerpainting. It just gives him a good sensory feel yk
also he's really taste sensitive and he really only eats his same/safe foods.
Speaking of same/safe foods, his are:
katsudon (because he loves the taste and has eaten it so many times so the textures are familiar)
curry (because it's kacchan's favorite food so he ate it a lot growing up. still cant handle the spiciness though)
all might brand crackers (because they dont have an overpowering flavor and bc it's all might)
ocd headcanons~~
always has to keep his nails short
makes sure that things never come in sevens
has one song that he ha to listen to every day. I think its some lofi song or a really obscure song thats either just electronic noises or something you would hear in an uncanny valley or analog horror film/game. (like the mandela files on youtube)
CW: death as a theme explored in depth, grief, past main character death, past torture, past non-con mention (very brief), aftermath of grievous bodily harm (stabbing, loads of stabbing) and torture, chains, gags, blood, captivity, fear of child abuse, mention of death of a child, necromancy, undead whumpee, captivity, compulsion, emotional whump, death wish (sort of)
Summary of the previous NSFW chapter: welcome to the finale. Ashe is frozen in her sarcophagus, commanded not to move. Kyriel makes Kai scream on top of it, stabbing him everywhere so that Ashe can see what he’s done with him. Kai pleads and surrenders so that Kyriel’s rage is directed towards him, because he will do anything for her no matter the cost to himself.
Previous - Masterlist
The thing about death, Kai thought, was how absolute, how final it was. How inevitable the darkness at the end of the line, how cutting the knife severing the tread of life. How cruel the demarcation between what once had been and then no longer was — how one could feel, watching the body of a recently passed one, how they were no longer there. No longer them, no longer in the vessel of the flesh — death, death, and then gone.
That was, unless Kyriel had anything to say about it.
No wonder people worshipped the angel when he could raise people from their graves. No wonder there were those, even among Kai’s people, who thought him a god — for the monster could make reality out of what were mere promises for other religions, could make tangible the return to the flesh from the valley of shadows. He could back with power and magic what were only tales, only shushed comforts given in the face of a truth too hard to bear — that life didn’t end after death, that there was more to discover after one passed. Why there were queues, decade-long queues, entire families staking everything they owned and all their hopes and fortunes for the chance of being selected to serve in the ranks of Kyriel’s Fallens — for the chance of becoming immortal, to transcend the limits of the mortal flesh and live alongside their immortal god.
Kai had never thought he’d come to understand them, one day.
The boy wheezed, his lungs constricting as he slowly came back to himself. He groaned, chained and slumped on the stones of Ashe’s cell — his entire body aching, throbbing where he’d suffered his captor’s wrath. His muscles knotted, his flesh a tangled mess of sharp and bruising pain — his body caked in blood from head to toes, his and the Fallens’ both, his skin covered by thick bandages wrapping everywhere Kyriel had stabbed him over and over again. Kai’s wrists raised above his head, manacles tight around them — a gag, a dirty rag stuffed tightly inside his mouth, silencing his every sound.
The boy moaned, folding forward over the stones.
It took him a second, an aching beat, for him to realise that he was still breathing, despite it all. That he was still underground, in the same cell Ashe was — and that he was chained to his wife’s coffin, back pressed uncomfortably against the jewelled sides of the sarcophagus that held his love. His torso and thighs wrapped with thick bandages that were already soaked in blood — as if Kyriel had healed him just enough for him not to die, the power-suppressing runes on the walls turning his magic into the faintest whisper deep below his skin, but not enough for Kai to be comfortable about it. The red seeping through the gauzes where he’d been stabbed, each breath bringing a renewed flash of pain — as if Kyriel had wanted him to feel the aftermath of his punishment, hadn’t wanted to spare him any minute of it.
Kai blinked where he sat, covered in blood and grime. The taste of iron sharp on his tongue, the sound of his breathing muffled by the dirty rag stuffed deep in his mouth. His silver eyes wide, shiny in the low light, only the cracking of the eerie green flames on the walls breaking the silence of the cold cell underground.
Ashe.
The boy shuddered, shifting even as the movement sparked a white flash of pain down his insides. He winced, the memories of his wife’s frozen body assaulting him like a fresh stab of the knife — her perfectly preserved face, pale and beautiful like an immortal statue carved in marble, crying blood as he was made to scream bent over her coffin. As he was stabbed over and over again, taking whatever Kyriel would give him to spare her the pain — the boy mindless of the agony again once more as he twisted to try to look up towards her. Towards his wife, his love, his soul, trapped in that crystal coffin he was now chained to—
He could only see a few inches of the girl’s elbow from where he was, a few strands of her carefully braided hair pushed against the edge of the crystal lid of the sarcophagus that held her prisoner. Could only see a small bit of her too-pale skin, pearlescent porcelain ivory as Kai’s had been, covering the freckles that had once covered every inch of her — the girl still, perfectly still like only a commanded undead could be.
His heart squeezed, so deeply he thought he would die of it.
It was a blessing and a curse both, he thought, to know her revived. A blessing, for how could he deny the wrenching swelling of his heart, the desperate love and joy filling up his chest, even when mingling with the claws of despair? For Ashe — Ashe wasn’t dead, wasn’t gone, wasn’t lying in a clearing all alone. Her flesh wasn’t rotting off her bones, worms burrowed inside her body as he’d thought for a year now — she was alive, she was back. She wasn’t in the ground, all alone in the dark, her soul lost in the valley of shadows. No, she hadn’t left where he couldn’t reach, but had joined him in his new life now — in the torture and the darkness of the captivity under Kyriel’s knife.
Kai screwed his eyes shut, whimpering in shame at the relief he felt into his chest. At how his stupid, treacherous heart rejoiced, the bastard, in knowing himself no longer alone.
He shouldn’t be happy about it at all, knowing what awaited them now.
He knew, better than anyone, what Kyriel would do now. What he’d done to him, when he’d wanted to break him and in the months thereafter, in that first year of captivity underground — what a curse Ashe’s return really was, what a Damocles’ sword dangling over his neck to ensure his compliance from now on. And how effective that was, when Kai was willing to fight and bleed for the world when he’d lost everything before — but not now, now that it was her pain, her life, her wellbeing on the line. For Kai had seen her die already once, and knew deep in his bones the terror of seeing his love kneeling, gagged and prisoner with a knife to her throat — the jelly feeling of seeing a loved one hurt, the horror of her body bleeding instead of his own. A horror he couldn’t live again, no matter what it took.
He’d do anything to spare Ashe what had been done to him, no matter what that turned him into.
He remembered faintly, frozen on the dungeon’s floor, how glad he had been, even in the darkest of hours, that it was him under the knife and not his wife or their child. How even then he’d known, deep in his bones, how so much worse captivity could have been if he would have been made to listen to their screams in addition to his own. If he’d known them under the knife rather than himself — for he could handle it, he thought, he could handle anything at all as long as he was the one paying the price, rather than his wife or child. He could sustain anything in the world but not the sound of Ashe’s throat being ripped once more. Not her screams, not the sight of the light leaving her eyes—
Kai wheezed at the thought, terror gripping him like a vice.
He wondered then, faintly and with the immediate risk of throwing up what little was left in his stomach, what Kyriel had done to their child. If they had survived, or if they had suffocated in Ashe’s womb before she could have been revived. How long she’d been left in that clearing, after Kai had been dragged bodily through the portal into Kyriel’s home — the boy remembering how he’d been blindfolded, knowing the reason why now, and how he’d been dragged, kept there kneeling in the Throne Room until Kyriel had finally returned. Had it been one hour, or more, before the angel had finished whipping him to an inch of his life, bathing him and then chaining him to that bed underground? Was it that much longer until he’d finished fucking him for the first time — until he’d left him there, shocked and numb, pinned to that bed that would be his place of torture for the next year and more? And how long did it take to revive someone, after all — or to cut a corpse belly in half, extract a perhaps still living magical child—
Kai shook his head, his heart squeezing in stupid, oh so stupid, terrified hope.
It didn’t matter, he thought, whether Kyriel had cared enough to try to save their child or not. It didn’t matter, and it was better if he hadn’t — for if he did, that was the worst possible thing Kai could imagine in this world. No horror scenario in his head being worse than the one of the monster putting his hands on his child — of Kyriel having access to their baby, their vulnerable flesh and mind, to do as he pleased for the whole year he’d spent underground. For eternity, for it wasn’t like Kai could stop him if he decided to bring the child there underground, to, to—
The boy had to repress the instinct to be sick then, sinking his nails in his palms to steel himself.
He tried not to think about what Kyriel liked to do with babies, what he did to children barely old enough to stand on their feet. The horrors Kai had witnessed when he’d been an undead, the Council’s dinners served with the youngest cuts the monster’s underground meat grinding machine could provide — or what Kyriel would have done to a child with power, taking and shaping them away of Kai and Ashe’s protection for his own twisted goals. If they had indeed lived, if they hadn’t died as Ashe had done.
Kai wished they had then, knowing how any alternative was so, so much worse.
The boy grabbed at the chains around his wrists, knuckles whitening as he steeled himself on the stones. He swallowed, fighting against the instinct to throw up once more — breathing raggedly through the rag, at the shame of the thought. Feeling the love in his chest slowly drown into a sea of black despair, for the still, desperate need to know. For he’d been alone so long, after all, nothing had ever felt home like love — nothing had ever felt home like the promise of Ashe and the babe, of the life of peace they’d claw fighting through the darkness holding each other close. Of the family they would have built together, how desperately he’d wished for that peace — and how selfish that had been, now that Kyriel had put his claws on him. How stupid, how foolish he’d been, having dared to hope even though he’d known there was an immortal that wished for nothing but possess him — how arrogant in thinking he could fight him, how reckless for allowing himself to love and put someone else in danger by allowing himself not to be alone. How dear the price to pay now, how steep the cost of love — no resistance possible anymore, not unless he wanted Ashe and perhaps, who knew, their child to pay the price for his stupidity once more. Kai feeling himself utterly trapped, like it always way in his fight with his captor, knowing that he would have to choose between his loved ones and the world.
There was no question, really, what he would opt for.
Kai breathed deeply, raggedly, shuddering against his constraints. He craned his neck again towards Ashe, towards his love trapped behind him now — the princess in the Tower, ready to be made to scream if her prince even so much as breathed wrong. The boy swallowing down the nausea alongside the pain in his gut — the pain in between his legs, where Kyriel had assaulted him in a way he didn’t want to name. Focusing on Ashe, of what he could see of his love, his soul.
He remembered, like it was yesterday, how it had felt to wake up on the angel’s altar upstairs. Knew intimately, for he’d been through the valley of shadows himself, what dying meant — what the darkness swallowing one whole did to one’s soul. How it had snuffled out everything he had been, until he’d been made to re-emerge in a body that was his and was foreign both — the nothingness, the sheer absence of self, the nightmare of how he’d been erased when the knife had been driven into his heart. How wrong that new body had felt at first, colder and harder and unfeeling at the fingertips — how the hunger had churned in his gut, how his entire mind and thoughts had narrowed over the vision of Kyriel’s face above him. His whole being wanting to please him, how he hadn’t been able to conceive disagreeing with him— even as the hunger had demanded blood, so much blood, to satiate the magic that had kept him alive then. The all-encompassing hunger of the undeads, Kyriel’s creatures needing flesh, fresh human flesh to feed upon, to sustain themselves — how Ashe’s mind must be close to going insane after a year on her own, for that need alone.
Out. He needed to get her out, now.
Kai yanked his wrists against the chains, the desperation in his chest suddenly turning into rage, welcome and hot and alive in his gut. For he knew he was chained, he was constrained allright — but if there was something he’d learned, something he knew deep in his gut, was the need never to give up no matter how hopeless the situation was. To try, to always try something, to knock on every surface and wall — for everything could be cracked, and Kyriel hadn’t ordered him not to free his love yet after all. Hadn’t ordered him not to wake her up, not to take care of her or try to make her run — and so he had to try, try try try no matter what, no matter how he knew deep in his heart that an undead couldn’t disobey their maker, Ashe wouldn’t be able to run even if he pushed her out of the Tower with his own hands.
He had to do something, if he wasn’t to go insane himself in the terror and pain.
The boy grunted, the sound muffled by the gag in his mouth as he slowly, so slowly, begun to push his knees under himself to hoist himself up. He bit down the rag, grinding his teeth against the pain in his gut — his vision darkening in spots, sharp bright pain stabbing him with every inch he moved. Sweat broke on his brow as he tried to stand, to reach for the crystal lid of Ashe’s coffin to knock it down—
The runes on his back flared, angry and crimson, as soon as his wounds opened up for the strain.
Kai let out a strangled scream, crashing as the compulsion on his back seized him whole. His gut ripping as his legs gave out on him, his body seizing before going limp — the boy falling back down where he’d started, after he’d barely managed to push one knee under himself. Fresh blood beginning to seep through the bandages wrapped around his chest, Kyriel’s words ringing in his head—
You are not to harm yourself.
The boy laughed then, a hoarse and hysterical thing, angry tears beginning to bite at his eyes. As he sat chained exactly in the position where his captor wanted him to be — the compulsion taking away even the autonomy of trying to reach his love, the runes burning crimson on his back as all strength suddenly left him. The boy knowing Kyriel’s orders, his rules, of course — for he understood that wounded as he was, every attempt at movement was a threat to further harm. Everything but staying there, exactly in the position Kyriel had left him in, feeling every inch of the aftermath of his punishment and reflecting of what was now to come — everything but that could be interpreted as rebellion by the runes, as threatening his wellbeing and life, and thus to be nipped in the bud. Kai’s body going limp, slumping on the floor like a puppet with cut off strings, as soon as he’d begun to bleed.
Kai bit down on the gag, feeling the first tears spilling down his cheek, clearing up a path in the blood covering every inch of his skin. His stomach churning, his whole body uselessly revolting against the compulsion declawing him — as if it cared about his feelings at all.
Ashe. Ashe, Ashe, Ashe—
The boy lifted his head towards the crystal lid of the coffin behind him once more, the green eerie flames on the walls illuminating him.
He had to hope their child had died, that Kyriel hadn’t used that time when Kai had been blindfolded to take them out of Ashe’s corpse. He had to hope they were human, powerless, and that they’d suffocated inside her womb — because while death was merciless, a clean cut after which nothing was anymore, it was better than the alternative that would await any child of his now. It was better for them to be spared this pain, the horror of knowing Kyriel at all — for Kai didn’t know how he would get Ashe out of there if he couldn’t even stand without Kyriel’s say so, and he had to god damn well hope their child was dead so that he wouldn’t have that one more failure weighting on his soul. That they would be beyond the monster’s reach, a human babe’s useless to revive, good for nothing more but be fed to the dogs.
Kai screwed his eyes shut, hating himself for that horrible thought.
He didn’t need to be stabbed again, truth be told, to see how their lives would unfold now. To know that Kyriel would do horrible things to them both — unspeakable things to them and the world, to punish them if Kai even so much as breathed wrong. If he wasn’t his perfect pupil, his perfect monster, his prince and weapon and whatever else the monster wanted him to be now. His soldier, his whore, it didn’t matter anymore.
Kyriel had won. And Kai, in the same way as he couldn’t even stand without his say so, knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop him at all. And that through him, and the Damocles’ sword hanging over his love, he’d give him the world.
Previous - Masterlist
This was really hard to write and has been rewritten a thousand times. It can be a non NSFW conclusion to Kai and Kyriel’s Tumblr story, or a launchpad for something more — if I have it inside me to write that, I am not sure how it might go. It’s been eight months bbs, and I saw my best friend die — these words, Ashe, were really, really hard to push out. And I am still proud of myself because it’s not perfect, but it’s done — and whether I end up writing more or not, we have a complete story of sorts now :)
I had a flare up today and was convinced that no matter how many times I washed my hands, I couldn't get my dog's 'germs' off - I'd been playing with her in the garden, throwing a little ball which of course got wet and slimy with her mouth - usually I'm okay with washing my hands a few times, then a few scrubs antibacterial wipes, all good!
But oh man, today
Mind you, things were no different to any other day, not at all
I must've just been feeling particularly anxious about something which I can't remember because as soon as the flare up hits everything else is nothing compared to it
Well
I basically thought everything in my house was infected with dog germs. If I touched anything, a sofa, tv remote, chair, kitchen counter - it was there.
I hadn't touched anything.
Everything was fine.
I had to call in my parents to tell me that everything was fine.
Many, many times.
Are you sure?
Are you sure?
But - but -
Eventually I calmed down about my entirely spotless surroundings and just ended up washing my hands at least three more times until I was satisfied
Until I thought that I was okay.
Which of course...I was the whole time.
The worst thing is hindsight, when you look back on yourself and are like I'm so stupid and dumb. Replaying even that in your head.
But - here I go again with a Saeran request ~
I'll never stop feeling guilty for putting my parents through my antics almost every single day.
I'm like a whining leech, I must be...infuriating.
Actually, I know that I am.
Well, I know that my parents won't ever fully understand what it's like. But it does hurt when they sigh and puff and get very visibly irritated, and even laugh sometimes at my checking, like '...really? Come on.'
Oh yeah! What I meant to say all along was Saeran -
Kait, you and your writings are such a great comfort to all of us here.
But the way you write Saeran is just...perfect. I wanted to thank you for that! <3
Especially because what you've written for me before - even though you don't even have to answer - really cheers me up when I'm feeling skittish.
So I...I um - I'd really love a little cuddle and squeeze from Saeran today...and just go and lie on my bed and with all the lights down or even just off, so nothing's too jarring or distracting...
And just kind of nuzzle into him and cuddle all nice and warm and cozy!
... >.< <3 <3
On the worst days, that's when you can count on GE Saeran to hold you. he knows what you must be feeling when you give him that look that says all he needs to know about it. He hates that there isn't very much he can do to help you feel comfortable with your fears. But, he knows that being there for you, being sympathetic and considerate... that's really what matters to your needs is what matters at the end of the day.
You need someone who gets it and doesn't question why you must do something a dozen times to feel comfortable. He doesn't want the pain to get so bad that you wind up hurting yourself through any of it. Compulsions are hard to combat, and he doesn't want you to think of how you might make things harder on yourself.
What's important is that you have a safe space to feel what you need to feel. It doesn't matter how horribly silly you think you sound when the germs are close, to him it's something that people need to take seriously. You're not comfortable. It doesn't take much to make some minor adjustments for your sake.
Sure, you'll also need to work on some of your habits. But, putting all the work on your shoulders now and nobody else will never improve things. There are ways everyone can pitch in to make you feel safe in your body. It doesn't take much to be considerate. That's how Saeran feels about it.
He won't judge you when you come to him in tears about how tough it was for you to deal with your compulsion today.
He has an open-arm policy ready for you when you need him to be there. What do you need him to do? He'll do whatever you ask so things feel cleaner and safe, and he'll even wait for you to run through your steps so you're not alone when you need to repeat something a few times.
Mainly, he's just there when you need to be compressed in a hug that doesn't feel like you're suffocating. Which, sometimes, that's the best medicine for you. You just want to have no stimuli but the rocking of his heartbeat. The feeling of his hand stroking down your back is the best thing you could ever ask for, right?
"No matter how alone you feel in your fears, I will never leave you to suffer alone in the darkness. I will always be here to lull you to peace until you feel ready to come back to the light," he will murmur against the sound of your heartbeat. "Even if we fall into the darkness on the bad days, there will always be time to find the warmth later. But, for now, let's find peace from the cold together... until you feel ready to talk about it."
