#commercial break: knife | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

safination · 3 months

Text

Partners in Death…and Life

Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself

| Part 1: Radio's Not Dead |Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should be Trusted| Masterlist | ao3 Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Hello, I’m back :D This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got busy. Anyway, thank you for all the likes so far. It motivated me to really finish this chapter. Also once again, I have everything planned out, it really is just a matter of writing it down. *Updated 28/02/2024 Just added some stuff that I thought made sense*

Flick…

Lights flicker above you with a slight buzz. You drape an arm over your eyes when the gleam of the bulb blind you.

The hardwood floors chill your skin, but it’s the sensation of casual loose clothing on your back that warrants your exhale in peace. Just a second. You just need a moment on these hard and chilling floors to ground you… just… one … single … moment to…

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

A stray feather pricks into your arm. The vane tickles, but the barb digs your skin. You’ve called this body ‘yours’ far longer than your human one, yet the feathers that grow on your skin still astound you. You twirl it around your fingers, and wave it in the air like a wand—it’s a proper animalistic feather.

Your nose scrunches into a hard scowl, and you jump up, stomping into the kitchen toward that untouched coffee mug on your counter. Grabbing it, you splash the contents down the sink, letting it flush down the drain.

The sponge is rough against your hands as you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub a̵̯͒n̴̤͝d̶̫͌ ̶͚̇y̶̤̎o̷͔̓u̶̢͐ ̸̓͜s̵̪͗c̸͎͂r̷̀ͅṳ̴̎b̸͖̀ ầ̷̩̯͍̙̳̍͗͘ń̵̰̞̰̕d̴͇̻̮̫̝̓̎̈́ ̶̡̬̬̮̺͗͒́̌͑y̴̙̘̻͇̿̉̐͆ǫ̷͉̟̍̅̑̏ŭ̸̖͓ͅ ̴̛̝͇̭̥̌́́̂s̸̠̑̽̏́c̷̥̺̃̾̊r̶̲̯̈́̈̄͆͊u̵̼̝͕̼̇̍̈́͘b̶͍͖͖̐̾͝.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You rinse the mug, slamming the cupboard door shut when you drop it next to your own clean one. Fingers run through your feather-hair…hair-feather, or your ‘whatever that grows on your scalp’. Some questions you’ve stopped asking.

An audible grumble… well, uhhhhh…. grumbles from where your stomach is placed in this body, and you munch on your lips to keep the inhumane screech from erupting into the kitchen and breaking all kinds of glassware and little knickknacks that Alastor filled your home with.

(These days, the old trinkets collect dust on your shelves. There haven’t been any new ones in years.)

Chopping Hell’s equivalent of carrots calms you. (It’s honestly the use of some type of razor-sharp object that calms you. You’d prefer a different razor-sharp object, but a sharp knife is a sharp knife, no matter the size.) You chop until there’s enough food to make a proper and decent meal that your stomach will accept.

You crash on the couch, dinner secured on a plate, and flip the television switch. Light flashes into the room when you do.

Ad about some impish business—Not interested.

‘Yeah, I fucked your sister, So what?’ — Boring.

Cooking Venison with Vox— Lame.

Settling on the lifestyle network, you munch on your food. Some poor slimy creature flashes across the screen, and it's her home that will be remodeled because of…something. You’re not sure what that something was. You don’t care enough to find out.

The sounds from the television swap with the silence of your living-room as you take each bite. It’s one of the sadder habits you’ve picked up since purchasing this noisy picture box.

Your eyes wander to that half-filled coat rack, while your ears listen in on the show and that woman did not just say that pink would go with brown. Only your singular coat drapes on the hinge, when this particular design was made to hold two.

A commercial plays for some-thing called the Hazbin Hotel.

Your eyes are stitched to the screen until the final note of the song plays, and a different advertisement takes its spot. You take a sip of your drink. Just ą̷̖̯͈͂ ̷̡̧͚̤̩͎̙͇̞͓̟͈̤̝͉͉͉̘̉͐̓́̆́̇̍̐̿̈̄͜͜͜͝͝s̶̨̢̛̥̣̻̱̰̬̩��̥̞̟̳̝͔͓͙̗̗͕̟͇̆̉̿į̴̡̢̠͇̱̤͔̙͎͕͛̑̓̒̀̔͆̓͂̃̚͘͘͠ṗ̶̡̢̨̳͙̦̮͍͓̻͎̲̪̲͕͛̔̐́̐̈́̒̒̉̎͛̆̈́̈́̉̔̑̃̕ͅ.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You blink, and you find your keys locking your front door. Already, your legs are trekking down the garden stones. A flower snarls at you as the gate locks with a click.

Another blink.

Huh…you’re on the bus.

The sign says it’s headed into the city. Living on the outskirts has always been beneficial for you. Not today, though. Today, the one-hour commute makes your feathers bristle.

You read the barely eligible address scribbled on the note, and pat your hair, smoothing the flared feathers sticking out. It seems…

Hmmmmm.

It seems you did not think this through. H-how…How are you going to get to the hotel?

Tagatha calls you a fossil for using one of those flippy telephones. You considered purchasing those fancy telephones with the lights and screens, and loud robotic voices telling you where to turn left, but learning to use a flip-phone brought enough stress for two lifetimes. You’ll happily stay a fossil.

Turns out, you don’t even need the address.

The Hazbin Hotel sticks out. It’s a humongous building with its name written across what you call the sky in blinding neon lights. Your vision zooms in, and you see that the hotel rests on a giant hill at the other edge of the city. Three large neon-lit arrows point to a crudely attached radio tower. Below it, a wooden ship hangs to the side. Circus light bulbs flicker with electricity.

The Hazbin Hotel is an eyesore – it’s exactly what Alastor prefers.

You reach the dinged-up metal gate on the bottom of the hill and reset your hand on the rusted latch. Trekking through the city took a lot, and you were already here. So, why are your legs frozen to the cement? Why does your heartbeat thump in your ears?

“Excuuussseeeee me.”

A snake towers over you. It’s your first time seeing such a slithery specimen as large as him. His hat rests on his hold, and it blinks at you. His hair … or was that skin … puffs out with two red sets of red eyes.

“Can I help you?” you say, warily. Sinners are in hell for a reason.

“Yessssh,” he says, his tongue slithering out. His flaps stick out, all four eyes staring right into your own. “I’d like to be a guessst at this hotel!”

You glance at the eye-sore that’s called a hotel. “I don’t work here.”

His flaps droop. The snake takes a deep breath, and slides the gate open, slithering in with determination in his … er… snake body.

You follow in silence.

The snake matches your pace. “Will you be a guest at this establishment as well?” he asks you. “Or were you given the same sssssuper secret mission?” Just like before, his tongue slithers out—what a funny little odd man.

Bangs grab your attention. When you focus your vision, you see an inky shadow servant striking a nail into broken wood. “Not at all,” you say slowly. “I’m just here to visit someone.”

His flaps open, and three pairs of eyes and a hat meet yours. “I am the great Sir Pentious!” he says with a proud hand on his puffed-up chest. “Inventor. Architect of destruction. Villain extraordinaire!”

You give him your name “….Doctor.”

“It is only the coward who attacks a battler of health.” His flaps droop as he sinks into himself. “You cannot be my rival, I’m afraid.”

“I guess that makes you brave,” you say, humming. The decorations for the hotel are rather dull. Drawn on the middle of the hill, a giant pentagram is etched on the ground. The flowers dwindle on the cliff edge, and do little to combat the grayness surrounding you. “What a shame to hear—I rather love good rivalries.”

The eyes on Sir Pentious’ hat brighten at the same time his own do as well. “Ssssso do I!”

One of the inky shadow servants waves at you.

You wave back.

Light streams from the glass doors. You blink a few times, adjusting to the sudden change of brightness. Circus-themed stained glass decorate the front entrance. One of the less tacky – but still tacky – designs of this hotel.

Sir Pentious taps the glass with the tips of his finger, clinking with each tap, and his eyes water in excitement. His nose crinkles when he takes a deep breath. You weren’t aware he even owned a nose. Sir Pentious fiddles with the flap of his hat, and bangs on the door.

Your smile strains after a minute of banging.

A young lady with long, white hair creaks the door open. You recognize her from the commercial.

Sir Pentious’ flap open and close with each word as he says, “Why, hello, my dear –”

A punch to the face is his reply.

“Oh dear!” you screech. Sir Pentious drops to the ground, and you kneel next to him, a steady hand on his slimy shoulders. “Have you no manners?”

This insolent girl points her spear and stomps a foot on Sir Pentious. She snarls, and her glare hardens.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sir Pentious’ tongue slithers out as he holds a peace-sign. “I come in peacccccceeeee”

“What are you doing here?” Her spear inches closer.

“Vaggies,” another voice calls out. A blonde with a red pantsuit and a bowtie pokes her head, eyes in a squint. O-oh! You know this lady from the commercial. The Princess of Hell … Cady … Char …Charlie Morningstar! “What’s the problem?” Charlie’s eyes widen when she spots you and Sir Pentious, an honest smile drawn on her face. “Oh, hello again! And hello to you as well!”

“Can you please tell this insolent girl to get her food off this gentleman,” you spit, tilting your nose into the air. Your feathers sharpen when you bristle. “And your weapon away from my face.”

Vaggie takes her foot off Sir Pentious. She holds the spear close, but it’s away from your face.

Sir Pentious straightens into a stand, and the group prattles on.

No one bothers to help you. A huff escapes, and you brush the dirt off your skirt. Absolutely no manners. Insolent and ill-mannered. Would Alastor stay in such a place?

You’ve never laid an eye on someone as unique as this Vaggie. Her hair patterns are similar to wings. It’s almost unheard of to see such a prominent ‘x’. Her flared eyelashes resemble a bird. It strikes you silly. Almost everyone in hell resembles a human body with animal characteristics hidden somewhere. This insolent girl doesn’t appear to have any of that – only miniscule feathers made to appear native to Hell.

“Absolutely!” Charlie exclaims to who you think is Angel Dust. (The porn-star, not the drug. Obviously.) Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile on his face. There’s a squeak every time he bobs his head. That hat of his looks nervous. “This place is about second chances and who deserves one more than this…slithery…slippery…special little man.” Charlie takes a peek at you. “Oh, and this feathery…sheddy… and round-eyed woman.”

You do not shed.

You smile at Charlie, and give her your name, “…and I expect it to be used.”

Angel Dust whips to Vaggie. “Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” he says and turns to you. “How are we even sure we can trust this lady – no offense, toots.”

“None taken,” you say, dryly.

Charlie’s eyes water when she turns to Vaggie, who easily relents with a sigh.

You’re thrust through the apple and circus-themed doors, squinting at the chandelier. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the design—it reminds you of those old rolled films. Charlie leads you and Sir Pentious further down the hall, all but pushing you in. Vaggie and Angel Dust lag a few steps behind.

Charlie waves her arms to go into an enthusiastic point. “So…this is our bar,” she says. Husk drops his drink, a scowl on his face, “and the bartender. This is the curtain, and this is the new wall after Sir Pentious broke the last one. And this is—”

Vaggie calms her down.

The bar clashes with the red wallpaper of the hotel. It’s almost as if someone just dropped it there, and etched it to the very wall. The wood is firm underneath your touch and feels exactly like what wood should feel.

You turn towards the bar and take your seat. Husk focuses on his drink. “Hello,” you say with a gentle voice that should not be mistaken for kindness. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Husk chokes and splatter out his drink, but you only smile at him. He coughs and his ears droop low. “Uh…yes,” he starts. “Good to see you as well.”

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

��I’m not.”

“Good.”

You run your finger across the skeleton wrapped around the bar post. A memory tickles your brain. This is one of the many specimens you owned. It took one whole month to strip the muscle off its tight hold on the bones, and another month just to clean, bleach, and wire together. The heads above the bar sign were a gift to you, and the skeletons were your gift back.

The neural spine pokes your finger as you tap each one. “I see you’ve set up shop here.”

Husk scowls, taking another swig of his drink. “Not much of a choice.”

“And tell me,” you start, “how long have you been here?”

Husk doesn’t answer you.

Charlie calls your name, and waves you over. “Over here,” she says pointing to where Niffty plays with some kind of one-eyes cat, “we have our maid—Niffty!”

Niffty hops on Sir Pentious. “The bad boy is back!” she exclaims, pulling him closer, eyes wide and shaking. A bead of sweat drops from Sir Pentious’ hat. “Never leave me again.”

“We’re about 80% sure she’s harmless….” Charlie prattles on.

“Hello, Niffty.” You smile at her.

She jumps off Sir Pentious, landing with a small ‘humph’, and strides to you with her pointy short legs. She calls out your name.

You squat, meeting her eye. “It’s great to see you again—Is Alastor forcing you here?”

Her eyes shine with an innocent type of glee. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She claps her hands. “I get to chase all the bugs here.” Nifftly leans closer to you, giggling. “Can I be strapped to your table again? I love it when you slice me open.”

“Maybe next ti—”

Charlie grabs your arm, hauling you forward. “Oh! Uh, Alastor! Our gracious facility manager! You've met our newest guest Sir Pentious…hehe…,” she tells him. Charlie keeps pulling you, only stopping when you stand before a grand staircase. “These two will be our special wonderful guests!”

Alastor does little to show you what he feels, there’s just that same empty grin.

He bought a new coat, you note. This new one has white streaks on the new collar and less stripes. Guess some things were more important than others.

You slip out of Charlie’s tight grasp. “I think you’re mistaken, my dear,” you say. “I’m not a guest— just a visitor.”

You hold your husband’s gaze and greet him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“It’s good to see you,” you say, a smile drawn on your lips. “How are you doing on this wonderful morning?”

Alastor turns to you, drops an item into his grocery basket, and blinks. “I am amazing!” he says. He grabs your hand with his gloved ones and shakes it. His hands are warmer than you expect them to be. “Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite the pleasure.”

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I’m aware of who you are.”

“Oh, how lovely!” He waves his fingers. “ are you on of my many fans?” His smile strains, and there, you see it, on the corner of his cheek. His nose flares and his smile takes the appearance of a snarl. Maybe it was the other way around.

“A bit,” you admit, adjusting your hold on the basket. “How are your stitches, Sir?”

His eyes widen—brown eyes, you note. “The good doctor!”

“I think you mean the good nurse.”

“Oh yes, yes,” he hums and inches the basket away from your gaze. “I’ve been taking my medicine, and replacing my dressing every three days, just like you said.”

“Good—that’s great to hear. No more accidents?”

“None!” He laughs. “And if one does happen, I’ll be sure to present you with an injury that is only hours old.”

A giggle slips through your lips. “That’s even better to hear,” you say. You clear your throat, tightening the hold on your basket. “I’d hate to take even more of your time. I’ll let you go on with your day.”

A firm grip on the basket handles keeps your feet planted on the glossy floor of the general store. “Not so fast, my dear. I think you still owe me,” he says. Your teeth bare into what you hope is a polite smile. “You promised to show me your marvelous embroidery the next time we meet! You’re not the type of lady to go back on your word now, are you?

“You sure do know how to put such ladies into a tight spot.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light. “I assure you; I don’t mean to. I tend to get very excited about art

“Well, with you holding my integrity hostage, and the addition of such lovely enthusiasm, I find myself having trouble refusing.” You reach into your purse and pull out a clean handkerchief. “Sadly, I wasn’t expecting the general storm to be an art gallery, so this will have to do.”

And there it is again, that same breathy and light laughter. “They really do have everything in here

Alastor takes your handkerchief with steady enthusiasm, studying each stitch carefully. It’s one of your simpler designs—tiny flower bouquets scattered across the fabric. Your eyes are drawn to the contents of his basket: rope, strong acids, latex gloves, rolls of plastic wrap, and other such interesting items.

“You have such beautiful handiwork.”

“You can keep it if you wish,” you tell him. “I have thousands back home, and I’m always weak to such flattering compliments— a real boost to my ego.”

“Splendid!” Alastor slips the handkerchief into his coat. “I love receiving gifts from fans.”

You smile at him to hide your frown. You are not some fan-girl. “Of course.”

Alastor is following you.

The conversation ended several beats of silence ago, but he trails behind your every step. You skip the aisle where they sell produce, stop to grab some eggs, ask the butcher for 50g of chicken liver, and smile back when he smiles back. You sigh and lead Alastor to the end of the general store, and into an aisle.

You snatch a glass bottle of chemicals off the shelf—they really do have everything here. “Going for a hunt soon?” you ask, and read the label.

His smile brightens as he says, “Why yes! There was this wonderful prey that I spotted the other day, and I’m just dying to have his head hanging on my wall.”

You offer him the bottle. “You have a lovely coat. It would be a shame for it to be ruined by stains,” you say. “This always does the trick when dealing with the redder parts of my job.”

He takes the bottle from you.

“Take this as well,” you say and reach into your basket. “It’s the last bottle of 12% hydrogen peroxide in this store, but you need it more than I do. A ratio of fifty-fifty of this and a bit of hair developer in a bucket of water should brighten up your bones. Just let it soak for a day. Oh…and just in case, those two chemicals are safe to mix. You should avoid doing so, but an accident wouldn’t hurt you.”

Alastor offers his basket, and you drop the bottle along with the other hazardous substances. “You sound certain.”

“That is because I am.”

Fate has granted you a humorous shopping companion, and you decide to stop fighting it. Alastor follows you to the bread aisle.

You point to the top shelf. “Can you…?”

He drops the bread into your basket, and stares at you with what you think is curious tenacity.

“My father works as a butcher,” you say, sighing. “He prides himself on catching the venison he sells. We don’t believe in wasting a precious body, so we use it until there is nothing left to give. He came back from his own hunt and wanted to add another antler to his display

Alastor hums. “Won’t you need these then?”

“There’s still a bit leftover sitting in his workshop. I just came to get an extra bottle.”

Alastor continues to follow. “Do you often aid your father in his work?”

“Not as frequent as when I was a teen, but I still aid him when I have the time to do so,” you say. “It’s how I got to be so normal around a knife —the sharp ones are the best, they cut right through the skin, and with enough force, the bones as well. I keep a little collection of bones at home.”

“Such interesting hobbies you have.”

You pick up two coffee bags and hum. “Thank you.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him and reach out to straighten it. Alastor jerks away and spins to reach into the shelf behind you. “I rather detest owing favors, and you have done me two,” he says, offering you an entirely different brand of coffee beans. “I suggest you try this one. It’s flavors are far richer.”

You offer your basket and Alastor drops it right in.

You eye his basket once more. “Will that be all you’re purchasing?”

He nods, smiling at you.

You smile back.

Well, isn’t this just lovely? Well-dressed gentlemen really are your favorite.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie whips her head, mouth wide as she stares at you and then at Alastor. Angel Dust has an arm on his hips, his brows furrowed and mouth quirked to the side an awkward but rather cute frown. Sir Pentious’ hat squints at you with what you assume is confusion—you can’t really tell. Sir Pentious’s tongue sticks out of his bewildered and crooked frown. “Oh! How nice,” Charlie says after a beat. “So, you two know each other?”

“Partners,” you say

“Friends,” Alastor says

Your smile strains as you say, “To be called a friend by the Radio Demon is quite the honor.” Alastor wipes his monocle with a proud puff.

Angel Dust whistles, leaning on the railing with the first set of arms crossed, and the second propped on his hip. “Didn’t think Freak would be the type to have friends.”

“Neither did I!” You say with a loud laugh. “Well, that’s what I am – a f̵̼̎r̴͔̃i̶̦̍e̶͕͠ṋ̸̀d̶͚̋.” You smoothen your puffed-up feathers. “Apologies.”

More introductions are done. Charlie insists on giving Sir Pentious his first lesson on apology. It goes about as well as you think.

Charlie winces a bit “….Ooooookay,” she says and inhales to plaster a huge smile. “Why don’t we… uh… take a look at the kitchen!”

Angel Dust takes one look at Charlie’s enthusiasm, winces, and says he’s getting a drink.

Charlie’s death grip on Sir Pentious stays firm as you trudge to the kitchen. She stalls at every painting to explain its history, and introduces every crack on the wall, showing it off with an enthusiastic glee. Even the water-stained wallpaper gets its own special moment during the tour. (Where is that ill-mannered girl when you need her?)

You lag a few steps behind. “Alastor…”, you say as a greeting.

Alastor matches your pace, using his microphone as a cane. With the very tip of his fingers, he plucks a stray feather off your hair with a coy smile that reaches from ear to ear. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering how I’ve been fairing these last few years,” he says, spinning that microphone of his and waving his hand like some kind of street performer.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, I know I’ve been absent for some time,” he starts. “It’s nothing serious; I assure you. It’s nothing I cannot handle as well.”

“My goodness, and here I thought you were occupied at work.” Your teeth flash when you smile. “But in any case, it’s quite… kind… of you to soothe what little worry this friend might have for you.” Alastor and his microphone laugh at you, but you hum with satisfaction when his eyes narrow into a glare.

Charlie and Sir Pentious wave their hands, calling you from across the hall, and you hasten your steps.

The kitchen intimidates you. So many large and metallic machines. You’re sure it would be a living hell should you ever need to operate such an unorthodox set of appliances.

Copper-red tables fill the space, and similar colored cabinets stick to the wall. Such peculiar stoves they have in this establishment. There seems to be no space for the gas tank, nor a gas burner, just some flat glass with weird markings. You prefer the appliances stashed at your home.

“This…,” Charlie starts, winding her arms to a point, “…is the kitchen!”

Sir Pentious’ flaps extend, his arms rocking with excitement. “Such lovely metallic inventions.” He slithers to counter with a dip that appears to mimic some kind of skin. There’s some type of yellow liquid. “This bubbly torture deviccceeee is my favorite.”

“Uhhhhhh…I love that you love the kitchen appliance,” she says with an honestly gentle smile. “But that’s actually an oil fryer.” Charlie crosses her arm into a big ‘x’. “But no torturing is done here, no siree.”

“What a peculiar shape for an oil fryer to be,” you say, taking a look. Alastor glances over your shoulder to take a peek as well. “And there’s so much metal around—did you run out of paint, perhaps?”

Charlie frowns, her shoulder dropping low. “I’d love to add different colors to the machine, but Vaggie says it would take up too much money and time.”

Her frown lasts a second before she’s smiling again.

“Oh oh oh! You should take a look around. See if there’s anything you might want to add.” Charlie drags you towards one of the cabinets at the back. “We each have a shelf dedicated to our own snacks, but I always love to leave cookies on the communal snack pantry.”

Charlie prattles on, introducing each section of the cabinet. You watch Alastor warily when he shows his teeth. He wiggles his fingers across the air, reaching towards the shelf where Charlie just mentioned Vaggie storing her personal snacks. You slam the cabinet door before he reaches them.

Soft static fills the kitchen air.

“Go on,” Charlie urges. “Take a look around – I know some species of Sinners have specific dietary needs.” She props a hand on her chin. “Like Angel! He can’t seem to be able to have any milk—I wonder why? But he just keeps drinking it anyway for some reason.”

Does the Princess of Hell not know what Lactose Intolerance is? Maybe because she’s never lived as a human. It’s quite humorous, you suppose. A hell-born trying to guide a human, with little to no insight about humanity. Could this be the reason why she’s so naively optimistic?

Sir Pentious’ smile widens, and so does his flap. “You’re… giving…me permission to poke around?”

“Er…yes?”

You open a random cabinet door, and huh…

On the shelf, towards the back, you have the same set of spices in your own kitchen. One of the bottles here has its label stained and fraying at the edges. Another bottle is nearing empty, and the corner of the cap has been chipped off. There was a time, when your own set of spices was stained with oil, and its label frayed because of the constant picking to the edges.

Yesterday, you threw out a set of unopened bottles of spices, its seal still clinging to the caps and brimming with unused flavor, and replaced it with the same set of sealed spices. It’s a waste of your money to keep throwing out something that you never use, but…but…you find it in your grocery basket every single time.

Alastor closes the cabinet with a gentle click.

Your smile fades, and he holds your gaze.

“You are shedding all over my kitchen floors.” Alastor presents you with a bundle of your feathers bunched up on his palm. His grin mocks you.

You turn away, heading where Charlie and Sir Pentious converse. You do not shed.

Alastor pops out of your shadow, towering over you as he inches closer. “Long day?” he says with a hum, that smile still on his face. “You don’t usually start molting until the mid-summer.”

“Oh yes,” you say with a hum, that frown still on your face. “This day has been quite long. How very generous of you to check up on this friend of yours.”

He holds the feathers he’s collected, examining them with a careful eye. “With this rate, you’ll be able to gift a whole pillow.”

Your frown deepens. “Lovely,” you murmur. “I’ll make sure to do so.”

Alastor twirls his microphone and lands it with a soft thunk. He studies you for a second. “Rosie’s last husband got eaten by a shark,” he says. “Not even a loan shark—just a proper dead shark. She swore vengeance on the creature for taking a bite before she had a chance to.”

“What?” you say, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Is that what happened to him? She would be so vague about it when I ask.”

Alastor draws a line along his face, mimicking a smile with his fingers. “Much better, indeed.”

Charlie insists on showing the view from the top of the Hotel. Her arms cross around your own as she chatters about everyone and everything. It’s refreshing to meet a soul as honest as hers.

The elevator ride is painfully slow. The music strains your ears, and this battered metal death box jerks with every floor.

Sir Pentious and his hat scowl at the ‘absolutely inferior ssssmmelting of this handle, Charlie’ and ‘this piss poor wiring. The endsss are not aligned to the proper sssssafety guidelineeeesss’ or something.

Charlie listens in on every word, nodding to indicate that she hears each and everyone. It makes you smile. Alastor picks at your stray feathers with the tip of his fingers, preening the areas you have difficulty reaching.

Moments too late, the elevator doors open with that heavenly ding.

“The view up here is helltastically a-mazing!” Charlie informs the group. “Alastor, you often hide up here or inside the radio tower. It’s really good, right?”

Alastor switches his hold on the microphone, swinging to catch it. “Quite helltastic indeed!” he says. “ I get to see the whole city underneath my very feet.”

Sir Pentious nods. “I, too, would love to sssseee the city underneath me!”

Alastor swings a door open, gesturing for the group to enter like a gentleman. Charlie whispers an audible ‘awww’ at the sight and saunters right in. Sir Pentious follows along, slithering behind her.

He shuts the door when you take a step forward, separating you from Charlie and Sir Pentious.

There’s still that never ending smile on his lips as Alastor strides to the other end of the hallway, playing with his microphone. You follow behind in silence. Alastor opens a different door, and this time, you step through.

Alastor closes the door, leaving you and him together, alone, on this flimsy balcony. He beams at you, taking a step forward—

You slap him.

Radio static glitches from his microphone. There, on the corner of his cheek, you see the strain in his smile. His eyes harden into a glare, his nostrils flare, and his smile takes on the appearance of a snarl.

The air around you starts to gray with static. Symbols carve themselves into the space.

You slap him again, staring down at him.

“Is that all you came to do?” Alastor says to you with a low snarl, but the symbols dissolve and his antlers shrink.

You turn towards the view, propping a hand on your chin. “Such harsh words for a friend,” you say with a sarcastic smile. “It’s a wonder why you don’t have more with such a dazzling personality. At any rate, it’ll be impossible to find yourself a wife.”

His eyes twitch, and Alastor strikes the ground with his microphone. “Well, consider it an honor,” he says, inching closer, mimicking your smile. “Not many can say such words to me, much less be able to strike my flesh

“Maybe they should—someone certainly has to.”

Alastor still has a smile—he always has a smile. You watch as his eyes morph into radio dials, and the absolute audacity of that man to look at you like that.

Your feathers sharpen and crack at the sight. “D̷̝̈́o̷̞͊n̷̟̂'̷̗̏ť̵͔ ̴̱̀f̷̳̓u̴͍̓c̷̛͕ḳ̵͝ ̴̲̽w̸̞̑í̵̞t̴̼̐ḥ̷͝ ̵̫͌m̸̻̔e̸̡͘!— you never have, so don’t start. Don’t test me—not today, my deerest,” you say, hissing at him.

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he says, glancing down at you. “Unless you are a child, I expect you to use your words.”

“You know I’m not just some friend — you do not allow yourself to make such connections. We’re partners,” you tell him, and you don’t know why you remind him when he should already know. Was it in fear that he forgot? “But you left without as much as a word.”

“Was it that I left? Or was it that I left you?” Alastor says with casualty as if to show you such dismissal, and oh…yes, your husband can be a cruel man, indeed. Time and sweet smiles made you forget.

You rub your hands on your face, taking one deep breath. “I want what I deserve—an explanation,” you say. “That’s all I need as your wife.”

It’s his silence that makes you turn away.

“I see…” Your face falls. “Perhaps, it was a mistake to seek you out. A fool’s errand.”

You study the sinners below. The whole city really can be seen from underneath your very feet. (You ignore the trembling of your fists. You’re a doctor, for fucks sake. Your hands don’t tremble…at least, they never have before.)

Hesitant, but gentle touches pick at your feathers. Alastor preens you with warm hands. “You are not a fool, my love,” he says. “I would not be yours if such were the case.”

You harden your heart for you cannot let this man see the cracks. “This is not what I wish to hear,” you say, voice steady.

Alastor does not answer you.

“Will you just stay silent every time?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you meet his gaze. You hold it as much as he holds yours. “ There is not a thing in this world that you do not do without reason,” you say slowly. “However, I’m not sure if your silence is because you cannot or if it’s because you will not explain yourself to me. Which is it?”

There is nothing on his face that you can read, just a small steady smile that tells you nothing. “I will not.”

“I know you, my deerest, and I know that you’ve never once led me astray.” Your grip on the railing tightens painfully. This day has been long. “Then all I need is your word that you will return to me with that smile of yours when you’ve accomplished what you need to do.”

Alastor smiles at you, twirling his microphone. “We can even shake on it.”

You shake your head. “This is not a deal,” you say. “This is your wife demanding that you do so.”

“Then it shall be done,” Alastor says, inching close enough for his warmth to spread. He turns to you and pokes his cheeks to indicate a smile. "You look much more radiant with one."

You bare your teeth at him, giving a dry smile. “Much better?”

“Indeed.”

You study the sinners below once more, but this time your hands stay steady next to Alastor’s own. Well, Charlie was correct, the view is helltastic. The entertainment district blinds you, but only for a second. And when you sharpen your vision, you can faintly make out acid clouds forming on the outskirts of the city. You should have grabbed an umbrella on your way out.

“I heard you on the radio today,” you say.

He glances at you, his smile widening ever so slightly with smugness. “And you came all this way for me?”

“Well, that is what good friends do for each other.”

Alastor points his nose to the air with a huff.

“I only jest, my deerest,” you say, chuckling at him. “ I came all the way here to see if I’ve been widowed a second time, or just dumped like a common rag.”

“Is that so?”Alastor hums with dissatisfaction. “I’m sure you mentioned something about not noticing such a long disappearance.”

You hold his gaze, inching your hand to cup his cheek. You stop inches above his skin, and your palm hovers enough for Alastor to feel the warmness you hold on your hands. “Don’t pout, my deer,” you tell him, softly, oh so very soft as you caress the air. “Of course, I noticed your absence.”

You clap your hands together with the brightest and most innocent smile you can muster.

“But if I told you that, my deerest,” you start, “I feared that big head of yours would implode if I fed your ego.”

Alastor laughs, and his real voice bleeds in as he does. “That humor of yours has been my most wonderful companion all these years.”

You smile with satisfaction. “My, my, you make such fine compliments.”

His smile relaxes. “I do, indeed!”

“Just as you say that my humor makes a fine companion,” you say as you laugh, bright and heavy, “that smile of yours has been mine.”

A knock breaks the moment.

The door swings open, slow and hesitant. Charlie pokes her head, and her hair droops to the sideways. Behind her, Sir Pentious waves at you. You wave back.

“Oooooooohhhh….yikes,” Charlie says, shrinking deeper into the door. “Am I interrupting? I could just go an—”

“Not at all my dear,” you say. “Come right in. You have such a lovely view, and things like this are better when shared.”

Charlie swings the door wider, sauntering right in, and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “You could live here as well!” she says. Behind her, Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. “We accept everyone.”

You flicker your gaze to Alastor. “I already have a home,” you find yourself saying. “And this place is far too close to the city. So much honking and blasting aren’t good for my ears.”

Charlie pouts, but she doesn’t press you.

The view is better when shared. Charlie points at every detail and explains everything you see. The sky darkens to a red, and too soon, it’s time to leave.

There’s a warm, but firm, hand resting on your back when you walk out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. Alastor keeps his hands steady, even when you reach the common room.

Vaggie is the first to greet your group—well, it’s more appropriate to say she greets Charlie, and you just happen to be there. There’s a bag by her feet. “I was able to find the costumes you need for the exercise,” she says. “Even the giant lollipop is here.”

Charlie squeals. “Thank you thank you thank you!” Her excited gaze filters to you. “I have this wonderful game in mind, and then we could fo a bit of some of that good ol’ roleplay.” Angel Dust quirks a smile from the couch. “You should totally sta—”

“I’m afraid not,” Alastor says, drumming his fingers on his microphone. “I think it’s time for our visitor to head home. She’s had quite a long day.”

“Oh, of course. No worries!” Charlie says, giving you a bright smile—a real genuine and honest smile. “Feel free to come by anytime. The Hazbin Hotel’s doors will always be open should you change your mind.”

Vaggie scratches her face. “Before you go, I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she says. “It wasn’t right of me to be so hostile—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, my dear. I understand,” you say quickly, ignoring the static behind you. “You were protecting something you cared about. I find great value in those who do.”

Vaggie smiles, and maybe she’s not too bad after all. “Thank you.”

From the couch, Angel Dust props his legs and waves at you. “And you’re welcome to open these doors any day.”

Alastor leads you to the door. You wave back at Niffty and Sir Pentious, whose eyes water as he frowns. Alastor’s hand stays firm as you trudge down the hill, past the rusted gate, into the city, and to the correct bust stop.

“You sure know how to find the most interesting groups of people, my deer,” you say. “Charlie and that hotel of hers are wonderful.”

Alastor adjusts his monocle. “Well, you know me. I see potential, and I follow it wherever it leads.”

“Should I be worried?” you say, chuckling. “The last time you saw potential, it ended with us married.”

“Not at all, my love.”

“You should continue to stay at the hotel,” you find yourself saying. “There’s just something about it—I think you’ll pick up quite a lot from your time there.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him, and reach out to straighten it. Alastor inches closer. The fabric is smooth underneath your touch. There’s stray lint on the shoulder of his coat, and you brush that away. You grab the lapes and adjust its fit, smoothing the fabric beneath your fingers.

“Much better?” he asks.

“Indeed,” you say, softly.

“I will see you soon,” he says, and you hear the unspoken promise and question hidden beneath his words.

“Good.”

Alastor tilts your chin with the tips of fingers. (And oh…oh. His gloves are off, and his hands are warmer than ever) He presses his lips on your cheek.

That blasted bus arrives too soon. You step inside, but turn to your husband and say, “Next time, when you disappear for several years, I expect to be informed and not just left with a vague note,” you say with a huff. “And when you return, I also expect to be the first to be informed.”

“Of course.”

“See to it that you keep your word.”

The bus door closes, and you take your seat. You smile to yourself and lean back on the crusty bus fabric. Patting your pocket, you take out a single gold band, slipping it on your finger.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

That habit of recklessness in moments of excitement was something your father hoped you’d grow out of. Thinking things through never really was one of your many strengths when such an exhilarating opportunity presents itself.

You scold yourself for not double-checking for gloves. Measure twice, cut one, and all that. But no matter, you’ll push through as always, clawing and digging to unearth the treasure left behind.

Your scalpel fits into your palms. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You sigh, breathy and exhilarated, and begin.

‘First, do no harm’

But this…this does not harm a single living being.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should Be Trusted| If you guys know who Olivia and Stolar are, that's what I imagine when I think about the reader's hair. Also, maybe some of you noticed, but I'm very relaxed when it comes to formatting my writing. Its why I use quite a lot of ellipses and em dashes and utilize italics and spaces. But the one thing I was very strict about was not to use the word, "miss". So there are no "You miss..." and "I miss..." But the words are there and spoken beneath actions and thoughts, hidden and unspoken, but known. My inbox is always open because I'd like to know what your favorite unspoken "I miss you" is/are. I have my own favorite ones as well.

#alastor x reader #Alastor x wife!reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #Hazbin x reader #Hazbin Hotel imagines #Hazbin imagines #Hazbin Hotel x reader #alastor #alastor x wife reader

484 notes · View notes

iliveinyourceiling65 · 2 months

Text

SoC incorrect quotes

part 8 :)

Kaz: How did none of you hear what I just said? Jesper: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours. Wylan: I got distracted about halfway through. Nina: Ignoring you was a conscious decision

Jesper, pointing: May I sit there? Wylan: That's my lap Jesper: That doesn't answer my question, Wylan.

Matthias: You really put aside everything and came all this way to break me out of Hellgate? How did you even get here so fast? Inej: Several traffic violations. Kaz: Three counts of resisting arrest. Nina: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks. Jesper: Also, that’s not our car.

Kaz: I just ended a four year relationship. Inej: Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Kaz: Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. It wasn’t my relationship. *Nina and Matthias fighting from across the room

Random person :How many kids do you have? Colm : Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

Nina: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife? Wylan: Rude. Kaz: That’s fair. Jesper: Not again. Inej: Are you going to want this back?

Matthias: Nina... How do I begin to explain Nina? Inej: Nina is flawless. Jesper: I hear her hair's insured for $10,000. Wylan: I hear she does car commercials... in Ravka. Kaz: One time she punched me in the face... it was awesome.

Nina: *Gets down on one knee* Kaz: Oh my god, it’s finally happening. Nina: *Falls over* Kaz: The poison is kicking in

Matthias: Nothing in life is free. Nina: Love is free! Inej: Adventure is free. Wylan: Knowledge is free. Kaz Everything is free if you take it without paying

#inej ghafa #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #nina zenik #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #six of crows #soc incorrect quotes

200 notes · View notes

chaos0pikachu · 7 months

Text

why did nobody tell me Kiseki Dear to Me went so hard??

Lemme break down the first 2 mins of episode one where a twink & a twunk walk out of prison and you know it's prison b/c the twinks hair needed some conditioner STAT and then rolls up this boss sports car out pops this gang looking dude with That Undercut Haircut and Thee Eyebrows that anyone who's watched History Trapped or Kinnposche knows what I'm talking about, tosses the Twink over his shoulder like a feral murder kitten and then we're whooshing to a flashback where 17 yr old twunk goes to pick up a quarter like any well respecting poor does (get that money!) when some feral but ridiculous hot dude covered in blood from the tumblr sonnets grabs his arm and Twunk is just channeling the Mariah Carey.I Don't Know Her.gif and Bloody Hot Dude is like here baby take my knife oop now you're implicated in my murder!! and has to take home this bloodied jean jacket 90s levi's commercial man to his house like being broke ain't hard enough

and then!! and then the episode ends with one of the hottest men in gang tv slitting a dude's throat while deep throating a lollipop I am ENTHRALLED

#kiseki: dear to me #taiwanese bl #taiwanese bl how I have missed you #plus there's legit old men yaoi????#I need thailand to get on y'alls level frfr #chaos pikachu speaks #pikachu's chaotic recaps

202 notes · View notes

kitkatomo · 9 months

Text

Yes, Chef

Content: workplace omo, kitchen omo, boss/employee power dynamic, bladder control, bladder desperation

Customers never realize how fucking hot a commercial kitchen is.

With ovens and stovetops and grills and the dishwasher constantly emitting waves of heat, it's no small wonder that sweat pours down the backs of everyone who works in one. All that gross sweating, however, has an unintended side effect: constant thirst and a need to replenish oneself with water.

Why, you yourself often find yourself drinking close to a gallon of water during an average long weekend shift. As an entry-level chef, you spend your days rushing around the kitchen at the orders of your seniors, so you work up quite a thirst.

And with that thirst comes another little problem.

It's 8 o'clock pm, several hours into your shift, when you feel the first twinge of your heavy bladder. It's been a hot day, and you've kept yourself very well-hydrated as you worked on a constant stream of chopped vegetables for the head chef's newest creation.

It's 8 o'clock pm, and you need to pee. No big deal, you normally take a 5-minute break at this time anyway as long as all of your assigned vegetables are prepped. As you reach behind you to peel off your apron, about to shout that you're taking 5, you hear a cry of pain from down the line.

"Shit, she needs stitches," you hear the sous chef shout, "You down there! Come debone and fillet the salmon!"

He is pointing at you. You swallow heavily as you re-tie your apron, the band pressing lightly on your aching, swollen bladder.

"Yes, chef!" you shout in reply as you carefully make your way down the line. From this point, you can see the head chef, and he clearly sees you too. He tilts his head, looking thoughtful for just a moment, before resuming his own work.

The fish is heavy, and you have to lean on the counter as you drag it towards you. Your bladder twinges, full to bursting and unable to be emptied. From this spot in the kitchen, you can hear the water drip, drip, dripping from the faucet as more fish is being thawed in cold running water. With every drip, your thighs squeeze together as a drip of a different kind threatens to escape your body.

It isn't as hot at the fish prep station, but you can feel yourself sweating as you carefully pick the bones out of the salmon and break it down into proper fillets. You lean hard on the counter to pull it closer, and to your horror you feel a tiny drop of pee leak out of you. You squeeze your thighs tighter, hoping against hope that it isn't visible on your dark trousers.

It's 9 o'clock, you need to pee and you're not sure how much time you have until it happens one way or another.

Finally, the fish is completely prepped. Sighing with relief, you reach behind you to untie your apron when a pair of strong hands stop you.

"Where do you think you're going?" a low voice asks you, the quiet tone noticeable in the cacophony of the kitchen. It's the head chef, his fingers brushing the inside of your wrist. You shiver, and you can't tell if it's from his touch or your own desperation.

"T-to the bathroom, sir," you reply, trying not to flush red.

He hums in thought.

"We're in the middle of dinner rush."

"I know, I j-just, it'll only be 5 minutes, please–"

"No, you can wait. I need rosemary prepped for the special tomorrow."

"Sir, please, I can't–"

"Yes, you can. You're not leaving this kitchen until you've stripped all the leaves from the rosemary. And none of that cheating shit either, do it properly. One. By. One."

"Yes, chef," you mutter, then set down your fish station knife. Washing your hands is a special kind of torture, the warm water only a reminder of the warmth sloshing around in your body, threatening to burst at any moment. You hobble back to your original station, trying not to make it obvious that you're squeezing your legs together.

The rosemary pile is huge. You know what the head chef needs for the special: pluck the leaves off the rosemary, one by one, then roll and finely mince them. Crossing your legs, you begin to work on the seemingly Sisyphean task before you.

Pluck.

Your bladder throbs once, twice, nearly in time with the plucks. It's good that you aren't holding a knife right now as your hands begin to tremble.

"Keep going," the head chef murmurs to you as he passes by to observe your work, "And make sure you drink up. We can't have you getting dehydrated."

He sets a cold water with a straw next to your station, the straw just long enough that you can take a sip... if you press against the counter.

The sip is cool, but the metal edge of the table digs in hard between your hipbones. You hold back a groan as you feel a tickle at your urethra, realizing that things are beginning to get dire.

At this rate, you're not sure if you'll make it to the end of the rosemary, much less the last hour until the restaurant closes at 10:30.

"Chef, please–" you nearly whimper. He subtly, as if he were inspecting your knife work, reaches around your front and lightly pokes your bulging bladder with three fingers. You feel another drop, more like a leak, spurt out of you and into your trousers.

"Keep up the good work," is all he says before leaving again.

You can feel his dark eyes watching you from wherever he goes in the kitchen as you keep plucking that damned rosemary.

Pluck.

Not one single stem enters the finished herb pile. You see the head chef pointedly glance at the cold water he brought you, and you drink as directed. It hits your bladder almost as soon as it enters your throat, and you nearly moan as the pressure ratchets higher.

It hurts, oh god, the pressure hurts. But also...

You can feel arousal simmering in your body. Whether from the bladder pressure, the thrilling fear of wetting, or the head chef's dark eyes and strict orders, you know that the throbbing in your lower body isn't just from your bladder anymore.

The rosemary is stripped. It's 5 minutes to 10 pm and with deep breaths to steady your hands, you begin to finely mince it. Mincing doesn't take long, so within ten minutes, you have a large bowl of it ready for the special.

"Very nice work," the head chef says as he inspects your bowl, "I think you deserve your reward, don't you?"

"Yes, chef," you nearly gasp. Relief so close, yours at last!

"You're excused from cleanup duty tonight and can go home early," he says loudly to the groans of the other chefs nearby, before dropping his voice to a whisper, "Go into the old maintenance closet inside my office and stand on the mop drain. Don't let anyone see you."

"Ch-chef?"

He licks his lips, his eyes somehow darker than before.

"I want to see it happen. I want to see you let go, all over yourself," he murmurs, "Can you do that for me?"

Arousal and desperation roar inside your head. You nod, slowly, and see his eyes flash.

"How long do I have to–?"

"Until everyone else is gone."

"But, sir, that's usually midnight on Saturdays!"

"Then you'll hold until midnight. Don't you dare lose it early."

You take a shaky breath.

"Yes, chef."

You head to the staff room to get your things, then sneak over to the head chef's office instead of leaving out the back door after ensuring the coast was clear.

You set your things on his desk and open the old and disused maintenance closet. The mop floor drain is right there, and you lean heavily on the wall, bouncing up and down and crossing your legs.

It's 10:30 pm and the restaurant has closed. Outside of this tiny room and your own protesting body, you can hear your colleagues cleaning up their stations. With any luck, things will go quickly tonight.

If not... midnight.

Midnight is when the head chef will reappear.

Midnight is when you can finally let go, and maybe find some relief of a different kind.

Midnight.

An hour and a half away.

You can make it.

It's only an hour and a half.

You grip yourself hard over your pants and close your eyes, trying not to focus on the pressure inside of you, the pee swelling your lower belly to a softball-sized hard lump.

Drip.

#omorashi #bladder control #bladder desperation #male omorashi #female omorashi

361 notes · View notes

sheriffaxolotl · 3 months

Text

Fallen: A Path to Redemption (Chapter 4) Alastor x Reader

Word count: 5,879

✿ Friends to Lovers ✿ Slow Burn ✿ Eventual Romance ✿

♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡

Well, you should have expected this.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, weighing heavily on everyone present. You could practically feel the disappointment radiating from Charlie and Vaggie, their expressions mirroring the disaster unfolding on the screen.

Alastor's voice cut through the heavy silence, a smug edge creeping into his tone as he reveled in the chaos he had unleashed. "So, what do you think?" he inquired, his crimson eyes alight with amusement.

Vaggie didn't mince her words, her frustration boiling over as she unleashed her pent-up frustration. "I'm sorry. What the fuck was that?" Her voice crackled with indignation, the sharpness of her words slicing through the air like a blade.

You offered a strained smile, feeling the discomfort in the air settle like a heavy blanket. It was clear that this wasn't the reaction anyone had hoped for. But before the tension could escalate further, Charlie interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension.

"Uh, yeah. One note, Alastor," she began, her words cautious as she navigated the delicate balance of criticism and gratitude. "I mean, first off, thank you so much for making this, seriously amazing, but um, maybe the tone is a bit off. We want people to want to come here. This makes it look, um..."

“Bad. The word you're looking for is bad,” Vaggie cut in, her glare unwavering as she addressed the radio demon.

The tension in the room became almost palpable, making you shift nervously and fiddle with the collar of your shirt, eager for some resolution to the discomfort.

"Funny. I was going for hilarious," Alastor retorted with a chuckle, his tone dripping with amusement. You shot him a pointed glance, suppressing the urge to reach over and pinch his ears, though the temptation was strong. Yet, you knew better than to provoke the powerful demon – your life wasn't worth the risk.

As the argument between Alastor and the others continued, you found yourself tuning out their voices, the incessant chatter grating on your already frayed nerves. Rubbing your temples in frustration, you couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment bubbling up within you.

You had tried to convince Alastor to let you help with the commercial, eager to lend your expertise and make a meaningful contribution to the project. But he had dismissed your offers with a wave of his hand, keeping you occupied with menial tasks and endless piles of paperwork.

It felt like you had been running around non-stop for the past week, playing catch-up with the never-ending stream of administrative work that seemed to pile up faster than you could tackle it. Who knew that running a small hotel could generate so much paperwork?

But as the voices around you continued to drone on, the weight of exhaustion settling like a heavy fog around you, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever catch a break. And as you stole a glance at Alastor, who seemed unfazed by the chaos unfolding around him, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his dismissive attitude than met the eye.

Maybe he was being like this towards you because of the Voxtech radio he found. Maybe.

As Vaggie's voice pierced through the room like a knife, her words dripping with frustration and disappointment, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. Her impassioned plea cut straight to the heart of the matter, laying bare the simmering resentment that had been bubbling just beneath the surface.

"Oh, fun? You had a little fun with it?!" Vaggie exclaimed, her hands gesturing at him with each word. "Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here a week ago, you told us you would help run this hotel. Instead, you're mocking us. Nobody's gonna wanna come to a place that a powerful overlord like you thinks is a waste of time."

The tension in the room thickened as her words hung in the air, the weight of her accusation settling heavily on Alastor's shoulders. Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, he remained unruffled, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he regarded Vaggie with an air of detached amusement. Without a second thought, you spoke up to fill the silence.

"We'll give it another shot, Vaggie. I assure you, Alastor simply needs some time to adjust to this new—"

Your words were cut short as a sudden movement caught your eye, drawing your attention to Angel Dust, who raised a hand from his lounging position on the couch, instantly commanding the focus of the room.

"What?" Vaggie grumbled, clearly not in the mood for interruptions.

"If you're filming a commercial, can I suggest you take better advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?" Angel chimed in, his flamboyant gestures emphasizing his point as he reached for a bottle with one arm while the other three gestured toward himself.

"Angel, you're a porn star," Vaggie retorted, her tone dripping with exasperation.

A sudden realization struck you like a bolt of lightning, and your eyes widened in surprise. 'Oh! That's where you know Angel from!' you thought, piecing together the puzzle of his familiar face. Memories of hastily averted eyes and flustered embarrassment flooded back to you – you had stumbled upon advertisements for his work before, though you had quickly looked away, not wanting to indulge in such content. Caught up in your revelation, you had momentarily lost track of the conversation unfolding around you.

“Why not? Sex sells don't it? I swear if you film me going at it with Mr. fancy talk creepy voice here, you'd be rolling in participants willing to stay at this tacky hotel.” Angel Dust interjected, his voice laced with a provocative edge. You whipped your head in his direction, your lips parting in shock at his brazen suggestion.

Alastor appeared beside the couch where Angel was lounging, his chuckle reverberating through the room. "Ha ha. Never going to happen," he declared, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.

"Angel, I appreciate your willingness to utilize your... talents to attract guests to the hotel, but I really don't want to exploit you in that way," Charlie interjected, her voice tinged with nervousness as she attempted to diffuse the tension. But Angel, true to form, only made matters worse.

"Oh, please, baby," Angel continued, his tone dripping with innuendo. "This body was made to be exploited. I got the arms, I got the stamina, I got the legs. I got the lung capacity." He let out a raucous laugh. "Oh, I got the legs. The gag reflex, the holes, the chest fluff everyone thinks are tits."

As Angel's explicit remarks filled the air, a deep blush crept up your cheeks, the heat of embarrassment spreading like wildfire across your face. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, desperately seeking refuge from this moment.

With a quick glance around the room, you found yourself unable to meet anyone's gaze, your embarrassment threatening to consume you whole. Charlie's sudden departure provided a welcome distraction, and you seized the opportunity to avert your gaze, pretending to be engrossed in something on the table in front of you.

"I could keep going all night, baby," Angel's voice floated after her, his mischievous tone dripping with suggestive undertones.

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips at his words, though you couldn't deny the lingering flush of embarrassment that still tinged your cheeks. "Please, don't," you interjected weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You offered a polite smile, though it did little to mask the turmoil of emotions swirling beneath the surface. It wasn't that you judged Angel for his openness—or that he discussed such intimate matters, it was just you liked to keep that private aspect of life behind closed doors.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease creeping into the pit of your stomach. There was something about Angel's penetrating gaze that made you feel as though he could see straight through you, unraveling the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself.

As the conversation continued, the weight of Angel's scrutiny hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the otherwise lighthearted banter. It was as if his gaze had cast a spell over the room, enveloping you in a cloak of discomfort that seemed impossible to shake off.

But before the tension could escalate any further, Angel's sly grin broke through the haze of unease, injecting a sense of playfulness back into the atmosphere. His eyes danced with mischief as he addressed Alastor, his question laced with curiosity and a hint of daring.

"Hey, I've got a question," he began, his gaze flickering between Alastor and you. "If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can't he just make people stay here?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implications, as the room fell silent, waiting for Alastor's response.

Alastor's smile widened into a mischievous smirk, a subtle flicker of dark magic dancing around him for a brief moment. "Oh, trust me," he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. "I can."

"Why do you think I'm here?" Husk grumbled, his irritation evident as he continued his task of cleaning bottles. "You actually think I'd be cleaning bottles and listening to you fucks bitch and moan all the time if he wasn't forcing me?" His words were tinged with a grumpy edge, and you fought back a snicker, earning a sharp glance from the cantankerous feline.

"I wouldn't say 'forced'—" You started, only to be abruptly cut off once again.

As Husk busied himself with cleaning, Niffty popped up from behind the counter, her hand raised eagerly as she prepared to join the conversation.

"I like being forced," Niffty piped up with her usual cheerfulness, eliciting a collective groan from the others.

"Oh, no, Niffty," you murmured under your breath. You knew all too well her tendency to overshare, and you couldn't help but cringe inwardly at the prospect of her unwittingly adding fuel to the fire.

"Keep that to yourself, Nif," Husk grumbled, clearly not in the mood for her antics.

The social dynamics at play wore on you, and you found yourself leaning against the arm of the couch, observing the interactions unfold. Angel's playful flirting with Husk was met with the latter's gruff responses, and you couldn't help but notice the underlying chemistry between them. They had a dynamic that was almost endearing, despite their constant bickering.

Lost in your thoughts, you momentarily tuned out the conversation, only to snap back to attention when Charlie began to sing, her voice filling the room with melody.

"Okay, but just don't... sing to them," Vaggie pleaded, her tone laced with exasperation.

Before Vaggie could issue her warning, however, you, Angel Dust, Alastor, Niffty, and Keekee were already gathered at the window, watching as Charlie sang out in the destroyed Pentagram City. Angel Dust turned back to Vaggie, still drinking from a bottle, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"That bitch is halfway down the street!" Angel exclaimed with amused delight.

"Is she—?" Vaggie began, but Angel cut her off with his laughter.

"Oh, she's dancin'!" he announced gleefully.

"Ugh, no..." Vaggie muttered, her frustration palpable.

You couldn't help but find the humor in the situation, turning around to watch as Vaggie dragged a hand down her face in exasperation. When she looked back up, you offered her a reassuring smile, which she attempted to mirror, even if it was strained. Over the past week, you had grown quite close to Charlie and Vaggie, often gathering in the kitchen in the mornings with your coffees for what Alastor jokingly referred to as "morning meetings."

A few minutes later, Vaggie summoned the group to discuss their poorly executed commercial. Angel Dust cast seductive glances at Husk, who responded with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. You found yourself seated next to Husk, swatting his wings away from you every time they flared up in annoyance at the spider demon's flirting.

"Husk, could you please—" Another swat. You let out a resigned sigh, conceding to the futility of your efforts to calm the feline's frayed nerves, at least for the time being. Yet, a pang of envy tugged at your heartstrings as you observed Husk's wings unfurling and fluttering with such natural ease. It made you yearn for the days when you could openly display your own set of wings without fear or restraint.

"Okay, so, Charlie is dealing with something very important, so while she’s gone, we are making a new commercial. One that represents her vision and what we’re doing here. So, we need a camera," Vaggie explained to everyone, her voice carrying authority despite her frustration. "Alastor?"

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor conjured up a camera for Vaggie, but to her dismay, it was a vintage folding camera from the 1930s, utterly incapable of recording videos.

"A video camera?" Vaggie's tone was unamused, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"Hmm." Despite his disdain for modern technology, Alastor complied with Vaggie's request and snapped his fingers once more, summoning a video camera that looked like it had seen better days, with pieces of tape holding it together.

"Alright! Let’s do this!" Vaggie declared, attempting to muster enthusiasm despite the less-than-ideal equipment. In an effort to bolster her spirits, you joined in with a cheer, throwing your arms up and letting out a hearty 'whoo!' However, the sudden burst of energy caught Husk and Angel off guard, causing them to flinch or jump in their seats. You quickly covered your mouth, a sheepish 'Sorry' slipping past your lips.

The day had been nothing short of a disaster. From the predictable bickering between Husk and Angel to the unsettling encounter with Niffty, it felt like chaos reigned supreme. But perhaps the most uncomfortable part of it all was your own struggle with the camera.

AAs Vaggie positioned you beside the reception desk for your scene, a knot of nerves coiled tightly in the pit of your stomach. Perhaps it was the ever-watchful presence of Alastor, who seemed to be omnipresent, observing your every move and waiting for your cue to perform. Despite your earnest attempts, you stumbled over your lines, your discomfort palpable as you struggled to find your footing in front of the unforgiving lens. It was a stark reminder of your innate camera-shyness, a trait you had not fully reckoned with until that moment.

“Hey, at least you really tried. Like you really did.” Vaggie's words of consolation were like a small beacon of light in the midst of your troubles. As you struggled to shake off the disappointment of not being able to contribute as expected, her kind words offered a glimmer of comfort.

"Thanks, Vaggie," you replied, offering her a grateful smile. Despite your own frustration, her acknowledgment of your efforts meant a lot.

You decided to steal away for a brief moment of solitude, seeking refuge from trying to help. Alone with your thoughts, you couldn't help but ruminate on the events of that day so far.

A pang of self-doubt gnawed at you as you reflected on your performance—or lack thereof—during the shoot. Perhaps, if you had mustered the courage to push aside your camera shyness, you could have contributed more effectively. You couldn't help but envy Angel's confidence and ease in front of the camera, contrasting sharply with your own hesitance.

Lost in contemplation, you wondered if there was a way to overcome your insecurities and embrace the same level of self-assurance that seemed to come effortlessly to others like Angel.

As you passed by the slightly ajar door, the voices of Vaggie and Alastor floated out, drawing you in. Curiosity piqued, you slowed your pace, unable to resist eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly! like you are doing now. Good job!” Alastor's unmistakable voice carried a tone of amusement, laced with his trademark eerie charm.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mixture of intrigue and unease washing over you. With bated breath, you leaned closer to the door, eager to glean any insight into the enigmatic overlord's motives.

You couldn't resist being drawn to the drama unfolding between Vaggie and Alastor like a moth to a flame. Peeking through the gap in the door, you witnessed the chaotic scene as Vaggie aimed the camera at Alastor, only for it to glitch violently, its colors flickering from green to red in a dizzying display. Vaggie's exasperated reaction was palpable as she dropped the malfunctioning device to the floor.

Alastor, ever the enigma, responded with a cryptic remark, his eyes transforming into the shape of radio dials, a telltale sign of his mysterious powers at work. But it was his next words that sent a chill down your spine, freezing you in place.

“Fair enough. I'll tell you what. Let's make a deal.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, casting a shadow of uncertainty over the room. It had been seven long years since you last heard those words uttered by the radio demon, and the unexpected familiarity of them left you paralyzed with apprehension.

The idea of anyone else making a deal with Alastor makes you want to push the door in to interrupt what is happening. Yet, you remain firmly planted where you were standing.

You listened intently as Vaggie firmly rejected Alastor's proposition, her refusal echoing through the room like a beacon of defiance. Relief washed over you like a cool breeze on a hot summer day as it became clear that the radio demon's intentions were not as sinister as they initially seemed. His aversion to modern technology was merely the catalyst for their heated exchange.

But before you could fully relax, a sudden surge of energy enveloped you, sending you hurtling through space and time until you found yourself standing on a meticulously crafted film set straight out of the 1950s. The transformation was seamless, with the entire hotel staff, including yourself, now donning vintage attire befitting the era. Even the backdrop was alive with the presence of ink demons conjured up to enhance the scene.

With a newfound sense of determination, Vaggie took charge, her voice ringing out with a mix of determination and frustration as she rallied the group for the task at hand.

"Alright everyone, let's make a fucking commercial," she declared, her words carrying a sense of urgency and purpose.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of your modest yet stylish outfit, a nod to the fashion of the time. As you smoothed down your dress, a voice interrupted your thoughts, its playful tone laced with a hint of sass.

"Well, well, well. Nothing outside of your comfort zone is it, doll?" Angel Dust quipped, his gaze sweeping over you with an air of mischief. It was hard to discern whether he was teasing you or merely being his usual sassy self... but you decided to play along.

'Here goes nothing'.

You turned to face Angel, a playful glint in your eyes as you matched his banter. "Oh, please, Angel. Modesty never goes out of style," you retorted with a smile, adjusting the hem of your skirt with a subtle flick of your wrist.

Angel seemed to pause for a moment before he chuckled, his grin widening as he leaned in closer. "Sure, sure, doll. But a little scandal never hurt nobody," he teased, his tone dripping with sass as he raised an eyebrow suggestively.

You couldn't help but laugh at his cheekiness, finding yourself drawn into the playful back-and-forth. "Well, Angel, if anyone knows about scandal, it's definitely you," you quipped, unable to resist a teasing jab.

Angel flashed you a smug grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hey, what can I say? Scandal's my middle name," he replied with a wink, before turning his attention back to the bustling film set.

As the crew prepared for the commercial shoot, you couldn't help but feel a sense of ease with Angel, the two of you exchanging sassy remarks and playful banter as you followed Vaggie's instructions on the set. In that moment, surrounded by ink demons and vintage props, you couldn't help but appreciate the unexpected bond forming between you and the irreverent porn star demon. It was a nice distraction and definitely a breath of fresh air from him judging you when you first arrived. Maybe, you mused, if you had been more open from the start, this connection could have blossomed sooner. But dwelling on it didn't serve any purpose, so you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the present moment.

‘Huh, maybe he isn’t so bad…’

Amidst the hustle and bustle, you offered your assistance to Vaggie, eager to contribute in any way you could. Having kept up with the latest advancements in technology in Hell, particularly in Alastor's absence, you felt confident in your ability to help bring Charlie's vision to life.

By the end of the shoot, you found yourself exchanging knowing glances and little jokes with Angel, the air between you charged with a newfound sense of ease. You couldn't help but marvel at how far you had come from the awkward tension of your first meeting.

As the day drew on and Vaggie worked with the others leaving you to yourself, Angel sauntered over to where you were standing, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"So, (Y/N), did you enjoy your first taste of the glamorous life in showbiz?" he teased, flashing you a playful grin.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but smirk in response. "Oh, absolutely thrilling," you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing quite like the chaos of a film set to make you appreciate the simple joys of paperwork."

Angel chuckled, his grin widening. "Ah, but where's your sense of adventure, doll? Life's too short to be stuck behind a desk all day."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms playfully. "Says the porn star turned film star," you retorted, unable to resist teasing him back.

Angel feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Hey now, don't knock the hustle," he replied with mock indignation. "I bring joy to millions with my... ahem... talents."

You couldn't help but laugh at his theatrics, the tension of the day melting away in the warmth of your shared banter. You had to admit that Angel's charm and quick wit were growing on you.

As you and Angel exchanged banter, a subtle flicker of movement caught your eye. Glancing over, you noticed Alastor standing at the edge of the set, his sharp eyes trained on the two of you. Despite his usual air of aloofness, there was a distinct lack of amusement in his gaze as he observed your interaction with the flamboyant demon.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of self-consciousness under his gaze, sensing his disapproval of your banter with Angel. You had come to think Alatsor was indifferent about Angel – After all, he always turned down Angel’s advances or joke suggestions and never really seemed too annoyed or fed up with them. Yet.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the bustling activity of the day began to wind down, you couldn't help but feel the weight of Alastor's gaze lingering on you. It was as if he was silently dissecting the burgeoning connection that had formed between you and Angel, his keen eyes probing for any sign of weakness or vulnerability.

Finally, as Vaggie expressed her satisfaction with the day's filming, relief washed over you like a warm tide. The prospect of being released from the confines of the set filled you with a sense of freedom, the anticipation of retreating to the solace of your own company almost palpable. You longed for nothing more than a quiet moment alone, a steaming cup of tea cradled in your hands as you sought to replenish your depleted social reserves.

With a subtle excuse, you slipped away from the others, eager to find a moment of solace in the familiar sanctuary of the kitchen. Taking your time, you moved with deliberate steps, the rhythmic clinking of your cup against the countertop echoing softly in the otherwise silent room. The comforting hum of the kettle filled the space, a soothing background melody that offered a semblance of tranquility amidst the chaos of the day.

A chill danced down your spine, sending shivers cascading through your body as you sensed a presence behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a telltale sign of the looming figure that lingered just beyond your line of sight.

"Alastor—" you began, turning to face him, but the sight that greeted you sent a chill of unease coursing through your veins. Alastor loomed over you, his normally jovial countenance replaced by a disapproving glare that you hadn't encountered since the early days of your deal, back when you were still finding your footing as his assistant. Those initial missteps were etched into your memory—the mistakes, the lessons learned—the same ones that always earned you that particular look from him.

"Having a jolly time, my dear?" His words dripped with a mixture of sarcasm and genuine curiosity, but before you could formulate a response, he continued, his tone laden with an emotion you couldn't quite discern. "You always had a knack for socializing, once you warmed up to folks... but I must say, I hadn't quite anticipated just how open you'd become." His eyes bore into yours, holding a depth of scrutiny that left you feeling oddly exposed as if he could see through the facade you presented to the world.

"Alastor..I.. um..." Your voice trailed off, faltering under the weight of his intense gaze. For a fleeting moment, you felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure of how to navigate the sudden shift in his demeanor.

As you struggled to find your words, Alastor's scrutiny seemed to intensify, his eyes boring into yours with an unwavering focus that made you feel uncomfortably transparent. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken questions and unspoken truths, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

Finally, you managed to muster a weak smile, though it felt brittle and forced under the weight of his scrutiny. "Well, you know me, always trying to make the best of any situation," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

In that moment, you felt like a puppet on a string, dancing to the tune of Alastor's scrutiny, powerless to resist the pull of his piercing gaze. And as the silence stretched on, punctuated only by the sound of your own racing heartbeat, you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden behind that disapproving glare, and what price you would ultimately pay for it.

As your words hung in the air, Alastor's expression softened imperceptibly, a flicker of something you can't place dancing in the depths of his crimson eyes. For a moment, the intensity of his scrutiny seemed to waver, replaced by a gentleness that caught you off guard.

"You've always been one to find your way, haven't you?" Alastor's voice was low, a hint of warmth seeping into his words despite the lingering edge of disapproval. "But you must remember, my dear, not everyone has your best interests at heart." His tone was cryptic, laced with a veiled warning that sent a shiver down your spine. "Not like me."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. It was a reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of Alastor's domain, a reminder that the world beyond the confines of the hotel was a perilous place, fraught with unseen threats and hidden dangers. "Who knows what would happen if anyone knew what you were?.. Thankfully, you have me.. to keep you hidden."

And yet, despite the unease his words inspired, there was a strange comfort in the protective undertone that underscored his warning. It was as if, beneath his outward facade of indifference, Alastor harbored a genuine concern for your well-being, a desire to shield you from the world around you. Or all a facade to manipulate you.

As you met his gaze, you found yourself searching for some sign of reassurance, some indication that his concern was more than just a fleeting moment of empathy. But Alastor's expression remained inscrutable, his eyes betraying nothing of the emotions that churned beneath the surface.

In that moment, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was more to Alastor than met the eye, if perhaps behind the facade of indifference lay a heart that yearned for something more. And as the silence stretched on, punctuated only by the sound of your own ragged breath, you couldn't help but wonder what secrets Alastor held, and what it might mean for the fragile bond of your friendship.

As quickly as the moment of softness had appeared, it vanished, replaced by Alastor's trademark smirk, his features slipping seamlessly back into their usual facade of indifference. The warmth in his gaze cooled, replaced by a glint of amusement that sent a chill down your spine.

"But of course, my dear," he purred, the air thick with his signature blend of charm and menace. "After all, let's not forget who keeps you safe... and holds the strings to your soul." His words hung in the air like a weight, a reminder of the pact that bound you to him, of the debt that could never be repaid.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling like a stone in the pit of your stomach. It was a stark reminder of the power he wielded over you, of the hold he had over your very essence. And yet, despite the fear that gripped you, there was a strange defiance that simmered beneath the surface, a stubborn refusal to be cowed by his taunts.

With a forced smile, you met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see the fear that churned within you. "I haven't forgotten, Alastor," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor that danced along your nerves. "But even you must admit, there are some things even you can't control."

For a moment, there was a flicker of something akin to surprise in Alastor's eyes, a brief crack in his carefully crafted facade. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same mocking smirk that had haunted your nightmares since the day you made that fateful deal.

"Ah, but my dear," he chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Where's the fun in that?" And with a casual flick of his wrist, he vanished into the shadows, leaving you alone with the weight of his words echoing in your ears.

As you stood in the kitchen, the echo of Alastor's taunt still ringing in your ears, you couldn't help but ponder the weight of his words. The kettle whistled, snapping you out of your reverie, and you busied yourself with finishing your tea, the warmth of the liquid soothing the turmoil that churned within you.

With your tea in hand, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead. Pushing open the door to the lobby, you were met with a cacophony of voices, each one adding to the chaotic energy that filled the room.

Vaggie's voice cut through the noise, her tone tinged with excitement. "Alastor pulled some strings, and it's about to air," she announced with a hint of anticipation in her voice.

Alastor's laughter rang out in response, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "I pulled a few limbs too, hahaha," he quipped, his amusement palpable.

Charlie's voice joined the fray, her enthusiasm infectious as she beamed at the group. "Wait, the commercial? You all made a new one?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Angel Dust sauntered into the room, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, one of my better performances if I do say so myself," he boasted, his confidence unwavering.

Charlie's smile widened at the news, her excitement bubbling over. "That's... that's amazing," she exclaimed, her eyes shining with pride.

But before the conversation could continue, Angel Dust silenced them all with a hushed command. "Sshh, it's starting," he murmured, his attention turning to the screen as the commercial began to play, the familiar jingle filling the room with its catchy melody.

As the commercial began to play, the vibrant energy of the room drew you in, with Charlie's excitement practically buzzing in the air. With a quiet sigh, you found yourself gravitating towards the television, where the others had gathered around, their anticipation palpable.

Taking a seat on the couch beside them, you cradled your steaming cup of tea, the warmth seeping into your fingertips as you settled in for the show. The familiar jingle of the commercial brought a sense of familiarity from the day.

But before the advertisement could run its course, the screen flickered, the 'Breaking News' symbol flashing ominously in the center now. Instantly, the mood in the room shifted, the group erupting into a chorus of groans and complaints, their annoyance palpable.

"Breaking news in Hell today!" the news anchor's voice cut through the air, her tone tinged with a manic glee that sent a chill down your spine. "We have just received word from the Heaven Embassy that the next Extermination is happening sooner than ever before."

The words hung in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the room as the gravity of the announcement settled in. Panic rippled through the group, their voices rising in a cacophony of disbelief and outrage.

But amidst the chaos, you couldn't shake the sinking feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As the clock tower loomed ominously on the screen, its countdown ticking away the days until the next Extermination, a sense of dread settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. And as the screams of sinners echoed in the background from the TV, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you in the days to come.

"It means we're all royally fucked!" Katie exclaimed, her eye twitching with barely contained frustration.

Angel's voice broke through the cacophony, his disbelief echoing the sentiments of the group. "Wait, what? Why?!" he demanded, his voice tinged with disbelief.

But as the question lingered unanswered, a gnawing sense of dread gnawed at your insides, leaving you with a sinking feeling that the worst was yet to come. You exchanged worried glances with Charlie, seeing a nervous smile on her lips as everything came out.

And then, as if to punctuate the grim reality of your situation, the sound of your tea cup slipping from your grasp and shattering on the ground reverberated through the room, its echoing chime a chilling reminder of the fragility of your world.

♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿ ♡ ✿

My AO3 account!

#alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x fallen angel #fanfic #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #radio demon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction

108 notes · View notes

braidlottie · 5 months

Text

lottieshauna ABC’S! (sfw)

hiiiii :3 i miss my Mommies :/

A FOR AFFECTION! how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?

lottie shows affection by physical touch :( and shauna loves spending quality time with you while lottie’s away at the compound.

B FOR BEST FRIEND! what would they be like as a best friend?

since being younger than them, they would be such doting and protective friends. you probably met through nat and you totally embarrassed yourself the first time you met them.

C FOR CUDDLES! would they like to cuddle? how do they cuddle?

they love sandwiching you inbetween them and kissing you on your cheeks :3

D FOR DOMESTIC! do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?

you love lottie’s cooking so much and you love shauna’s baking even more. just don’t let them switch, though. the only thing shauna can cook are scrambled eggs and toast, and lottie almost burnt the house on her 4th attempt at gingerbread cookies.

E FOR ENDING :( if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

it would be such an emotional process!! so many tears :(( but lottie and shauna make sure that you know they love you very much and still would want to be friends outside the relationship.

F FOR FIGHTS! how would fights between them go?

it wasn’t you getting in fights, it was lottie and shauna. fights between them were extremely rare, but every couple fights. they would always be on separate sides of the house to avoid each other, and hated seeing them like that (and they hated seeing you so sad) and they made up with a couple of kisses.

G FOR GENTLE! how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

so gentle with you, always. rubbing your back at a random occurrence, or keeping a soft voice if you get a little overwhelmed.

H FOR HUGS! do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

SO MANY HUGS!! they both love giving u tight hugs and a kiss everyday (whenever lottie and shauna hug each other, they notice you get a little jealous scowl on your face, so they bring you in and dote on you.)

I FOR INJURY! how do they react if you get injured?

say you cut yourself while using a knife in the kitchen. you hiss a little and they immediately run to your aid, asking if you cut yourself. your hand is dripping with blood while you say, “its fine/it doesn’t hurt.” but they don’t listen to your protests. they take you to the bathroom and pull out the first aid kit, sanitizing and bandaging you up like a wounded soldier.

J FOR JEALOUSY! how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?

they never get seriously jealous, only playfully. (ex. kissing and snuggling up to shauna in front of lottie and she starts pouting)

K FOR KISSES! what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

so many kisses get distributed between the three of you within the day, you couldn’t count them on all of your fingers. shauna likes to leave long, lingering kisses, smiling in adoration as she pulls away. lottie leaves many small little pecks to the cheek and lips (you whine in embarrassment as she does so, but she knows you love it.)

L FOR LITTLE ONES! how are they around children?

lottie loves them, smiling even when she sees one on a commercial. shauna thinks they’re adorable as well, until they start crying.

M FOR MORNINGS! how are mornings spent with them?

mornings with them can go from snuggling in bed for an hour without a peep from any of you, or morning walks/bike rides through the park.

N FOR NIGHTS! how are nights spent with them?

lottie’s cooking dinner with some music on in the background, clashing loudly with the sound of your video game on the tv in the living room. shauna’s sitting on the couch and you’re sitting on the floor between her legs, making sure she’s watching you the whole time. that’s a perfect night imo >_<

O FOR OPEN! when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?

this is hard bc if it was no crash au, they would open up so quick. they feel so comfortable around you, and they want to share everything. but if it was what happened to them in canon, i feel like they would have a little sit down and walk you through the whole wilderness thing. and obviously, you would never judge them. you understood they did that to survive.

P FOR PATIENCE! how easily angered are they?

it takes a lot for lottie to get angry but shauna is a little more uptight, but never around you.

Q FOR QUIZZES! how much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?

they remember stuff like your favorite movie and color and whatnot, but also the weirdest, miscellaneous stories you told over the years, and they would bring it up around you to make you smile. lottie and shauna are good listeners, they wanna make sure you know they’re paying attention to you.

R FOR RAINY DAY! what are they like in the rain?

it’s movie marathons all day. lottie makes hot cocoa of the three of you and finds some cozy movies. you end you falling asleep in the middle of the first one, curling up next to shauna.

S FOR SECURITY! how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

they are very protective people, especially shauna. she gets so mad someone at the grocery store or a restaurant is clearly checking you out, and she pulls you away because you’re too clueless to even realize.

T FOR TRY! how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

lottie and shauna love spoiling you with gifts, even if it’s just a random day. they would always say it reminded you of them and they just have to buy it.

U FOR UGLY! what would be some bad habits of theirs?

none. they’re my perfect Little angels

V FOR VANITY! how concerned are they with their looks?

the both of them have issues with their looks some days, but always gets compliments and praise from you throughout the day.

W FOR WHOLE! would they feel incomplete without you?

YES. oh yes, they would. if you’re gone a few hours out of town for a couple days, they’ll miss you so much. like shauna would be doing folding laundry and see a shirt of yours and get a little emotional 😭😭

X FOR XTRA! a random headcanon for them

anytime they go out without you (ex. going to dinner with the other yjs), you’re always asleep when they get back. and they love it so much. your soft little breaths, and how cute you look with the blanket up to your chin. they wanna kiss and hold you so bad but they don’t wanna wake you up :’) the cutest aggression is Real

Y FOR YUCK! what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?

selfish or insensitive people. and you’re far from that.

Z FOR ZZZ! what is a sleep habits of theirs?

lottie wears a sleeping mask bc you like to sleep with the beside table light on (because you watched a scary movie before bed and now you’re scared) and shauna always has cold feet and likes to bother you and lottie under the blanket 😭😭

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #lottieshauna #lottieshauna x reader #lottie x shauna #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews fluff #shauna shipman fluff #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader #shauna sadecki x reader #shauna sadecki

92 notes · View notes

joeybaboo20 · 1 year

Text

Random Quotes from An Incorrect Quotes Generator (ft The 7 + Will & Nico)

Leo: I'm naturally funny because my life is a joke.

Jason: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything? Jason: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies. Piper: Socks are Feetie Heaties. Percy: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties. Will: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies. Leo: Stamps are Lickie Stickies. Frank: I hate you guys so much.

Nico: You spent all our money on THIS?? Will, putting tiny raincoats on ducklings: They live outside. They need this.

Piper: Can we talk about that mass email you sent? Percy: Why? It was important. Piper: All it says is, "I'm back on my shit". Jason, shrugging: The people need to know.

Nico: We’re getting married, bitches! Will: And we're about to make it everybody else's problem.

the squad is at a dinner party but someone has been murdered Leo: You’re acting pretty carefree for someone who’s life’s at stake. Who’s to say you aren’t the killer? Will: It’s a murder, not a tax audit. I’ll be fine. Piper: What about Annabeth? Nobody ever suspects Annabeth! Annabeth: Well what about Hazel? They have a gun! Hazel: Leo has a knife. Leo: Yeah, for fun, not for murder! stabs Piper in the arm

Nico: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO- Hazel: It was me… Nico: …Is going to be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

Will: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO- Nico: It was me… Will: …Is going to be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

Percy: My head hurts. Annabeth: That’s your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.

Nico: Get in, loser, we’re committing vehicular manslaughter!

Nico: When you work at lush and a customer comes in and bites the soap because they think it’s cheese… this happens way more frequently than you think. Will: If you stopped literally presenting soap as deli food this wouldn't happen. Nico: Who goes into a bath store and thinks something covered in glitter is cheese? Annabeth: Who goes to the store and just takes a bite from the cheese?

Will: I'm gonna need a human skull but you can't ask why. Nico: Only if you also don't ask why. Nico: pulls four pristine human skulls out of their bag Will: … Will, grabbing a skull: This one will do.

Percy: Don't break someone's heart, they only have one. Nico: Break one of their bones instead, they have 206 of them.

Piper: Don't break someone's heart, they only have one. Will: Break one of their bones instead, they have 206 of them.

Hazel: What’s up with Will? They’ve been laying on the floor for like….an hour now? Leo: They're just a little overwhelmed. Hazel: Why? Leo: Nico smiled at them.

Hazel: I can’t tell if you’re a genius or just incredibly arrogant. Leo: Well, on a good day, I’m both.

Percy: So are you gonna explain how the hell you crashed my car? Nico: Well we were driving and there was a deer in the road, so I said "Will, deer!" Percy: …And what did Will do? Nico: …They said "Yes, Honey?"

Piper: Nico… How do I begin to explain Nico? Frank: Nico is flawless. Percy: I hear their hair's insured for $10,000. Jason: I hear they do car commercials… in Japan. Leo: One time they punched me in the face… it was awesome.

Percy: Annabeth… How do I begin to explain Annabeth? Frank: Annabeth is flawless. Piper: I hear their hair's insured for $10,000. Nico: I hear they do car commercials… in Japan. Will: One time they punched me in the face… it was awesome.

Nico: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”. Nico: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

Nico: Annabeth, you're my best friend. Annabeth: Best friend? BEST friend?! Bitch, I'm your only friend. Annabeth: I'M THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE OF TOLERATING YOUR DUMB ASS!

Jason: Nico is a little bitch. Hazel: Why? Jason: Number one, they're little. Number two, they're a bitch.

Leo: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

Leo: I think it’s time I get my life in order. Percy, narrating: But they did not get their life in order. In fact, they got drunk last night and fought a raccoon.

Percy: I think it’s time I get my life in order. Leo, narrating: But they did not get their life in order. In fact, they got drunk last night and fought a raccoon.

Leo: New year, same me. Because I'm perfect.

Annabeth, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVERS CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.

Percy: Piper and I are so close we even share a toothbrush. Piper: We what?

Leo: Frank, I screwed up, big time. Frank: Leo, given your daily life experiences, you’re gonna have to be more specific.

Will, jumping out of Nico's closet: BOO! Nico: Will: Nico: Will: makes a sad face Nico: Ahh! Oh my god! You scared me!

Percy: I just wanted to say that over the years, I have come to regard you as… people I met.

Percy: Are you busy? Nico: Yes. Percy: Cool, listen to this…

Will: I want a trip down memory lane. Hazel: proceeds to grab every warrior cats book they have and sets them in Will's lap Hazel: I heard you needed these? Will: YES! ALL OF THEM!

Will: If I were a drink, I'd be Cherry Vanilla Coke. If you were a drink, what would you be? Nico: Bleach. Percy: Sewage. Will: …Please calm down, edgelords.

Leo: I think I should be allowed on ghost hunter tv shows. Hazel: I think that would be dangerous for the ghosts.

Percy, in a horrible German accent: Bill Nye is on break, I'm Bill Nein. Leo: Can I go to the bathroom? Percy, in the same horrible German accent: Nein!

396 notes · View notes

glitch-the-artist · 22 days

Text

YOUR FRIEND.

Behold, the crazy possessed doll, Buddy Bloomy! They are basically inspired by Chucky and a Chucky like secret boss by @mrchaosman, thank you for the inspiration!

references: Buddy Bloomy references multiple things, but the main thing is that they are a type of “flowey and mad mew mew” combination. They also reference the hansel and gretel Story during the end of their bossfight (won’t spoil it yet tho). They are also definitely referencing Chucky…. Actually he isn’t the main inspiration, he was inspired by the happy fella (aka dexter) from spooky month. Their is also some “friend inside me” references as well but I will leave the rest up to the air.

Lore: Bloomy was quite a.. not Normal darkener back then. Unlike Spamton and jevil, they been kinda insane since the beginning. They had a constant thirst for blood, but was able to manage not to give in to his grudges. One day however, he was met by a mysterious figure who told him something that caused him to finally snap. The next day, during production of his show, he set the entire studio up in flames along with the entire film crew and himself. This was not the end for bloomy however, because the figure somehow was able to make bloomy possess a doll of the main character of their show. Long story short, they ran off and hid inside a ruined house for another playmate to join them in his fun little game of “cat and mouse”.

How to unlock: during chapter 3, in the middle of a live show kris is playing a role in, there is a split second of a glitched in commercial advertising the very doll from Bloomy n’ friends. After that you gotta find this old house and talk with bloomy from the other side of the front door. They will tell you to find them 4 items, some drawing supplies, a toy box, music box, and finally a knife. Afterwards you can finally enter the old house, and be face to face with bloomy, which they show you what they were working on while you were busy getting the items, and it was a child like picture of the fun game dead with bloomy holding a knife. This basically instantly leads to their battle, which introduces the green soul, this is of course supposed to block objects, but if you hold z, you are able to shake off any knifes stuck to your shield, which if to many of them get stuck on, the shield will break for the turn.

Also one last funny sketch before I head out for the day, lol.

raily and bloomy owned by me

woodstern owned my @mercair

#deltarune #deltarune secret boss #deltarune oc #deltarune chapter three #raily roundup #Buddy bloomy dr #sheriff woostern

25 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

Burning in Hopeless Dream

Boston QZ : Part 7 ‘illicit affairs’

A/N : this was such a fun chapter to write! A break from the angst, (for now) this also turned out to be WAY longer than I originally planned so y’all are getting fed, you’re welcome ☻

Summary: flirting tips with Joel Miller 101. Step one, wake your ass up at the crack of dawn, be smug about it. Step two, be a gentleman and present a thermos of shit QZ coffee to you. Step 3, teach you how to shoot. Step 4, do not allow the enemy to have the upper hand.

~word count : 4.3k~ (you heard that right)

Warnings: age gap (m/c is 28) flirty! asshole! Joel. Pining, teasing, lots of swearing, tension, banter, mentions of guns and knives. (+18) minors dni !

Songs for this chapter:

“illicit affairs” by Taylor Swift

“You Know I’m No Good” by Amy Winehouse

“Kiss With A Fist” by Florence + The Machine

_________________

November 2020 : 5 miles outside the Boston QZ

It was November now. The ground wasn’t quite frozen yet, but there was a chill in the air every morning. You could no longer hear the birds singing outside the window. Your body was slowly accustomed to the lack of vitamin D it was getting, just like how it did every year around this time. Knowing that the cold months of winter were on the horizon, only had you grow more restless. Your routine felt like a death march. Wake up, drink shit coffee. Shovel shit or dump bodies. Return home, drink, sleep and repeat. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually got a decent night's sleep. Your body was constantly exhausted. Your muscles were screaming at you but your brain was constantly running, like one of those stupid energizer bunny commercials from the past. You hated that stupid bunny.

It was early one morning. 4:00 A.M probably, but no one actually kept track of the time anymore. Your restless slumber was disturbed by your bedroom door slowly opening. You kept your knife tucked under your pillow constantly. The sound of your door creaking open was enough for you to grasp your knife to your chest before you shot up from under the coarse covers. You were absolutely ready to fuck up whoever was coming into your space.

A sense of relief mixed with annoyance washed over your features when you saw it was just Joel. His brooding height leaned against your doorframe was enough to make you roll your eyes. Did this man ever not look intimidating?

“Jesus fuck, Joel. You couldn’t have knocked? Given me some form of a warning?” You whispered while tucking your knife back under your pillow.

His expression was amused and even in the dark, you could tell this mother fucker was smirking.

“Sorry about that doll, you’re just a little too easy to sneak up on. You had me for a second there thinkin that you were gonna stick me. Would have been an awful fuckin start to my mornin.” He rasped, his voice was still thick with sleep and his hair was a fluffy mess on his head. Not that you were paying attention to those details. Damn him.

“Yeah, and for a split second I was thinking of sticking you. That’s why we knock. So you don’t end up with a knife buried in your chest, asshole.” You muttered the last part out as you swung your legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood up.

“Alright, smart ass. Next time I'll remember to knock.” He was still leaning against the door frame, arms crossed against his chest.

“Yeah, yeah sure you will. I’ll believe it when I see it.” You grabbed your hoodie from the floor and threw it on before attempting to fix the mess that was your bed head. Using a worn hair tie on your wrist, you pulled it into a ponytail.

“What kinda psycho is up at this early hour anyway?” You asked. Looking over at him as you pulled your hair back.

“The kinda psycho that I apparently am. It ain’t even that early.”

You scoffed then. “Pretty fuckin early to me. Now my real question is, what are you doing in my room at this hour?”

He shrugged then, clearing his throat as he spoke. “Well, couldn’t really sleep. Thought about how I promised you that I’d teach ya how to properly shoot. Figured there's no time like the present.”

“Huh. So that was your first thought that came to mind when you couldn’t sleep?”

“Guess so. Anyway, ‘nough of the chit chat. Get your shoes and coat and grab the gun I gave you.” His tone was not a suggestion. It was a demand and frankly, it was too early to be dealing with his bullshit.

“Sir yes sir.” You mocked his tone then, giving him a sarcastic solute.

“You're hilarious doll, really. Drop the smart act. We don’t have time for that shit today.” He turned on his heel then, leaving your open doorway and walked down the hall.

Your immediate reaction was to flip him off, naturally. Grumbling to yourself you grabbed your backpack, your gun and your knife and threw on your boots. The last thing you grabbed was your thick coat. You could already feel the cold air nipping at your skin.

Joel was waiting for you outside the apartment door. He had a travel thermos for you, filled with coffee. The familiar smell hit your senses immediately and you appreciated the small gesture. Closing the door behind you, you grabbed the thermos from him before taking a sip, letting the warm liquid seep into you. The QZ coffee was shit but it got the job done.

“Thanks. Wouldn’t survive the morning without this stuff.”

He looked at you for a moment then before he took a sip of his own.

“Oh trust me, I know. You’d be intolerable without this shit.”

You gave him a light punch to the shoulder then, it was a playful one.

“Yeah and you’re still a grumpy asshole with or without it.” You brushed past him then, quietly heading down the stairs. You could hear him mutter under his breath about your comment and you grinned to yourself as his footsteps followed yours.

Once you were both outside the apartment, Joel instinctively walked ahead of you. Always feeling like he needed to protect you. It was in his nature. You took the back alleys together, ducking in dark corners as you moved silently. There would only be a handful of Fedra soldiers out at this hour, but it still wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught.

________

The sun was just beginning to peek in the horizon as you neared the hole in the perimeter fence. Your coffee had gone cold at this point. Joel had stood over you, pulling back the torn fence so you could slip through first. He waited, looking around for any signs of movement and when he deemed it was safe, he slipped through the fence without another glance.

The silence between you was comfortable as you walked towards the nearby woods. It was a 5 mile walk to the deepest part of the woods. No one would find either of you there and in a sense, it was peaceful. You had shared a bit of jerky during the walk. It wasn’t much for breakfast but it would have to do. You’d kill for some proper eggs and bacon. Maybe in another universe, you thought.

Joel had wrapped up what was left of the jerky and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. You were surrounded by tall evergreens on every side. They were lightly dusted with freshly fallen snow. The scenery was beautiful, and eerie at the same time.

“You sure no one's gonna find us out here?”

“Nope. Been comin out here for years with no problems. You’ve got nothin to worry about, doll. Trust me.”

Letting out a sigh then you set your bag down on a nearby stump along with your now empty thermos.

“Alright, fine. I trust you but if a clicker comes out of those trees..”

He chuckled then, shaking his head slightly as he finished off what was left of his coffee.

“We’re in the middle of the fuckin woods. Most we’ll see out here is a few deer. No clickers. You’re safe.” His reassurance that you were in fact safe out here was enough for you to un tense your shoulders slightly. You’d always be on alert though. You didn’t have much of a choice; not in this world.

He continued then, setting his bag down next to yours.

“You brought the gun, right?”

“You think I'd come all this way with you, just to not bring the gun with me?” You smirked slightly, unzipping your bag and pulled out the revolver.

“What did I say about ditchin that fuckin smart mouth of yours huh?” His eyebrow was raised and his jaw was clenched slightly as he looked at you.

“Oh shit man, I’m terribly sorry. You see, my smart fuckin mouth is kinda a part of me. It’s permanent. Meaning, it’s not going anywhere.”

“No fuckin shit, sherlock. I know what permanent means.”

It was your turn to smirk now. It was easy to fall into banter with him and you secretly, but not-so secretly enjoyed it.

“Mhm. I was just checkin.”

He let out a huff then. You were insufferable sometimes but he liked the fact that you could keep up with him. In fact, he enjoyed these moments with you. It made him feel all the more human. You were that constant breath of fresh air for him. Better than any liquor, or opioid he could get his hands on.

“Alright. Enough of that. You remember the grip I showed you the last time?” He asked.

“Sure do. You were pretty serious about it, if I remember correctly.”

“Good. Now show me so that I know that you ain’t bluffing.” He had his arms crossed over his chest again, waiting for you to confirm that you weren’t faking it.

You held the gun outwards with both hands. Your grip was firm but from his angle, you looked a bit stiff. “See? I’m a good listener after all.”

“Relax your arms. You’re fuckin stiff and when that kicks-back its gonna go right into your face. What did I say about–”

You cut him off then. “Thumb over my thumb, left hand squeezes down on the right.” You looked over at him then, your eyebrow raised almost as if you were challenging him.

“You gonna do the teachin here or am I?” He walked over to you then, coming up alongside you before he reached out and grabbed your arms, the fast movement caused you to stiffen more.

His lips were at the shell of your ear now and his hands were gentle. “Relax.” He whispered. “Just relax, Gwen. You’re stiffer than a fuckin board right now.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine from his lips nearly touching the thin skin on your ear. For a moment, the close proximity of his body to yours had your head spinning. ‘Focus, Gwen.’ you told yourself in your head. ‘Get your fuckin shit together.’ You relaxed your shoulders slightly, allowing him to push your arms down so that there was a slight bend. His hands were on yours then, rough skin on soft. He adjusted your grip slightly then before he moved his hands off of yours. Just when you thought you were out of the woods, you felt his hands on your waist and despite the biting cold, your skin was on fire from his touch.

“Straighten your back a bit. Yeah, just like that. Good girl.” You could feel his smirk against your ear. This motherfucker knew exactly what he was doing.

You straightened your posture then and waited for his hands to move from your sides but they didn’t.

“Are you fuckin tryin to distract me right now Miller?”

“Nope. I don’t have to try and do that. You just allow me to get in your head.”

You took a deep breath then, cocking your neck to the side slightly as you bit down on your growing frustration. Did he really have to be this close to you?

“Shut up.”

He moved your legs a few steps to the right with his knees and the movement caught you by surprise. You felt like fucking bambi on ice with how easy he was able to maneuver you. It sent brief flashbacks from how he effortlessly threw you on your bed not that long ago. ‘Focus Gwen.’

Joel knew exactly what he was doing. Toying with you was easy and although he knew he was crossing into some dangerous territory, he couldn’t help it. He was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He liked that he had this effect on you, up until his own brain was screaming at him to focus and get his own shit together.

He moved his hands from your waist then, letting his fingertips drag against the outer layer of your coat before he took a step back, allowing you to feel like you could breathe again.

“Now, you see that tree over there? There's a bare spot right in the middle of it. Think you’re good enough to hit it?”

Your eyes shifted to the tree he was focused on, zoning in on your target.

“Yeah, sure. Easy peasy.”

“Alright, rookie. Need you to take a deep breath in. Squeeze the trigger, not all the way. Breathe out and release.”

You listened to his words then. Taking a deep breath in, you lightly applied pressure to the trigger. Not enough to set it off. When you released your breath, you pressed down all the way and listened to the deafening crack of the bullet being released. You were feeling cocky and expected to hit your target on the first try. Instead, the bullet had whizzed past the target and into some nearby evergreens. missed.

You were silently simmering in your humility and Joel was going to take full opportunity to pick on you for it.

“What was that you said just now? Somethin easy peasy?”

Your jaw clenched then as you bit down on your vile words.

“Alright, big shot. Why don’t you show me how it’s properly done then?” You handed the revolver off to him then, standing off to the side.

“Alright, but you’re just askin for humiliation on yourself doll.”

“Just shut the fuck up and hit the fucking tree, Joel.”

“Feisty. Shoulda gotten you more coffee.” He mused before gripping the gun, just like he showed you. His movements were far more natural than yours. It was all muscle memory at this point for him. A second later and another crack. Joel’s bullet landed right in the middle of the target, sending shards of bark flying into the untouched snow.

He turned to you then, an undeniable smirk on his face as he handed you the gun back, leaning in slightly as he spoke.

“Easy Peasy.” his tone was cocky and it sent your blood boiling.

You were left speechless.

For the next hour, Joel had you practice hitting the target. He didn’t care that you were wasting precious ammo. If you were going to go on smuggling runs with him and Tess, you were going to need to use a weapon outside of your knife. The last thing he wanted was for you to get injured just because you weren’t comfortable with firearms.

“Alright, doll. One more time and then we’ll move on. You’re almost there just need to think about not being so stiff and breathe, for fuck sakes. The enemy is gonna lay one on you before you even have the chance to pull the trigger.”

He was sitting on the stump then, chewing on another piece of jerky as he watched you.

You were determined to hit this fucking tree. You had to prove to yourself that you could do this. All you wanted was to get in on the action. Fuck up some infected and feel like you actually held a purpose in Joel’s life. You listened to every word he said. Remembering to loosen up and breathe. Eye on the target, ‘breathe.’

You took a deep breath, pressing down on the trigger lightly and on the exhale, you released it. Listening to the crack of the bullet as you watched it soar through the air, smacking into the chipped away bark. You had finally hit your target. A sense of pride and relief washed over you in that moment as you turned towards Joel.

“Atta girl.” His lips were upturned slightly as he looked at you.

You gave him a little playful bow then, your boots crunching in the snow as you walked over to the stump he was sitting on and plopped down beside him, nearly pushing his broad form in the snow.

Joel gave you a disapproving look, his eyes lowered as he grumbled. “You really can be fuckin intolerable when you wanna be, doll.”

“I know.” There was a sense of smugness in your voice. It just naturally came out when it was just you and Joel. “Anyway, you kept your promise to teach me how to shoot and now I will do the honors in teaching you how to properly wield a knife.”

“You think for a second I don’t know how to use a knife?” His eyebrow was raised in your direction.

“Oh I don’t doubt that you can use one. The real question is, how good are you really?”

“Guess we’re about to find out.” He offered you the last bit of jerky before he slowly stood up, pulling his combat knife out of his bag, flipping it a couple times in his hand.

You had a feeling that in the next few minutes, you would be forced to eat your words.

Joel loved to see you in your natural element. Right off the bat he observed that you were far more confident with a blade in your grasp. Your posture significantly changed, hell, your entire demeanor had gone and done a complete 180, right before his very eyes. He wanted to see what you were made of. Were you as lethal as you made yourself out to be? How many people had you killed to survive? He wondered.

Joel was far too focused on you to even hear your instructions. He was off in a completely fucking different universe and it was all your fault. You had taken notice when he didn’t respond right away and you rolled your eyes, feeling slightly disrespected. To get his attention, you wasted no time to hurl your blade at the targeted tree. The tip of the blade was embedded in the same spot where Joel’s bullet had previously struck true. The sound of your blade hitting the bark, knocked him out of his trance and had him blinking a few times. Cursing under his breath but you couldn’t make out his words.

“Are you even fuckin listening to a word I just said man?” Your tone was sharp and full of annoyance. Shaking your head you walked over to the tree, the snow crunching beneath your boots and you grasped your blade, yanking it from the dry bark and walked back over to him.

“Zoned out for a minute there.”

“Wow, you don’t fuckin say. Pay attention, Joel. I’m not gonna repeat myself twice.”

His fingers flexed over his own knife. You really did have quite the mouth on you and for someone so petite, your words packed a solid punch. “Easy now, Doll.”

You gave him a look then. Your eyes boring into his for a moment and you both waited to see who would break the tension. You were challenging one another, silently. Who was the weaker one and who would hold their ground. Joel found your stare on him to be just the right amount of intimidating and he found himself casting his eyes away from yours, clearing his throat quietly.

You had won this round, for now.

“As I was saying..” You continued with your instructions and this time, he made damn well sure to listen. He found himself glancing at your lips as they moved. He couldn’t help himself, really. You were truly an enigma in his eyes. A mystery wrapped up with the biggest fucking attitude he had ever encountered.

You showed him the proper position. Where, and how he should stand. You adjusted his grip, made a comment about his posture being wrong. You were right there, invading his senses. Just the brush of your fingers across his covered arm was enough to have him sweating. You damn well knew what you were doing, you had to.

He watched you carefully then as if he was the prey and you were the predator. Oh, how the tables had turned.

“Breathe out nice and slow when you release it. Don’t fight against it either. The blade is a part of you, Joel.” Your tone was too soft for his liking, your breath could be felt against his cold cheek and he gritted his teeth together, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah alright, think I got it from here, doll.”

You smirked then knowing that you had gotten under his skin just the slightest. You rattled him. Taking a step back, you crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a slight nod.

Joel focused back on his target, zoning in on it and like the mother fucker he was, he threw his knife like he had done this 1000 times as well. Joel knew what he was doing but having you think you were teaching him, was the highlight of his day. The tip of his blade struck the chipped away bark with a thud and he looked over at you, smugly.

“You mother fucker.”

“Easy peasy.” He quipped back.

“I can’t believe you right now. What is there that you can’t fucking do?”

“Hmm.” He thought for a moment wanting you to believe he was bluffing. “Can’t think of anythin. Guess I’m just that good, huh?”

“You’re un-fucking believeable Miller.”

“Oh, I know. I absolutely am.”

_______

Joel had decided to teach you a few combat moves. He wanted to get back at you for rattling him and this was the perfect opportunity. He didn’t think about how you were far quicker than him. You blocked his punches easily and you hit back twice as hard. Now it was easy for him to believe that you were lethal, without a doubt. You could tell he was beginning to tire by his staggered breaths, his knees were for sure going to give out soon, his punches at you were becoming un-calculated and sloppy.

Bingo.

Joel felt his legs getting kicked out underneath him before he had the chance to catch himself. His back hit the snow with a soft thud. He hadn’t even had the chance to pull himself up before you were on top of him, pinning him down with your weight. The tip of your blade was held dangerously close to the artery in his neck and his wrists were pinned above his head. How the hell did he end up here? He had no clue.

You leaned down towards him then, hair falling around your face and you had that wild look in your eye. Something about you in that moment was so feral. So lethal. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears from the close proximity. You had this man absolutely fucking stunned, and at your mercy.

“Do you yield?” There was a playful edge to your tone. You were enjoying this, getting back at him for all the times he got under your skin.

Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He looked up at you, taking notice of the flush in your cheeks, from the cold most likely but maybe, also from him. He took notice of how close your blade was to his throat. Your other hand holding down his wrists and your thighs pressing down on his hips.

He didn’t respond. He instead took charge of the situation again, having no trouble freeing his wrists from your hold and pushing his weight against you. Your knife was yanked from your grip in a flash and tossed into the snow. He had you pinned beneath him now. His body was looming over yours, his breath heavy and he had your wrists pinned on either side of your head. Your legs were trapped between his and you couldn’t even move if you tried.

He leaned down then, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You hesitated, doll. Now you’re dead. You can never let the enemy have the upper hand.”

Joel had you at his mercy now and he watched as your chest rose and fell. Your breath came out in sharp puffs. “You’re a fucking dick Miller. Fuck you.”

He chuckled then enjoying the fact that despite you and him both knowing that this little game was over, you were still resilient, still feisty and absolutely too stubborn to admit defeat.

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you killed one day Gwen.”

You scoffed. Twisting your wrists in his firm grasp to see if there was any chance of freeing them but he had you good.

“It’s gonna do a hell of a lot more than just get me killed, Miller.”

He was silent then, staring down at you like you were a caged animal, and he was the spectator. You both seemed to be waiting for the other to speak. To do anything. He thought about kissing you. Your lips were so close he could nearly taste them. An illicit affair in the snow, now that would be something.

The weight of his body on yours was no longer present. Your wrists were freed and you finally felt like you could breathe again as you quickly sat up, reaching for your knife and tucked it back into the holster around your hips. Joel had outstretched his hand for you and you grabbed it as he hauled you up from the snow.

You were both silent as you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Time had passed and the sky was beginning to grow dark. You had been out there for hours. On the way back to the QZ, you both had stolen glances. The tension was thick but neither party tried to cut through it. Some words were better left unspoken. You both had felt it though. The gravitational pull towards one another. After today, it was undeniably there.

Neither you, nor Joel had won this round.

CHAPTER 8:

259 notes · View notes

helpmemomikilledaman · 1 year

Text

Hajime: My ultimate goal is to punch God in the eye, just to spite him one last time.

Makoto: You know, when Nagito comes over, Hajime can get a little… Kaede: Psycho? Kyoko: Scary? Shuichi: Drunk? Makoto: All three.

Kaede: You have to apologize to them Kokichi. Kokichi: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

Shuichi: "I lost a bet." Shuichi: The second-most ominous phrase in existence. Kaede: What's the first? Shuichi: "Let's make a bet."

Shuichi: If you kill me, my teeth only have a 2 drop rate. Hajime: What? Shuichi: Good luck.

Hajime: Whatever happened to the concept of less is more? Nagito: But if less is more, then just think of how much more 'more' will be!

Kaede: We’re going to defeat you with the power of friendship. Kokichi: We’re not friends. Kaede, holding an axe: We’re going to defeat you with the power of incredible violence.

Kyoko: If bees can be fish and boys can be girls, then why can't my dad love me? Byakuya: I thought I was going to have to yell at you, but now I think I should hug you.

Comments under an image of a really hot knife cutting bread Kokichi: Imagine stabbing someone with this knife. Shuichi: It would instantly cauterize the wound, so the person wouldn't bleed, so it's not very useful. Chiaki: if you want information it is Makoto: why would you STAB a person when you can have TOAST?

Makoto: I want a bf. Byakuya: Do you mean best friend, boyfriend or bread feast? Because you’re being really vague here.

Kokichi: Do you know the ABCs of first aid? Chiaki: A. Bone. Coming out of the skin is very bad.

Makoto: You’ve got to learn to love yourself. Nagito: But don't you hate yourself. Makoto: Yeah, but this is about you. Stay focused.

Nagito: I feel like the world would be better if I'd never been born. Kyoko: Aw… that's not true. Kyoko: It'd be exactly the same. Kyoko: You're not important.

Shuichi: Well Kokichi, I have to say, I'm really disappointed. Kokichi: Well, you didn't HAVE to say it. You could've just thought it.

Makoto: Here's two facts about me. Makoto: 1. I hate hot people. Makoto: 2. I'm a hypocrite.

Kaede: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue? Makoto: Technically a mix of green and blue? Kaede: So blurple. Makoto: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple. Kaede: Would you rather have fucking bleen? MOTHERFUCKING GRUE? Makoto: You were confusing before but now I'm scared.

Kokichi: I just wanna be called cute 21/7. Shuichi: Why no 24/7? Kokichi: Snack breaks.

Makoto, to Shuichi: If Hajime doesn't say "I'm King of the world" within an hour on that boat, I will give you my next pay check. Hajime, within 5 minutes of getting on the boat: I'M KING OF THE WORLD!!!

Byakuya: And have you learnt anything this Christmas, Shuichi? Shuichi: …Not really. Byakuya: Nothing? Shuichi: Tell you one thing I have learnt—Christmas; ultimately, commercial holiday. Who's the real winner at Christmas? Amazon. they have drones now! Tiny little dystopian slaves delivering iPads and headphones. I ordered a toaster; It was on the doorstep five hours later! Do we need that? It was 4.99! For a toaster! I mean, someone's being exploited there.

Shuichi: Where have you been all day? Hajime: Oh, just dealing with things way beyond my maturity level.

Nagito: Hajime annoyed me today so I told them that I can’t wait to see what they have planned for our special day tomorrow. Kaede: There is nothing special about tomorrow. Nagito: But there is something special about watching the color leave their face as panic takes over.

Shuichi: I’m the smartest, wisest person in this group. Chiaki: Really? Then why is your hand stuck in a vending machine? Shuichi: I paid for my Mars Bar, I’m getting my Mars Bar.

Hajime: WHO THE FUCK- Kaede: Whoa, language! Hajime: I speak fucking English! Kaede: …

Chiaki: I need a long word. Shuichi: T-rex but the long one.

Kyoko: sSSSHIT- I BURNT MY LIP- Kokichi: …Why the fuck would you even drink coffee with a METAL STRAW in the FIRST PLACE?? Kyoko: BECAUSE WE WERE OUT OF THE PLASTIC ONES!

Makoto: :) Hajime: >:( Makoto: Turn that frown upside down! Hajime: ):< Makoto: Not sure what I was expecting…

Makoto: So I can either do something dumb that could very well get me injured or I can listen to Hajime and not do the thing, Makoto: Well there’s a clear right answer here. Makoto: proceeds to throw five packs of mentos into a barrel full of diet coke

Kyoko: Hi, could I ask how exactly does one accidentally set a lemon on fire?? Makoto: Microwave for 40 minutes. 😔 Nagito: Why were you microwaving a lemon??? Makoto: I read boiling lemons helps cover up up bad smells (I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges) but I didn't own any pots. Shuichi: Did you burn an orange too? How??? Makoto: Microwave for 40 minutes. 😔

Kaede: Hajime likes to win. When they were 8, a little Club Scout friend of theirs bragged they could sell the most cookies. Kaede: Damned if Hajime didn't walk the neighborhood till they got blisters on their feet, and won by 10 boxes. Kaede: Best part is, Hajime wasn't even a Club Scout.

Nagito: You know, Hajime, when you generalize, you tell general… lies. Hajime: … Hajime: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns.

Nagito: You know, Kokichi, when you generalize, you tell general… lies. Kokichi: … Kokichi: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns.

Hajime: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine. Nagito: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again. Hajime: O-oh. Well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns?? Nagito: Is it working?

#danganronpa #komahina #naegami #saiouma #hinanami #saimatsu #naegiri #platonic or romantic your choice

158 notes · View notes

kattahj · 1 year

Text

Having now watched a bunch of Thai BL shows with really obvious product placements, I've actually started to prefer that to commercial breaks. It's still the actors I like playing the characters I like within the continuity of the show, they're just being ridiculously fond of certain brands. Yes, it disturbs the story, but breaks definitely do that too!

So far, the product placements come in four categories:

1. Random. "Oops, my printer needs new ink! How fortunate that this ink is easy to insert and creates good quality pictures!" These are silly but amusing.

2. Discreet. Just a bunch of brand name items showing up. This is closer to the Hollywood kind of product placement. A bit insidious and not really entertaining, but they don't disturb the narrative so much either.

3. Flirtatious. "Ooh, let me wash your face!" Listen, when the actors already have chemistry so thick you can slice it with a knife, I'm not about to complain when they wash each other's faces, even if the NIVEA on the bottle is prominently featured. This would be the best category if not for category 4:

4. Cat treats. Best category because cat.

#thai bl #moonlight chicken #bad buddy #a tale of thousand stars #atots #i haven't really noticed much product placement in he's coming to me or not me (so far)

89 notes · View notes

murdermepeacefully · 4 months

Text

John Carver Headcanons

For the ever amazing @fingersinmyhair 💕I hope you like them~

NOTE: Some of these may be spoilers for the movie regarding who the killer is, so please don't read my post as a gauge for if you'd enjoy it if that would bother you.

These are of course my own personal opinion, but feel free to reblog, add onto them, ask questions about them, or add them to the ones you accept yourself! I absolutely love hearing from others on their thoughts.

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Things Inspired By The Movie:

Has a burning hatred for waffles after the massacre at Rightmart.

You see that table setting? This man is a Martha Stewart stan.

Prefers the intimacy of an ax or knife as a weapon, when possible.

Definitely ran track at least part of high school.

Hella destructive anger. This man would 100% punch a hole in the wall when pissed.[*🌶️More under Spicy]

Would love rage rooms as a result.

Mildly perfectionist mindset.

Enjoys calligraphy

Purely speculation, but I would absolutely believe if he tampered with the float to result in additional chaos at the parade.

Definitely get the vibes that while Kathleen's fate was determined from the start given lines such as "I'm sure you'll make an excellent dinner, Kathleen", the pushback she gave to Rightmart being closed on Thanksgiving made it so that he ensured she would be awake when she went into the oven as punishment.

Chose to use John Carver mask/imagery due to Thomas's use of it for Rightmart commercials, both in the past and the year that he's committing the murders.

Things Inspired by Fandom Content:

[None ATM, but leaving this space for if/when I think of some!]

Random Things:

Despite enjoying baking, he doesn't have a huge sweet tooth. He prefers things a bit more savory.

Likes making dinners from scratch, despite the extra work

Enjoys using his authority as sheriff to control those around him.

Drinks his coffee black.

The only hinge this man has is one he got in a box of corn flakes. He's very well-practiced at faking it, however.

Likes animals in general [No preference re: cat or dog.]

Spicy 🌶️🔞:

Oh this man absolutely loves using handcuffs or ropes on a partner.

Enjoys taking photos/videos of a partner, and will reward them if they're well behaved and send him nudes or videos without being asked.

Enjoys the idea of 'stealing' a person from their partner/convincing them to cheat with him. [Once you're his, however, you're his and his alone forever]

Absolutely turned on by the idea of breaking someone completely to make them his sex slave, who exists only to give him pleasure.

Blood kink, 100%. Likes making partners bleed, using blood as lube, seeing his partner bloody, etc. No hard limits when it comes to blood.

Would carry a bottle of his partner's blood with him to use as lube spur of the moment if he can't get it fresh.

Has absolutely jerked off in his patrol car before.

Got a custom-made dildo shaped like a gun to fuck his partners with.

Likes to make you watch him fuck you. [Be it from angle or using a mirror]

Loves to degrade and humiliate during sex.

Loves to make his partner a mess, but if you make him one he'll make you clean him up with your tongue.

While the idea of seeing his partner pregnant with his child is a turn on, the actuality of it isn't something he could easily handle due to the trauma of losing his baby with Amanda.

Absolutely would wear a shibari harness under his uniform for the fun of it.

Form of punishment he'd absolutely use was to drug his partner with an aphrodisiac and set a timer, to see if they'll behave and wait until the timer goes off to touch themselves despite how horny they are.

Gets incredibly turned on by begging.

*🌶️ After punching said hole in the wall, there is a chance he would push his partner into it so that they're stuck in the wall and completely at his mercy.

#John Carver #Thanksgiving 2023

26 notes · View notes

bobmckenzie · 6 months

Text

Let Me Help ⇢ selfshipvember day 3

word count: ~2000 (I swear this was supposed to be like 1k max idk how this happened LOL) blurb: Bob hurts himself getting a snack, and Caitie helps patch him up when she learns about his dizziness around blood. tw: blood/scar/general wound talk, (almost) fainting

Hockey just wasn’t the same without a snack, but the McKenzie house was low on anything good. The crackers Bob’d been eating were stale and boring, and needed something—he hated to leave his spot on the couch next to Caitie, but remembered there was a block of cheese in the fridge that might still be good and headed off to the kitchen to slice some, hoping he wouldn’t miss any goals.

He should’ve waited for a commercial break, since he was still trying to poke his head around the corner and catch a glimpse of the TV as he worked—Bob winced when the blade caught his thumb, a little groan of pain escaping him as the knife in his left hand clattered to the floor, gaze shooting to his other hand as he mentally scolded himself. He was preparing what was probably the world's simplest snack, and yet he’d managed to screw it up.

Beads of blood were already blooming on the wound, and Bob’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. He could handle pain well enough, but blood…

He tore his gaze away, turning to reach for the nearby roll of paper towels, but his vision was getting fuzzy, darkness looming around the edges. The roll slipped out of his grasp, knocking a mug into the sink, dishes clanging.

Doug called out sarcastically from the living room, though he sounded much farther away. “Who knew someone could be so loud getting cheese, eh?”

In the other room, Caitie smiled but rolled her eyes at Doug’s remark and stood up from the couch to see what Bob was up to, or if maybe he needed some help. Truthfully, she was there more to hang out with him than to watch hockey—and maybe was hoping to stay late enough that he’d nod off and fall asleep on her shoulder like he had just last week.

She was so into the thought that she barely noticed as Doug said something about a commercial break and stood up to rush to the bathroom. But the hopeful little daydream she was having was cut short as soon as she stepped into the kitchen—Bob was leaning against the counter, white as paper as blood trailed down from his thumb to his palm.

“Oh my god–!” She started heading to grab a chair from the little table by the window so he could sit, but saw him sway and rushed over to put her arms around him instead. She wasn’t strong enough to hold him up when his body was dead weight like this, but her support helped lead him down to the floor a little more gently.

“Bob?” She asked, eyes scanning from his injury to his face, which she quickly took in her hands, trying to get those glazed eyes to look at her. The cut didn’t seem too bad—she could tell the bleeding was slowing to a stop already. Everything else was worrying her far more, her heart pounding at the sight of him, and not for the usual reasons. “Doug!” she called, but got no response.

“‘Mm'okay…” Bob mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. He meant it, too—something about his arm slinged over her shoulder, and her hands on his face, was making everything come back into focus. “Jus’... gimmie a minute…”

“Can you look at me?” She was pretty sure that was one of the things you were supposed to ask in a situation like this. In her fainting spells in the past, anyway, once she closed her eyes it was usually lights out. “Maybe you should lie down.”

“No, really, I’m okay.” He blinked his eyes open, looking at her like she asked—hey, if he had to look anywhere, he liked this view most of all. And it wasn’t every day he had an excuse to be this close to her. “It’s just… bleedin’ makes me kinda…” He shrugged, heat crawling up his neck at the admission. “I never been good with it, s’all.”

She gave him a soft smile, glad to see some of his color returning. “I think it’s stopping, if that makes you feel any better. Let me help you get it clean and everything—Do you have a first-aid kit?”

He snorted a little, shrugging, trying to play it off like it was a silly question—the truth was with her looking at him all doe-eyed, holding him that gently, he just couldn’t think straight enough to be sure if there was one in the house or not. “I don’t think so, eh.”

She laughed a little, relieved to see him acting more and more like himself. “I have some band-aids in my bag—lemee grab a couple, and then I’ll clean it.”

His smile faltered, brow furrowing a little, stomach twisting with guilt—she was being too nice to him, and he was ruining her night because he was a klutz who couldn’t handle the sight of blood. “Caitie, y’know, you don’t gotta do all that. I’ll be fine—”

“I’m getting the band-aids.” She took his face a little more firmly in her hands, looking at him pleadingly. “Don’t try to get up yet, okay? Please?”

He was too tired to come up with some sort of quip, though he wished he could think of something to stop her from taking her hands off his face, to have her sit there with him just a little longer. “Okay.”

She gave him a gentle little pat on the cheek before picking his arm up off her shoulders and standing up, heading back to the living room. He kept his eyes trained on the table at the other end of the room, not wanting to risk another glance at his thumb. He didn’t want her to have to worry about him again if she came back and found him all woozy, or worse, out cold.

She was back in just a few seconds, two individually wrapped plasters in her hand. Hosehead trailed in behind her, pausing for a second to look at Bob before heading over to his foodbowl, clearly not too concerned.

“How’re you feeling now? Less faint?” Caitie asked as she tucked the bandages into her pocket, standing beside him to use the sink.

He squirmed a little at the questions, her voice so genuine and caring. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had fussed over him like this. He nodded, looking up to see her washing her hands. “Lots better, eh.”

“I’m not sure how to… Oh! I have an idea.” Reaching for one of the cabinets, she pulled out a bowl. The next thing he knew she was handing the pull-out faucet from the sink down to him. “Hold this for me?”

He took it, understanding dawning on him as she reached for the soap and finally sat next to him again, setting everything on the floor beside them—she didn’t want him standing yet, so she was bringing the sink to him to wash the cut.

“Can I take your hand?” She met his eyes, continuing as he nodded, “It might sting a little.”

“‘S’okay.” If there was anyone he trusted to be gentle, it was her. For good reason, obviously—she took his hand softly in both of hers, her touch careful and slow. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, butterflies blooming in his stomach at the sensation. “Guess you must think I’m like, a total wuss now, eh?” he joked to distract himself from how tender she was being with him, how close she was, the softness of her skin and the fact that he could smell the scent of her perfume—she was wearing the one that always reminded him of apples.

She smiled, briefly meeting his eyes over the frames of her glasses before her attention returned to his hand. “I know you better than that.” She rolled up the sleeve of his flannel so it wasn’t in the way. “And lots of people get unsteady around blood.”

“S’usually just when it’s me who’s bleedin’,” he explained, feeling her gently spread soap over the wound. “I do okay when like, the other guys on the team get a nosebleed or somethin’. But when it’s me, and it happens out of the blue like that…” He shrugged, flushing again, wondering why he was even saying any of this when it sounded so lame. “I dunno. It started when I was a kid—Doug and I was fightin’ one day in the living room, and I ended up fallin’ on the coffee table. I had this big gash on my shoulder and had t’go get stitches, but Doug was still mad at me and kept tellin’ me all these lies on the ride to the hospital about how much blood there was, and that he could like, see my bones coming out—‘cause I couldn’t really see back there, y’know?”

“Sounds like Doug.” Her tone was light, though the story made her heart clench a little. She shook her head, understanding perfectly well why that might’ve messed with his head. “He’s lucky I don’t go and barricade him in the bathroom.”

Bob laughed, still not looking at his thumb even as she took the faucet from his other hand to rinse the soap off over the bowl. He kept his gaze on her face, finding distractions in the way she looked so focused, so careful. “He said he was sorry, so.” He shrugged a shoulder. “‘S’not his fault it freaked me out so bad. Or that I was too stupid to know he was lyin’.”

He was so forgiving, she thought, gently drying the wound with a paper towel. And way too hard on himself. “You were a kid.”

“Hmm.” Bob hummed noncommittally. He stayed quiet as she took out the band-aids and finished up, overlapping them in a crisscross that made them feel extra secure on his finger. Finally he looked down, wiggling his thumb a little, all traces of blood gone. “Good as new, eh? Thanks, Caitie.” The word didn’t seem like enough, but was all he could think to say. If he tried to say something else, something more, he’d probably just make an even bigger hose of himself.

“No problem—it feels okay and everything?” When he nodded, she bumped her knee against his. “You never finished your story—was your shoulder okay?”

His face lit up, eyebrows raising. “See for yourself, eh,” he said, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his flannel so he could push the collar down far enough to show his shoulder.

It was silly, she knew, but she couldn't stop herself from blushing at the sight of the exposed skin, the hair on his chest and a few little freckles on his upper arm she'd never gotten the chance to notice before. He turned so she could see the three inch scar right above his shoulder blade, raised and pale from time.

“Looks like it hurt.” Her hand moved, wanting to touch, to run her fingertips over the skin, but she pulled it back before she could fall victim to the whim. “Did the stitches hurt? I’ve never had any.”

“Well…” He smiled as he adjusted his shirt back onto his shoulder, but it was a sheepish, embarrassed smile that almost looked more like a grimace. “I don’t really know. Turns out that sorta thing makes me pass out too. Thought maybe I grew out of that one, but…” He hesitated, but lifted a hand to brush his hair back from his forehead with an embarrassed chuckle, exposing the little scar at his hairline. “Got this one during a game two seasons ago and found out pretty fast that I didn’t. I was all stitched up ‘fore I even came to.”

“Well, you handle band-aids pretty well,” she joked.

He laughed, moving to stand. “C’mon. Let's go before we miss the whole game, eh.”

“Oh—” She stood up, quickly wrapping an arm around him. “Not too fast.”

“Caitie—” He was about to tell her it wasn’t necessary, that he wasn’t feeling lightheaded at all anymore—then wondered why on earth he’d do that when she was up against his side again, holding onto him and letting him rest his head against her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

He smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

#this prompt list has a lot of stuff that inspired me for fics so 👀 in my posting my writing era PERHAPSE...#anyways heres another installment of 'I LOVE WRITING BOB'S DIALECT/ACCENT/SPEECH PATTERNS'#kits selfshipvember #selfshipvember #self shipping #self ship community #caitiewrites #peanut butter and jelly donut

21 notes · View notes

moth-time · 7 days

Note

hello friend.

for the non-us asks, can i pls ask (for whatever country you want/both): 4, 5 & 7?

Hi! Thanks you for sending these in :D

4. favourite dish specific for your country?

french: oh man there's so many fantastic french dishes, you make me choose one?? Ok I'm going to pick a classic but specifically my mom's version (my mom is dutch, does this make this fusion cuisine?) because it tastes like childhood and also it's so, so easy to make:

Tarte tatin! It's a caramelized apple cake. The fancy versions (see picture below) requires you to carefully arrange the apples and painstakingly flip the cake, but the lazy version is a lot easier.

My mom basically does it like this: - In a deep dish, arrange apple slices in circles until the dish is full. Sour apples are best. Make two layers, ideally the whole thing is slightly domed. You can add a few fresh rosemary needles to the apples if you want, but only a few! 5-7 should be plenty. - Drape dough of your choice on top - my mom usually uses store-bought laminated dough - making sure to cover the whole thing. Then poke some holes in the dough with a knife. You can arrange them in a circle for prettiness. - Pour a cup worth of melted butter and honey (50/50) on the whole thing, making sure to pour a generous amount into the holes in the dough so the apples are also soaked. - Push the whole thing into the oven at 180°C (with bottom heat!) for roughly half an hour, or until the dough is golden and flaky. - That's it! You can flip it but I don't bother, I just messily scoop apples and dough out of the dish. The honey and butter caramelizes and the whole dish is so, so tasty.

german: I really really really like a good Gulasch. Especially with wild meat like deer meat (Rehgulasch). I guess arguably it's not a dish specific to my country, since a whole lot of places make this too, but they're always a little different in every region. This one has mushrooms and juniper berries in it, and it's a perfect, hearty winter dish. Serve with potatoes or potato dumplings (Kartoffelknödel).

5. favourite song in your native language?

I'm so sorry neither of these are going to be even remotely comprehensible for non-native speakers. I always want to share obscure french new-wave music or german punk, but both of these rely heavily on people understanding the lyrics. They are funny because they are absurd, or crass, and very hard to translate. I guess that's part of the charm?

That said:

french: Le blues de Francoise - La Femme La Femme (the woman) is a French psych-punk band who does very floaty electronic music. Their lyrics tend to be really sarcastic and mean, the characters they play deeply unlikable, and the contrast to the peppy, spacey dance music is very funny to me. The lyrics of Le blues de Francoise (Francoise's blues) are about a woman named Francoise who is having a depressive episode following a break-up, and is told from the point of view of a "friend" who tells her "come on Francoise, get yourself together. I tell you this as a friend, you aren't pretty when you're crying". It's SO mean, and so many of their songs are like that x)

A lot of french alternative music is like this, imo. Just. Mean. Or plain absurd, french humor has a lot of absurdism to it.

german: Alt sein - Pisse Pisse (literally just: Piss) is a German punk band. They write songs about social inequality and deeply sarcastic and crass about it. Alt sein (to be old) is about being old and grumpy and slightly senile (or maybe just pretending to be to get away with theft). It's really hard to translate, it's a very German punk sentiment. Being really tired of the world turning, mad and impotent, doing small stupid things just to have any kind of impact on the world around you. All of their songs are kinda like that. I also really like Vernissage, ranting about the world of commercial art and how you have to kiss ass to make it anywhere, not having merit but just being the best at groveling.

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

french:

cagouille: a regional word for snail! It's just a very cute and fun word. Cagouille! Doesn't it fit the animal perfectly? It's so round.

vistemboir: ok this is a made up word but it sounds so quintessentially french and I love it. A vistemboir is an object from a short story by Jaques Perret, titled Le Machin (the thing). It's a thingamabob, essentially.

oiseau: french word for bird, mainly famous for being five vowels and only one consonant (and a fricative, to boot). Isn't it perfectly shaped?

german:

Kreisverwaltungsreferat: look this one just cracks me up because it's so damn german. Google translates it as "district administration department" and yeah sounds about right. But look at it. It has to many letters. So many of them are consonants. Presposperous.

Rettich: Raddish. Look, it's the same one in english. But the german one has a 'ch' sound in it, which english doesn't have. Fun sound! And a little Rettich is a Radieschen. Look at it, it's got a diminutive and everything!

Schorle: Okay this one I'm adding mainly because a Schorle is a cool thing that seems to be fairly specific to Germany: It's fruit juice cut with sparkling water. Typically half and half. Depending on the type of juice you would add the name of the fruit in front. So Apfelschorle (with apple juice), Johannisbeerschorle (with red current juice), etc. You can get a Schorle in p much any restaurant, it's usually the cheapest non-alcoholic option, too. Refreshing!

#moth talks #ask #ask meme #french #german #spyld #I'm sorry i can talk about german punk for a long time #and none of it transfers to english dlkfldkfd #i love it though #thank you for the ask!

7 notes · View notes

2btheanswertothequestion · 1 year

Text

“I’m not calling for El.”

Jonathan, just drawing breath to shout El’s name, pauses. Puts the receiver back to his ear with his brow furrowed.

“You’re not?” he asks.

“Nope,” Max says on the other end. There’s movement where she is, rustling and footsteps, and her television is playing what sounds like a car commercial. She lowers the volume before he can catch for which car. “I wanna talk to you. Will said you have a skateboard?”

“I do.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

Jonathan puts the pile of mail, and the butter knife he was opening it with, on the table and slouches against the wall. He does know how to use it, or at least he did. It’s been years since last. Once he started working, there’s wasn’t any time to squeeze in skating for fun between homework and chores. Once he got his driving license, there wasn’t any point in using it for transportation either. But before that, the skateboard saw more wear than the soles of his shoes did.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, because though it’s been years he still knows how, right? It’s like swimming or riding a bike. Once you know, you know.

“Great. Then I have a favor to ask.” She breathes deeply over the line. “Mom doesn't want me out on my own. Because of my eyes and my legs. So, could you, like, help me out?”

–– –– –– –– –– –– –– –– –– ––

The area by the Mayfield trailer isn’t great for skating, with the cracked pavement and the seemingly permanent layer of gravel, and every other area that isn’t actually designated for skating but so used anyway is bound to have other people there. It’s because of that, he guesses, Max tells him to meet her by a little cul-de-sac south of the park. He arrives thirty minutes early to test the road and his rusty skills. Perhaps simply skating there would have been enough to refresh his muscle memory, but why take the chance?

It’s a nice area. The asphalt is even and the lawns are mowed. A few houses have fruit trees in their yards, and every window has the kind of curtain retirees like. A dog, small by the sound of it, yaps from inside one of the houses at one point, but calms quickly. After that, the only noise is the wind and his squeaky wheels.

He was right – it is just like riding a bike. It’s not as smooth as once upon a time, and he can’t go as fast, but he never eats shit. He even nails a kickturn and a tic tac on his first try, and a basic ollie on his second. By the time the Beemer turns up, he’s back to 100% confident in his abilities.

Max jumps out of the car, and for a moment it’s like nothing happened. Her spine is straight and her head is level. Her bright hair is loose and she’s wearing a yellow T-shirt.

Then she looks toward him, and her eyes are just a little unfocused. She walks and her movements are a tad too stiff. It’s impossible to forget the fact that she turned her back on death twice.

While she retrieves her skateboard and crutches from the backseat, Steve rolls down his window and beckons for Jonathan to come closer. He doesn’t have much to say apart from “Hey, man” and “I’ll be back in two hours” and, after leaning in close to whisper, “she won’t admit it, but she gets tired after standing for twenty minutes, so make sure she takes breaks”.

Jonathan promises with a nod and then the BMW drives off.

The first thing she asks is if he brought his board. He replies “yes”. Then she wants to know if he still remembers how to skate. “Yes” again. She nods, pushes a long tress out of her face, and drops her own board onto the road. The crutches, just a precaution according to her, are left lying on the sidewalk as she steps on the board.

When he asks how she wants to do this, she admits she hasn’t ridden in months – only balanced in her room, by her bed – and needs to figure out the basics again. So they start with pushing and stopping.

He leaves his board behind for it, opting to run next to her as she rides. It’s slow-moving at first, with lots of stops and starts. She wobbles but never falls, the one close-call when she veers too close to the curb and almost crashes aborted by Jonathan grabbing and steadying her. After thanking him she points out it might be a good thing for her to fall, and that he should let her.

He says he’ll consider it if she wears a helmet. She rolls her eyes and makes sure to ride farther from the curb on her next try.

Twenty minutes in he suggests a break, which she manages to delay for an additional five minutes before sitting down to drink some water and eat a banana. Above, the sky turns a shade grayer. She’s unconcerned when he lets her know, instead throwing herself back on the board. The uncertainty from before has all but evaporated off her.

She attempts tricks. Riding switch is easy for her, as is the kickturn and manual. The nose stall is harder since she can’t see when it’s time to shift her weight and balance. They solve the issue by having Jonathan stand on the curb and talk, letting her hear how far away she is. A few dozen or so tries in, she’s memorized the distance and succeeds without him. Cackling, she raises her hand for a high-five; he obliges.

By their second break, Max is almost smiling too wide to drink from her water bottle. Buzzing with excitement, she wants to continue immediately, but he puts his foot down because, happy or not, she’s exhausted. The corners of her eyes droop and despite the high temperature she shivers, goosebumps erupting across her bare arms. She still waves him off when he offers her his jacket.

At least until it starts to rain.

It’s nothing major, just a late summer drizzle. But it might become more, so he’s grateful when she huddles underneath the dark denim, resting it on top of her head to keep her arms free. And then they simply listen.

The clouds keep rolling in, the sky growing darker each second. Both it and the wet pavement are slate gray now, but the leaves are vivid green and the air smells like warmth and earth. Max’s head drifts back and forth, seeking the sounds, zeroing in on the heaviest droplets as they hit the asphalt. His too-big jacket hangs like a curtain around her, shielding her from rain and darkness alike.

Actually, no. Just the rain. She wards off the darkness on her own. Her sunshine-yellow shirt, her flame-orange hair, her smoke-white skin, so pale it’s almost translucent, the veins running fluorescent on the insides of her wrists.

She’s glowing like a candle.

“Thanks,” she says. “For being my eyes today.”

“No problem. Thanks for making me finally use this again.” He kicks at his board, the wheels spinning slowly.

“I want to skate at the park or the lot later. When I’m ready.”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

Max nods, a small smile on her face. Untangling her crossed legs, she pulls them to her chest to rest her chin on her knees.

“Have you heard what Dustin’s been researching?”

“No, what?”

“Well. He has a theory,” she says, and Jonathan actually snorts at her imitation, both expression and cadence a perfect copy of Dustin’s, “on human echolocation.”

Jonathan draws a breath. “Human… echolocation.”

“He thinks that, by studying echoes or whatever, I can learn where things are by snapping my fingers, or doing this,” she says and clicks her tongue. “So, I guess that’s a backup in case that doctor won’t make it work with the surgery.”

“How’s it going with that?”

“I dunno. They’re ‘figuring it out’.” Max makes a face that tells exactly what she thinks of that. “Guess, right now, Dustin Henderson is my best bet.”

She shrugs, her lips curving into a smile’s likeness. The lines around her mouth and shadows by her eyes make her appear both impossibly old and unbearably young. She sniffles, which might be due to the cold, might be something else.

Jonathan says, “His success-to-failure ratio is in your favor.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she says, now smiling for real again.

Anything else they might have to say is cut short by the appearance of Steve’s BMW. It hasn’t been two hours yet, not even one and a half, but the rain is starting to come down harder, so they stow away the items in the trunk to make space for Jonathan and drive off.

The Beemer smells like pine and expensive leather. Steve has the heat on high and the stereo low, and together with the rain smattering on the windows, it creates an ambiance one could fall asleep to. Jonathan sinks into the backseat, draping his jacket over his legs for the sake of the seats, although he’s pretty sure they’ve been through worse things than rainwater. In the front, Max’s pointer finger squeaks against the misted-over window, and as Freddie Mercury sings about losing his way in the darkness, she draws perfect flowers and suns despite not being able to see them.

#*throws this at you* HERE TAKE IT #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #jonathan byers #max mayfield #my writing #editing isn't quite up to standard but whatever

107 notes · View notes