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tomriddleslove · 13 days

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Obliviate.

✩ Mattheo Riddle x Reader angst

Summary: The one where tensions are running higher, and everyone has to pick a side. You promised to stick by one another, but a stupid oath you made when you first met threatens to drive that apart. Alternatively: If you love her, then you have to let her go.

A/N: If you don’t listen to the recommended song when reading this i will fight you 🤺🤺

Song: Goodbye - Billie Eilish

The Daily Prophet

Unrest Brews as Dark Forces Loom

By Rita Skeeter

In a disturbing turn of events, Diagon Alley was rocked by an unprecedented attack last night, sending shockwaves throughout the wizarding community. Witnesses reported seeing a group of hooded figures, suspected to be Death Eaters, descending upon the famous magical thoroughfare with malicious intent.

The Flourish and Blotts bookstore bore the brunt of the assault, with its windows shattered and shelves overturned. Several nearby shops, including Ollivanders Wand Shop and Eeylops Owl Emporium, also sustained significant damage.

"I've never seen anything like it," said Horace Slughorn, a retired Potions Master who happened to be in the area during the attack. "It was pure pandemonium. People were running for cover, spells flying everywhere. It was like a scene out of the darkest days of the last wizarding war."

Ministry of Magic officials were quick to respond to the scene, deploying Aurors and members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol to contain the situation. However, the attackers managed to evade capture, leaving behind a trail of destruction and instilling fear in the hearts of many.

The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, condemned the attack in the strongest terms, vowing to apprehend those responsible and bring them to justice.

"We will not tolerate such brazen acts of violence in our society," Minister Shacklebolt declared in a statement issued this morning. "The Ministry is fully committed to ensuring the safety and security of all witches and wizards, and we will spare no effort in our pursuit of these criminals."

The attack on Diagon Alley serves as a grim reminder of the growing threat posed by Voldemort's followers, who have been emboldened in recent months by reports of their dark lord's rumoured return. With tensions running high and fear gripping the wizarding world, many are left wondering what the future holds in this time of uncertainty.

You frown as you observe Mattheo, watching as he tosses the paper down onto the table in front of you with a huff. The tension in his face has become increasingly evident over the past few weeks, and you've begun to forget what Mattheo looks like when he isn't frowning.

You wrap your arms around his arm, leaning in close to him as you speak quietly.

“Hey. It’s alright,” You reassure, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from the fireplace, a small huff of both frustration and amusement escaping his lips as he clenches his jaw, nodding.

“It’s alright.” He scoffs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

It’s alright? No, it wasn’t alright. His father was a murderous lunatic who was about to trigger the second wizarding war. He had to sit back and watch his own friend get tortured for hours for failing to complete a task. He can't close his eyes without seeing Theodore writhing in pain on the floor.

Mattheo was expected to fight with them. The time would come, that was for certain. Mattheo would have to stand there, and raise his wand against the people he's shared a dorm with and sat in class with.

Hell, he would be expected to raise his wand against you.

“They always say this, Mattheo. They’ve been saying it for years, and nothing has happened.” You say, but even you can see how pathetic it sounds. Despite your efforts to comfort him, it's clear that his mind is elsewhere, consumed by the looming threat of war and the impossible choices he may soon be forced to make.

Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from the fireplace, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitches, the sheer look of sorrow in his eyes enough to shatter your heart into a million little pieces.

"I don't want to drag you into this," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion. "You deserve better than to be caught up in my mess."

Your heart sinks as you realize where this conversation is headed. "Mattheo, please," you plead, the fear in your voice palpable, "don't do this. Don't shut me out."

But he shakes his head, his expression pained. "I have to," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Remember our promise?"

Mattheo looks up when he sees you sit next to him, a wide grin on your face as you unpack your bag.

He had seen you here and there in the common room. You always seemed to have an impossibly bright smile, far too lovely for the gloominess of Slytherin.

“Riddle.” You hum with a small grin, and he can't help but let a small smile tug at his lips as he looks over at you.

“What's wrong? You’re looking at me as though I’ve grown another head” You tease as you sit down next to him .

Mattheo blinks in surprise as you address him, the warmth of your smile catching him off guard. He's used to being treated with caution and apprehension, especially given his family's reputation and his own reserved demeanor. But your easy manner and genuine curiosity leave him feeling strangely disarmed.

"Nothing's wrong, just lost in thought, I suppose," he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice as he watches you unpack your bag. Despite himself, he can't help but feel a sense of curiosity about you, wondering what it is that draws you to him when so many others keep their distance.

-•-

“Please-” Mattheo pleads in frustration, slamming the door shut behind him as he storms through the empty common room. You follow after him briskly, slamming the door that separates the common room from the dorms closed with a flick of your wand as you corner him.

“What do you mean, please?” You snap, frowning at him.

“Stop-” He says, his movements exasperated as he motions between the two of you “- this! Stop trying to be friends with me! It’s for your own good.” He says, looking up at you.

You let out a dry laugh, a mix of amusement and frustration as you shove him lightly.

“Oh fuck off. So you can kiss me and spend every evening with me but when it suits you we are just friends. You don't get to decide what’s good for me, Mattheo. I choose what I do and who I associate with, and if that hurts me then so fucking be it.” You retort harshly. Mattheo goes to interject but you cut him off.

“No! You don't get to choose when you want to be with me. I want you, Mattheo. All of you. I couldn’t give two flying shits about who your father is, or who you associate with. I'm capable of making my own decisions.”

He remains silent, his expression torn between turmoil and guilt, as your words hang heavy in the air between you. You feel slightly guilty for your outburst and your expression softens, reaching out to hold his hand gently as you speak.

"You know, if you really think it's that dangerous for me to be around you, you could always just obliviate me. Make me forget about you completely."You quip, trying to lighten the mood

For a moment, Mattheo's shock gives way to a burst of laughter, the tension in the room dissipating as he shakes his head in disbelief. "You're impossible," he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

-•-

You pull back from Mattheo, shaking your head. “No. No, that was a joke.” You stammer, but he turns to you.

“It wasn’t. We spoke about it afterwards. You promised me.” Mattheo says, sternly.

You know he’s right. You only agreed because the idea seemed so laughable. But now it was a reality, and you could see the hurt and disappointment in Mattheo's eyes.

Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to find the right words, the weight of everything crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. "I love you, Mattheo," you say, more of a plea than anything else. He draws you into him, a strong arm wrapping around you tightly, as though he is scared to let you go. His hand cups the back of your head, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder as he kisses the top of your head.

“I know. I love you too. That's why we have to.” He murmurs, trying his hardest to not let his voice break.

-•-

It’s not fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Mattheo had just found it. Found his reason for living. Found his reason to keep going when all the odds were stacked against him. You were the air he breathed, the light that lit his life up and the tender hand that soothed him. You were his everything, and you had to be snatched away from him.

He gently raps on the door to your dorm, just to let you know he was about to enter before cracking the door open. You hastily scramble, shoving the book you were writing with under your pillow as you spot Mattheo.

He notices but he doesn't say a thing, no, he can't. Because in a few minutes, it would be as though he never existed to you. He couldn't tell what would have hurt more, you not being able to see him, or you not even knowing who he was. You’d hold his heart in your hands, unknowingly, and he would be nothing but a stranger.

“Not in here, Please, not in here.” You breathe out, your words hitching in your throat as you fight back tears. He nods wordlessly, taking a step back.

“No one’s in the common room. I’ll uh- go there.” He murmurs, his voice hollow and empty as he turns to leave, unable to bear the thought of facing you for what may be the last time.

As he makes his way down to the common room, every step heavier than the last, he can't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnaws at his insides. It's like a void, swallowing him whole and leaving nothing behind but a hollow shell of the person he used to be.

He finds a seat in the furthermost corner, where you both usually sat, facing the fireplace. He watches the embers crackle and dance, not even noticing your presence till you slide up into the seat next to him. He wants to avert his gaze when he sees the tears in your eyes, but instead, he reaches up.

His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?

He wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

“My wand. Let me go uh-” He blurts , quickly getting up as he looks away. He blinks back tears as he hurries up the stairs. Instead of going up to his dorm, however, he sneaks into yours.

He walks over to your bed, pulling back your pillow. Sure enough, the small book you were so desperate to conceal from Mattheo was there. He looks around and then with a small huff, tucks it into his back pocket. He hurries back downstairs.

Returning to the common room, he sits back down next to you, his hand reaching out to gently intertwine with yours as you sit together in silence. For a while, you don't say anything. You fear that speaking will break this small bubble, where time has frozen and you can just enjoy your last moments together.

As Mattheo gently cups your face, his touch trembling with the weight of what's to come, he feels the soft dampness of your tears against his fingertips. Your eyes, filled with sorrow and pleading, search his for some semblance of reassurance, some sign that this isn't the end.

"I can't do this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart breaking with every word. "I can't lose you. You mean everything to me. I’m so scared"

Your sobs fill the air around you, the sound like a knife to Mattheo's heart as he struggles to hold back his own tears. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a tender, bittersweet kiss, savouring the taste of your lips one last time before it's all gone.

“I love you.” Is all you can muster. It’s pathetic, but it hurts to even think about anything.

You cling to him desperately, your fingers tangling in his hair as though trying to anchor yourself to the present. Mattheo feels a lump form in his throat, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, but he knows that he has to do this. For your own safety, for your own sake, he has to let you go.

His forehead presses against yours, taking in every last moment of intimacy he’s granted. You don't open your eyes, and he's grateful, for he doesn't think he could bear to look you in the eye.

“Obliviate.”

The second after he murmurs the words he stumbles away from you, reeling backwards as though your touch has burnt him. You wouldn't remember a thing about him, not even his name. He couldn’t be close to you anymore.

Mattheo watches as you blink, confusion clouding your features as you try to make sense of your surroundings. You look around the room, your eyes scanning the familiar surroundings with a sense of bewilderment, and for a moment, Mattheo's heart clenches with the hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll remember him. But deep down, he knows that it's futile, that the spell has already taken effect, erasing every trace of him from your mind.

You shake your head slightly, as if trying to clear the fog from your thoughts, before turning and heading up to your bed. Mattheo watches you go, his heart breaking with every step you take away from him, knowing that he can never follow.

But then, just as you reach the top of the stairs, you pause, your gaze flickering back to where Mattheo stands in the corner of the room. And in that moment, you give him a small, absentminded smile, the kind of smile you might give to a passing stranger.

Mattheo's heart lurches in his chest at the sight of your smile. He wants to call out to you, to tell you who he is, to beg you to remember him, but he knows that it's pointless. You're gone, lost to him forever, and there's nothing he can do to change that.

As you disappear, he collapses down onto the sofa, He wants to sob, and for a second he thinks he is, a horrible restictive choking feeling in his throat as he looks down at the floor. He reaches into his pocket, fingers fumbling with the small black book, perhaps the last piece of you he’d truly have.

He finds the most recent entry and wipes away the tears that blur his vision as he begins to read.

Don't be alarmed when you see this. I want you to read every word of this carefully. This is you, that is writing. It is the 26th of June, 1996. You might have felt like you’ve woken up in the common room, feeling a bit disoriented.

You were obliviated. And it was your idea.

When you were that annoying, pestering little kid, you had taken it upon yourself to befriend a boy called Mattheo Riddle. You’ll see him over the next few days, perhaps. He might look at you as though it hurts him to. It most definitely does. He’s devastatingly handsome, with the softest brown curls and the most expressive eyes. I do believe you won't need me to describe him. Really, my love for him is so strong I doubt any sort of obliviate can erase the idea that Mattheo Riddle lives within the recesses of your heart. Everyone had warned you of how dangerous he was, how his father was rumoured to be the Dark Lord and that he was bound to be no good. But you, in your true Slytherin ambition, set out on a mission to befriend him.

And you fell in love. It was impossible not to, really.

He is everything to me. He was everything to you. He is the most brilliant boy I’ve known. Far too many people gave up on him early. He’s beyond just being incredibly intelligent. He feels. And that’s rarer than you might believe. For someone who was subjected to such horrible things growing up, he is tender. Do not let his bruised knuckles and split lips fool you.

Now, more than ever, he will struggle. He believes you are fully not aware of him. But with this, I hope you are.

Be there for him. Do not tell him about this. You were awfully good at forcing your way into people's lives. Do that for him now. Make him think it was a coincidence. Be there for him, and don’t let his stubbornness fool you. Merlin knows he will be stubborn. He is simply scared, and you mustn’t let that deter you.

People will often compare their lovers to the sun. Bright, warm, near perfect. Mattheo is the moon, casting a gentle glow in the darkness, guiding you through the night. He may not shine as brightly as the sun, but his presence is no less mesmerizing, no less essential.

You had always preferred the moon more, anyway.

Take care of him.

You stupid girl. You stupid, selfish girl.

Mattheo's hands tremble as he reads the letter, his heart constricting with every word, every line. It's like a knife to his heart, the pain of knowing that even in a situation like this, you still found a way to look after him, to care for him, to love him.

Tears blur his vision as he reads on, each word cutting deeper than the last. The book, filled with pages of recollections of the time they spent together, feels like a cruel reminder of everything he's lost, everything he can never get back.You had nearly filled the whole book, addressed to yourself with worries and letters in the hopes of getting your obliviated mind to fall back in love with Mattheo. To remember him, and to negate the whole idea of obliviating yourself by leaving this book for your future self.

And you did all of this just because you wanted to look after him.

It hurts to breathe, to even entertain the idea of going to bed tonight knowing that the love of his life sees him as nothing but a stranger. And in his hands, he holds the thing that could do the impossible, that could somehow reverse it all.

The very selfish part of him wants you to see the book. He wants to slip upstairs, and hide it back under your pillow, and let you find the words you addressed to yourself.

But he couldn’t. He could die far more happily knowing he’s not leaving you behind, no. Really, you were never his, the two of you forcing destiny in the opposite direction, living on borrowed time. Now he has to face the consequences of it all, and if he can stop you bearing the brunt of it, then he’s made no mistake.

He places the book down on the table, and doesn’t think twice about his actions.

“Incendio.”

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x you

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itsbubbleteataro · 2 months

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It's currently storming and here's a little fun fact about me, I'm terrified of thunder. So here's a little hurt comfort Drabble with a reader who's spooked during thunderstorms. Please enjoy! Ps. The next part of "The Radio Host and The Reporter" is in my drafts ∩^ω^∩

Rain Rain go Away

Paring: Alastor x Fem!reader

Warnings: possible ooc Alastor

You've never been a fan of thunderstorms. Quite unfortunate considering that when you were alive you lived in an area that tended to get hit hard by thunderstorms when they did happen. Back then Alastor didn't know this till he found you burrowed under blankets like a small mammal.

This night was no different. It was a rare night in hell and a thunderstorm was raging on outside. As soon as your doe like ears picked up on the first sign of rain, you tensed.

"Hey (y/n) you good toots?"

Angel dust asked, snapping you out if your train of thoughts. Your ears were pinned back as you managed a smile and stood up.

"Yeah Angel. I'm okay"

And with that you left. You took a very shaky breath as you walked up the stairs. Of course Alastor had left to go see Rosie a few hours ago, none of you known it would rain. You just hoped it wouldn't end up a thunderstorm.

*****

Alastor was mid sip when his ear flicked, moments before rain started pouring down. He put his tea cup back down on its saucer. His ear closest to the window kept facing it, listening for signs of thunder while he kept facing Rosie. His smile was still casual as he listened at the latest gossip Rosie had been talking about.

"Oh and Suzan came by. Still brutish as ever, came to me because she ended up eating her husband, can you bealive that?"

"Well it is Suzan Rosie, that woman even has me at the end of my rope"

Alastor's ear flicked and his grip tightened on the handle of his teacup. Moments later a blinding flash of light struck a tall tower, and a rumbling crack echoed down the streets.

His ears flicked downward and to the side for a moment before returning to their normal position. It was enough to tip off Rosie however,

"Oh go on Alastor. If you need to leave I'm sure it's important"

Rosie flashed him her usual smile, waving her hands in a shooing motion.

Alastor's eyes softened for a moment.

"Thank you Rosie. We'll have to catch up some other time. Thank you for the tea"

With that, Alastor shadow warped out of Rosie's emporium and into the lobby of the hotel. His ears flicked, the wind seemed to be stronger here and the rain pounded against the walls. A second crack of thunder seemed to shake the building.

"Oh wow this is a rough storm. I should go check on (y/n) she left a little while ago-"

"No need Charlie, I'll do it myself"

Vaggie looks up at Alastor for a moment raising an eyebrow before nodding and placing a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"Let's go check on Angel dust instead. Does that sound good sweetheart?"

Charlie nods her head and the two of them walk down the hall, husk makes brief eye contact with Alastor before taking a bottle of cheep booze back to his room. Thunder shakes the hotel again and Alastor makes his way up the stairs. No one is around so he makes no effort in trying to conceal the urgency in his steps.

Alastor pushes open the door to your shared room, his eyes looking around for you. His ears flick as it thunders again, drawing out a whimper from within the bayou that he had materialized in his room.

Taking a blanket off the bed he walks through the bayou, going in a bit deep, following the hoof prints you had left behind. He finds you, sitting on a log, hands over your ears.

****

Shaking, you hear someone approaching. Alastor was making his movements known to you. Raising your head you look up at him, taking your hands off your ears and placing them in your lap. His eyes a softness reserved for only when the two of you were alone.

As if ok que, the crack of thunder shook the hotel, although it seemed a bit softer out in the bayou. You squeaked, curling up into a ball. Alastor sat next to you on the log. Since you've died and gained your doe like appearance, you've found that your hearing has gotten better. Your ears are pinned back in fear.

Your body uncurls itself as Alastor drapes a blanket he had gotten from the bed over your shoulders and pulled you into his lap.

"Oh my doe, my sweet doe. Come here. The thunder shouldn't last much longer"

You nod your head. The two of you spending the rest of the night in eachother's embrace while Alastor talked on and on about his day, taking your mind off the rain pounding in the only window in his room.

Soon enough you were starting to drift off to sleep in his embrace. Picking you up, he stood up with a hum. The last thing you saw before you fell into a peaceful slumber was him, smiling softly with gentle eyes,

"See my doe? I told you it would pass"

#hurt/comfort #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #x reader #(y/n)

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princess-of-hells-littles · 27 days

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Charlie Caregiver RP

Hello my little rainbows!! I'm Charlie! After learning about age regression my girlfriend Vaggie and I decided to start a special program for all the littles in Hell and it has started off great! Any and all littles in Hell are welcome here!

Main Littles:

Hezekiah (big-brother-hez)

Vesper (vesper-the-littlest-imp)

Max (puppy-max)

Blake (baby-blakey)

Rules:

* SFW only! No kinks or anything sexual please!

*Any anti-agere/petre asks or reblogs will be reported straight away and promptly blocked. In the case of anti reblogs, depending on the severity of the behavior the whole thread may be deleted as well

* No bigotry!

* OC-Friendly!

*Vent regressors are welcome! Be sure to trigger tag any potentially triggering topics

*Padded/diapered regressors are also welcome

*Pet regressors are welcome as well!

* We accept littles of all ages from the littles of babies to the teenagers!

* We do happily accept littles with behavioral issues or special needs but be mindful of potentially stressful or triggering situations!

* I never aim to trigger anyone or make people uncomfortable on purpose. If I've done or said something that makes you uncomfortable please let me know via DM.

* I reserve the right to not answer any ask if it doesn't follow the rules. Don't forget a real person with real life responsibilities runs this blog.

Anon List:

🦝🐾, 💾, 🪴, 🎮🔥, 🪽, 🧁🦝, 🦌📻, 😋, 🍪🍫💙, 🎧, ☁️, 👽🐄, 🧇, 🐈🎉, 🥫, ☀️, 👑, ⁉️, 🦌🌹, 🦈🩹, 🌸, ♾️🏳️‍⚧️, 🦴🦈, 🐦‍⬛🧃, 🎀, 🔧💜, 😈🎩, 📼, 🪲, 🧸❤️‍🩹, 🐶🎀, 🎧🐺, ⭐️/🌙, )EDA(, _Lynxie

The Caregivers:

Hazbin Caregivers:

@the-spider-cg

@cannibal-auntie

@cherri-babysits

@vox-cg

@caregiver-carmine (Currently inactive, please respect this)

@cg-sir-pentious

@queen-of-hell-lillith

@papa-kitty

@cg-zestial

@mamamimzy

@husky-babysiter

@feathers-and-fur-agere (Vaggie and Husk)

@princess-of-hells-littles (flip)

@tiny-teevee (flip)

@duckciferthecg / @altlucicg (flip)

@mama-vaggie (flip)

@the-radio-demon-caregiver (flip)

@velvetebabysitvibes (flip)

@enmmyheavenscg (flip)

@bratboyadam (flip/multimuse)

Helluva Boss Caregivers:

@verosika-maydays-caring

@bees-babies

@caregiver-moxxie

@blitzbabysits

@fizzy-whizzy-cg

@your-hellhound-babysitter

@celestial-prince-cg

@octavias-owlettes

@mayberries-daycare

@wackford-cg

@strikerthecg

@bigbrother-striker (flip)

@caregiver-fizzarolli (flip)

Broader Hellaverse (aka OCs/non-canons):

@babysitting-hellhound

@fluffycreaturebabysits

@the-wolfie-cg

@riko-babysitz

@the-beatle-namedh0pe

@rae-angelofdeath

@crowthejuicebox (flip)

@big-brother-hez (flip)

@rhea-de-la-bahia (PLEASE READ UNDER THE CUT REGARDING THIS BLOG)

Beyond the Hellaverse (aka Other Fandoms/Personals)

@Big-Brother-N (Murder Drones)

@rika-caring-services (Pokemon)

@pinkiepiecg (My Little Pony)

@ender-is-smol (IT)

@spider-caregiver (QSMP)

@Ranboo-the-cg (MCYT)

@qpeek-da-bandit (Non-Fandom OC)

@loves-caregiving (Non-Fandom OC)

@big-sis-uzi (Murder Drones)

@mamarabbitsmusical-emporium (Steam-Powered Giraffe)

@l1ttl3-l0tus-fl0w3r (Flip) (Undertale)

@cloudscaregiverservice (Flip) (Non-Fandom OC)

Razzle, Dazzle, KeeKee, and Fat Nuggets

@razzle-little

@dazzle-littledragon

@kittykeekee

@fatnugget-agere-esa

The Littles:

@baby-blakey (Hazbin, 0-2)

@deer-boy-darling (Non-Fandom, 1-7)

@sillylittleteddy (Hazbin, 3-5)

@velvettes-lil-fawn (Hazbin, 2-6)

@thatlittletrans (Hazbin, 3-6)

@smallishimps (Helluva Boss)

@featherylilbrat (Hazbin)

@eepy-dani (Hazbin, 2-5)

@little-wolfpuppy (Non-Fandom, 0-3)

@vesper-the-littlest-imp (Helluva Boss, 0-1)

@puppy-max (Hazbin, 5-10)

@asklittlebrie (Hazbin, 3-5)

@askblossomrosehip (Hazbin, 3-5)

@littlest-owl-prince (Helluva Boss, 2-6)

@tiniradio (Hazbin, 4-7)

@tinydrone (Murder Drones)

@thebabyradiodemon (Hazbin, 2-10)

@sweetz51 (Non-Fandom, 2-8)

@loonas-playpen (Helluva Boss, 5-10)

@sillylittlecreaturebitesyou (Hellaverse, Pet)

@littlebunbun8 (2-5)

@starry-soda (Non_Fandom, 2-7)

@fernsagere (2-7)

@itsy-bitsy-spidy (Hazbin, 2-5)

@little-angie (Hazbin, 2-7)

Ask box is open my little ones!

IMPORTANT NOTE REGARDING RHEA DE LA BAHIA:

RHEA IS A PERMAREGRESSOR AND IS NOT A CAREGIVER! SHE WANTED TO BE INCLUDED ON THE MASTERLIST AND WANTED TO BE CLOSE TO HEZ, WHO IS HER BIG BROTHER PLEASE DO NOT SEND ANY ASKS TO HER THAT WOULD BE MEANT FOR A CAREGIVER

Any follow backs will come from my main onceuponahotel but be warned to any littles don't follow that particular blog back as that is my personal 18+ blog. I can unfortunately only follow back from that blog as this one is a side blog lol

Please bear in mind that I am 28 years old. If you are uncomfortable interacting with me due to my age I ask that you simply block the blog and stop interacting, I promise I will not take it personally

That being said I do try to not form any close friendships with anyone under the age of 16. This is nothing against anyone of that age range, it's for your safety. I will not accept DMs from anyone under the age of 16 unless there is an emergency (i'm talking mental health crisis or life or death situation and even then I will still probe just a little bit to make sure you've done EVERYTHING you could possibly do before reaching out. I will always help someone who is in need, however I still need to make sure this boundary is enforced somehow. If you are in danger, please contact the authorities first before reaching out to a stranger on Tumblr because at the end of the day, there is only so much I can do)

#hazbin hotel agere #charlie morningstar #hazbin agere #sfw agere #age regressor #agere little #age regression #agere community #agere blog #cg!charlie

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shootingmorningstar · 1 month

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Anon, I am so sorry .ᐟ I accidentally posted your request wayyyyy too early and had to delete it .ᐟ That being said, thank you so much .ᐟ My favorite part of writing is getting to see it resonate with others, so comments like these really make my day. Anyways, let me just say that I love this rq. You're right, that's such a funny scenario.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀Alastor With a Vee!Reader .ᐟ

You hadn't expected to climb the ranks at Voxtek. Really, you hadn't. You started off as nothing more than one of the many assistants Vox seems to get off by yelling at. Just another spineless sinner that would probably end up selling their soul to one of the three overlords, more than likely your boss.

That is exactly how your friendship with Alastor started out, actually. It wasn't too often you got a day off -- there isn't exactly any form of worker protection in hell -- so you were delighted to be able to take a stroll through Pentagram City. Maybe you could buy a new dress, or even stop by Rosie's Emporium .ᐣ Any hopes you'd had of a nice peaceful day were dashed, however, by your boss' face lighting up your cellphone.

Ugh, he was calling you .ᐣ Really, on your one day off .ᐣ Nevermind, of course he was. It seems you signed away your right to any peace the moment you became an employee under the VoxTek name.

Answering it with a simple ❛ how can I help you, sir .ᐣ ❜ had resulted in a frustrated yell so loud it resembled the high pitched screech two electronic devices echoed when forced near each other. He wasted no time in telling you a report you hadn't even written was absolute garbage and that you needed to come in and fix it now.

Or, at least, that's what you assume he was going to say. He'd gotten no farther than ❛ in ❜ before a shadow crept up on your phone, promptly ending the call.

Confused, you spin around to see Alastor. The Radio Demon, one of the most powerful sinners to ever be sent to Hell . . . . had ended your phone call .ᐣ

Now you were even more confused. You knew both Alastor and Vox despised each other -- that much had been made clear a little bit after the second to last extermination with your bosses power play becoming a duet.. battle .ᐣ

That much was public information but why in Hell's name would he ever interfere with a phone call .ᐣ He hated modern technology. You're spared from your confusion, though, when a staticky voice crackles to life in front of you. ❛ Why on Earth would you ever allow him to speak to you in that manner, dear .ᐣ ❜

From that day forward you began to see Alastor more and more, each time with a new piece of advice he had to offer you on dealing with such a terrible boss. It was absolutely orchestrated on Alastor's part, but either you didn't realize or just couldn't bring yourself to care. What you absolutely realize, though is that Alastor's advice is working. Each little bit of information he gives you dives a little bit deeper on how to deal with Vox -- how to actually have a backbone against his outrageous demands.

Fearing one day that you might push back just a little too hard and be met with the lethal force of an angry Overlord, Alastor gives you a tiny, what appears to be hand carved wooden radio. Your fear is warranted and he knows it -- you wouldn't be the first VoxTek employee to end as nothing more than a written off casualty. The idea is simple ; speak the demon's name into his namesake if any of the Vee's put you in danger and he would come to your aid.

The little trinket acts as a security blanket. From that day forward you tell Vox what you think of his ideas and where exactly he can shove the piles of paperwork he didn't feel like doing and rather pushed to you.

And Vox is impressed. You can't speak to him the way you do without being Velvette or Valentino. He doesn't know whether you're spunky or foolish, but he decides he doesn't care which. He also decides you're wasted as a secretary. In no time you're rising the ranks, going from secretarial supervisor, managing the entire office, all the way to Vox's personal assistant, making yourself known as VoxTek's rising star.

As his assistant, you find yourself attending meetings with the other Vee's often -- and to your surprise, they like you. Especially Velvette. Enough to demand Vox to share.

That's how you became a member of one of the most feared groups in Hell, the newest Vee, their underdog assistant. You take on responsibilities from all three of them, keeping them running smoothly.

All the while you're finding time to go out with Alastor for tea and a stroll through Cannibal Town. He usually despises physical contact, so you can't seem to understand why he wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked .ᐣ

What you hadn't seen was the sinner with their phone out, camera pointed at you and ready to snap a shot of Hell's newest Vee hanging out with their sworn enemy. The picture explodes on social media before Vox can get it under control, and before he knows it it's being reposted to Sinstagram twice for every one he deletes. He's outraged, calling you and demanding an answer. Alastor has long thought of this, though -- so as the two of you planned, he pretends to walk away, leaving the view of the cameras Vox is undoubtedly watching you on before using his magic to cut them off.

It's then you explain that you'd befriended the Radio Demon 'for the Vee's' in hopes of 'gaining intel to sabotage him and his Hotel.' It's a lie, but it appeals to Vox's sense of hatred for Alastor enough to slip by undetected. The idea of finding out his enemies secrets thrills him, actually.

Continuing your friendship has never been easier. Occasionally, you'll ask Alastor an overly intrusive question, he'll reply with a falsehood and you both try not to snicker as you try to act like you're trying to go behind his back to report the answer to Vox.

To be honest . . . Velvette and Valentino don't really seem to care half as much about Alastor as Vox does. They're very interested in the power felling him would bring them and so your fake spy mission does please them, but seeing you beside him didn't really send them into a frenzy like it does Vox. Velvette makes a comment about you trying to get him to change -- ❛ seriously, I know the cunt's all about avoiding cameras, but has he got to avoid mirrors, too .ᐣ that cane went out of style before radio .ᐟ ❜ and that's the end of it.

Alastor had intended you to serve as a tool against the Vee's from the very start, but I think he genuinely does enjoy your company. Sure, most of his motivations are self driven and semi-sociopathic at times, but he isn't incapable of making genuine bonds. His friendship with Rosie seems to be strong, and he's at the least fond of Mimzy and Niffty.

It surprises him regardless. He doesn't even have to be sneaky about his true intentions to you -- you know what he wants and gladly comply all the while enjoying his company. I imagine he enjoys having someone to dish into all of the Vee's shortcomings with, too.

The way I personally interpret this dynamic is platonic, but if it were to step into romantic territory, Alastor would need to be the one to approach it. He has little to no romantic desires or attraction, so I think any sort of confession would be a major turn-off from him. He wouldn't react well to others feelings being pushed onto him. However, if he were to bring it up, you're plenty patient enough to wait while he figures things out. You dealt with Vox's verbal abuse for years, this is lightwork in comparison.

Platonic or romantic doesn't matter, what does is the excitement you get when Alastor picks you up from work at VoxTek HQ and the amusement you share when you hear the sound of a monitor shattering from Vox's office.

If you were ever to be found out and stripped of your title, you have an ally and friend in Alastor, and that's by far the most meaningful thing to come from your work.

Hi, hi .ᐟ Another post out. I've been thinking on this rq ever since I got it and I think this is a good way to both show how evil and manipulative Alastor can be while also having fun. Alastor is a character that is so hard, at least to me, to keep in character while doing x r.eaders. I hope this sits well with any Alastor stans reading this .ᐟ

As always, let me know what you think .ᐟ Hearing back from you guys keeps me writing. Enjoy ♡ .ᐟ

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #kinda #platonic alastor x reader #aro friendly #ace friendly #aroace character #this prompt kinda escaped me sorry anon #i just can't see alastor having a friend in the vees and not using it to his advantage #i aim to stay as in character as i can #aroace alastor #hazbin alastor

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bitter69uk · 10 months

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“I went to Lili St Cyr’s to buy my bras and she would help me strap ‘em on and she’d bend in and put “the girls” in. And she’d bend all the way down because she told me that’s the way to get your cleavage and she showed me how to wear a bra. She was really nice and one time she zipped me in and she kind of put her knee between the backs of my legs to make sure she could really pull that zipper up and I thought, “My God she’s strong!” But she had a limp on her, and her skin was yellow because she was a big smoker – a chain-smoker. I said, “Are you Lili?” She goes, “No. No, I’m not. We never see her.” But it was her. She didn’t want people to know. And there were other times when she would give people autographs. Who knows? It was whatever day it was for her, you know. I kept going there, but I never wanted to expose her or be rude to her. So, I respected her wishes – not being Lili. I used to see other women working there with her and they all looked like old strippers. They all had lots of make-up and wigs and they talked dirty. They were in their eighties, and they all had sailor mouths. And I thought, oh my God – that’s going to be me some day!”

Shortly before her death aged 74 in 2022, bodacious sexploitation icon Kitten Natividad gave her final interview to Ashley West of The Rialto Report (the essential website / podcast devoted to documenting the golden age of porn). When asked what other exotic dancers she admired, Natividad cited Lili St Cyr (1918 – 1999). “Oh God! I could never be her but wow it would be so nice!” Natividad clarified that she never saw St Cyr perform but did used to purchase her bras from St Cyr’s Los Angeles lingerie emporium The Undie World of Lili St. Cyr. (Another customer: Cassandra Peterson aka Elvira, Mistress of the Dark).

#lili st cyr #kitten natividad #the rialto report #the undie world of lili st cyr #burlesque #vintage smut #vintage sleaze #lobotomy room

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autumnslance · 2 months

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We can finally share our works for The Thancred Anthology, the free pdf fanzine.

Here's my short story, of Thancred checking on the specter of Pandaemonium in the Aitiascope, and having an unexpected but perhaps due conversation with Fourchenault.

On Ao3 and under the cut for those who prefer Tumblr.

Being one of the saviors of the star had its perks in certain places. No one questioned Thancred’s presence in Thaumazein, nor his use of the Aitiascope’s elevator to reach the research platforms built in the shallows of the Aetherial Sea.

Researchers measured and recorded the current unusual phenomenon: the presence of the ancient research facility and prison called Pandaemonium. The creation and responsibility of the Convocation’s Speaker.

Lahabrea.

Thancred could mostly touch on the topic when it rarely came up. So long as he did not linger, anyroad. There were still rare moments, however, when the thought of that red mask made him break out in a sudden sweat.

Much had happened since that day he had walked out of Raubahn’s office, dejected and self-remonstrating, and on his way to the Sapphire Exchange had been distracted by strangeness in an alley…

And then a looming blank period; only a few terrible, hazy scenes flashing through that darkness, until waking in an Adder tent with the Elder Seedseer leaning over him. Sometimes it seemed he was still waking from the nightmare, that he would blink and find Kan-E’s sad green eyes and calm voice explaining all he had done.

It was difficult to take that first step from the elevator.

On the Ragnarok, when they reached Ultima Thule’s crushing non-weight of uninhabitable despair, he had managed to trudge forward to protect the others. There was no avatar of despair holding him back now, but also no one to protect, no reason to force his feet closer to that inimical ancient visage.

Yet he kept moving, until he ran out of platform.

Thancred stood at the edge and watched the swinging cages and flickering torches. The reports—and a late-into-the-night discussion—of Lahabrea’s involvement had given him insights into his recurring nightmare that he had not expected.

A stubborn man dedicated to the burdens of his great responsibilities. Who loved his child but held him at arms’ length, keeping important secrets, telling himself it was for the child’s own good, unable to see the hurt he caused because he was so wrapped up in his own situation.

From his pocket, Thancred drew out a pink ribbon wrapped around a letter, Ryne’s handwriting covering the folded pages.

“Horrifying, isn’t it?” A familiar deep voice said from behind him.

Thancred nodded. “It doesn’t match other Ancient architecture, as if purposefully twisted to match the terrors it kept inside.”

“If the reports are accurate,” Fourchenault said as he joined Thancred at the rail.

“Given who wrote them,” Thancred replied, tucking the letter back into a pocket. “They are.”

They stood in silence for a long while. They had always been awkward; Fourchenault had graduated from the Studium and was entering politics when his father brought home a Limsan orphan. Between the constant trips to and from the Motherland, and Thancred’s intense training, he and his foster brother had seen little of one another before Emporium was abandoned and Thancred sent to Ul’dah. Their differences in political opinions had not helped their bonds.

Now here they were a lifetime later, knowing only slightly better what had led each of them upon their respective paths.

“I’ve a question—unrelated to the current view,” Thancred said. Unrelated so far as Fourchenault was concerned. Thancred continued before losing his nerve. “Did parenting that pair of rapscallions highlight…well…the ways in which Louisoix…”

“Failed?” Fourchenault finished quietly. His blue eyes turned to the researchers engrossed in their duties.

“I wouldn’t put it quite so harshly, but…Yes, about the mistakes he made, I suppose. As a parent, specifically.”

“This is about the girl on the first reflection of Etheirys?”

“Naught gets left out of Alphinaud’s letters,” Thancred said dryly. “Yes; I found myself unexpectedly guardian to an adolescent. It was…” He suddenly floundered on how to explain.

“Enlightening,” Fourchenault said. “Terrifying, horrible…and wonderful.”

Thancred nodded.

Fourchenault sighed. “Yes, raising my children did highlight the matters I wished my father had handled…better. That I tried to handle better. At the same time, it showed me goals hopelessly out of my reach, my own shortcomings as a parent. You’re rather familiar with some of my failings already.”

“At one point, while in the First, Alisaie bluntly said I reminded her of you; in that instance, she did not mean it as a compliment.”

Fourchenault laughed, brief and a tad bitter. “Was she wrong?”

Thancred had to laugh sheepishly as well. “Not at all.”

“We did have a singular model,” Fourchenault said. “Much as we perhaps tried to fight against that image.”

“Or did not, at the time, understand what we had,” Thancred replied quietly.

“You were a stubborn little wharf rat,” Fourchenault said, with little of the sting of their youth. “That stubbornness at least has not changed, thank the Twelve.” Fourchenault smiled genuinely, reminiscent of Alphinaud—or perhaps the other way around. “But I do recall thinking you ungrateful for the opportunity Father had inexplicably granted you.”

“I had more than a few unkind thoughts of you myself. ‘Tis only recently that they have…adjusted. In some ways.”

“I find myself in a similar frame of mind,” Fourchenault said, a ghost of that smile still visible. He studied Pandaemonium. “Did you come to see what new trouble your colleague dredged onto our doorstep—or to face your specters?” he asked, voice soft and almost kind.

“I suppose the letters included that as well.” Thancred had the terrible urge to drink until just before that darkness swallowed him again. He bit it down.

“Not explicitly. In stories since, however, quite a few of the Scions’ adventures have been detailed.” Fourchenault paused. “The twins enjoy my discomfort almost as much as their mother does.”

Thancred couldn’t help huffing out another laugh. “Well, you do make quite the graceful picture when tripping out of a room lest you faint,” he noted. Some things blessedly never changed.

“Bah,” Fourchenault waved a dismissive hand. “Though the tales of your time under the Ascians’ thrall sounded particularly horrifying.”

“It was.” Thancred rubbed his eyes; he would have to speak to Alphinaud about what he shared, even with family. “Though from the reports now I wonder if Lahabrea influenced me more than I’d first thought. Or perhaps…sought a familiar resonance.” Hand in his pocket, he threaded the ribbon through his fingers.

“From what little I’ve heard, there seem to be some superficial similarities,” Fourchenault said. “But the same might be said for my own tale as a parent. Or even Father’s choices. We do what we think is best for our children, and don’t always realize when we’re truly making it easier on ourselves. One doesn’t need an Ascian’s influence to fall into that trap.”

“Hrmph. I know the twins told you what a hash I made of things.” Even now, recalling how close his girl had come to tragedy due to his own actions ran around his mind in darker hours, though she would hate to hear that; it was past.

“They also told me how you admitted your errors and strove to do better by the girl, your comrades, and yourself,” Fourchenault said. “Lessons I myself yet struggle with, after a lifetime of assurance that I knew best.” He smiled wryly. “Not the first time that you’ve outpaced me; nor I suspect the last.”

Thancred stared at Fourchenault. Louisoix’s actual son, born to privilege, beloved of the amazing Ameliance, national leader, brilliant sage…

“If you try to deny it, I shall tell your fellow Scions,” Fourchenault continued blithely.

“We’re disbanded,” Thancred reminded him.

Fourchenault did not quite roll his eyes. “I once asked Father why he was more…available for the twins than myself,” he continued. “Or even for you, off with your master for much of your time under our roof. I remember the…regret, I think, in Father’s smile, when he said he had learned better since our youths. He urged me not to make the same mistakes, and I swore I would not. Yet here we are.” He turned to Thancred. “I think Father would be proud of you. Not just for all you’ve done as a Scion, but for your girl, and the man you’ve become. I am, for as little as it counts from me.”

Thancred couldn’t manage to say that it meant more than he had imagined, so he settled for “Thank you. Though I feel there’s still much to learn about parenting.”

“There always is. Especially when they’re far away. But we’ve now the time. And if that ancient sorcerer could learn better, we certainly can,” Fourchenault gestured at the ghost facility.

Thancred laughed, squeezing Ryne’s letter. “We do have that singular example.”

Fourchenault nodded, then took a breath. “You should—I was thinking—Would you join us for dinner?” As Thancred raised a brow he hastily continued, “Ameliance would love to see you.”

“Of course,” Thancred replied. Learning how to be better fathers wasn’t the only thing he and Fourchenault needed to figure out. But as he had said, there was now time to make even a belated start.

#final fantasy xiv #Lyn Writing #Fanzine #The Thancred Anthology #Thancred Waters #Fourchenault Leveilleur #Endwalker

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specialbrewbutterbeer · 2 years

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RECALL | Pt.3 (Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw X Reader)

Word Count: 6166

TW: Alcohol consumption, very slightly suggestive content near the end

A/N: I hope you enjoy the third part! I have at least two more parts in progress which should round it out nicely and I'm excited to post! (Also this is a repost cos I forgot to add tags earlier, oops)

Feedback is always a needed and welcome thing!

REQUESTS

MASTERLIST (PART ONE) (PART TWO)

Sugar awoke to that familiar early morning sound of jets taking off outside and low sun coming through the slats of her blinds.

She groaned, breathed in deeply and stretched out her back as she sat up. She heard it crack and click, symptoms of sleeping at a cheap plyboard desk instead of on the comfy, if over priced, memory foam mattress that she'd let a salesman in the 'Mattress King Emporium' convince her to buy about six months back.

So far it hadn't been worth the money- she'd not slept on it all that much.

She was a workaholic- like most people on the base were really.

Last night she'd not meant to have fallen asleep in her office- she'd planned to go home and sit in front of her TV and drink a couple beers, watching reruns of NCIS, before heading to her nice, soft, warm and definitely cost more than it should have, bed.

She stood and grabbed her car keys, locking her office door behind her. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to massage the stiffness out of it and walked along the corridors; lacking the usual authoritative stride. She was accompanied by the distinct sound of her keys jangling as they hung from her fingers which knotted around the keychains.

It'd been a few days since the whole fight between Bradshaw and Seresin, and she'd been run off of her feet with work.

She'd been writing reports and going over old ones, data sheets and mission documents. She'd been writing emails back and forth to the Admiral, who seemed to never sleep and replied to them with remarkable speed. She just worked and didn't bother to look at the clock.

It was still early, she had clothes in her trunk, she could still salvage the day without going home to shower and change.

She came through a heavy fire door at the bottom of a stairwell that took her straight out and into the fairly bare parking lot.

As she pulled her hand from the bar of the door and let it shut with some force behind her, Bradley looked up as he heard the thud.

He was stood with the drivers door of his old Bronco on the further side from her. The driverside door was open as he rooted around his bag looking for something, so he could spot the door (Y/n) had emerged from through the windows of his vehicle.

He didn't mean to watch as she walked across to her own car, but she seemed so different compared to what she usually put across. She leant on the side of her car, rubbed her temples and frowned as she sorted through her keys in her hand until she reached the right one, and twisted it in the lock on her trunk.

She grabbed a duffle bag and slung it over her shoulder, sighed, holding the trunklid open with one arm, before shutting it, locking it and turning tail.

He didn't think much of it, and yet couldn't wrench his eyes off of the woman for more than a few moments before they drifted back to her as she walked. He felt his gaze was somewhat pervase, so shook his head as she neared the front door and zipped up his own bag, having not found what he wanted. He moved on to searching through the glove box instead.

(Y/n) headed to the locker room. She didn't usually do this, but today she needed to.

She undressed, leaving her clothes on the bench, and stepped into a shower cubicle.

She was pretty confident no one would catch her- it was early enough that the pilots would almost certainly not be here for a little while. Long enough to shower. She hadn't seen any of them in the parking lot either- though it wasn't like she wasn't like she was looking. Her head had been swimming with work related things and ached from having slept on a pillow of paperwork.

The warm water was welcome as it dripped down her nose and fingers and down her legs. It soothed all her aches and she felt, for a second, that she could breathe.

She didn't let on very often how properly stressful it was to do her job. There was a tremendous sense of responsibility, and she was glad she could count on one hand the amount of times she'd had to lock her office door, close the blinds and sob as she filled in end of service and notice of death paperwork for someone much younger than herself- but there was always that looming threat that it was going to happen again- under her watch.

Over the years she'd come to know everything about this programme, the jets, the people. She was a pin to a gear in this machine, and a vital one. She was in charge of so much, and this whole RECALL thing had flipped what she usually delt with on it's head. Where she usually could predict, she was blind- what she knew had changed quicker than anyone could adapt.

The report templates she filed and time frame was foreign to her and to compound the stress, changes that usually she'd be able to work through, and be supported through by Admiral Kazansky were a hundred times harder now that he was ill- there was only so much he could do and (Y/n) was inheriting lots of the workload.

She was good- Simpson was good- but there were things that Kazansky did that were the extra mile, more personal and in-depth with the program that she helped to conduct in tandem with the legendary Iceman- in line with his own workaholic tendencies and the fact that TOP GUN was like his baby, he devoted himself to the details and extras that meant he knew everything and he could constantly improve TOP GUN- that was what she was suddenly doing on her own.

She loved her job- she really did. But sometimes she almost wished she had a husband, a couple kids, a stupid great lollopy mutt of a dog to greet her at the garden gate. Something to tie her down- cos right now she was full of tension and stress and anxiety. Plenty of things she didn't like to show outwardly. Things she was hired to help alleviate in everyone else around her.

She massaged shampoo into her hair and let the suds run down her.

She'd now officially not been home for over 24hrs, which didn't seem so long- but she only lived a 20 minute ride away.

Soon though she was done, and had to wrench herself away from the soothing running water, stepped into the cool and steamed up air of the rest of the locker room and wrapped herself in a towel.

She sat on the bench, towelling her hair so it wasn't so dripping wet, and then moved on to attempting to fix her face.

She held up her blush compact, which had a mirror in the lid, and began to put on some minimal makeup- a little eyeliner, and mascara, concealer, bronzer and blush, blend with her fingers and try and feel put together was the plan.

As she did, she heard the latch of the door. She turned her head to see Lieutenant Bradshaw.

(Y/n) smiled a polite smile, which was returned, before she returned to the task at hand- with a quite 'good morning Rooster' as she did.

"Mornin'" He replied, his smile fading inexplicably slower than hers- though she couldn't see it. She'd never called him that before- not just in passing. Once or twice in reference to him, or in a more professional capacity- but not just because she could. Usually it was 'Lieutenant', 'Bradshaw', and the last time they'd really spoken he'd nearly fallen over when she'd actually spoken his name- one that very few people were left to call him by.

He got called Rooster everyday, but not by her. And maybe just because he'd never heard it from her, it was now special.

He went to his locker, just a few feet from her, as she faced away from the door, and him.

Slowly he sorted through his things, he was here earlier than the others- truthfully- because he couldn't sleep. He'd got enough sleep, but not as much as he'd have liked and when he woke up early this morning he'd decided just to go in to work and get a head start. He planned to look over some notes, study the territory again.

He hadn't expected to find (Y/n) here.

Well, maybe in the building- but not here.

He shoved his bag in his locker and stood there, leafing through his notebook and sorting out some loose pages.

There was something quite domestic about it as they coexisted in the same space alone. For the both of them it was as close as they were going to get to domestic bliss any time soon.

It was a little odd, but slightly comforting- certainly not awkward.

As Rooster took out a last couple of things, before presumably heading to leave, (Y/n) was sure she saw, from the corner of her eye, as he turned to her- and paused as if he was going to say something.

He didn't, he just turned and left.

The day wasn't going to get anymore normal.

(Y/n) returned to her office, feeling a little more of herself, fresh and as ready for the day as she could be.

She sat, wading through paperwork for a couple of hours, often distracted for a few seconds, but no more than that, by the jets as they took off and landed. She did note, from the sound as she worked, that none of them were the F-18's that the RECALL team were using.

She was going to investigate it, but she had so many reports to write up- she'd decided not to.

A knock on the door disturbed her.

"Come in." She spoke, not realising she was half mumbling as she did- focused on making sure she was copying data points correctly.

She didn't look up until the person was stood in the centre of the room, she just quickly scribbled down the last few numbers first.

She was surprised to see it was Capitain Mitchell stood neatly in front of her, hands behind his back.

She didn't know where everyone had recently got the idea to be quite so formal at all times with her, she was certainly respected, but not usually treated with this level of firm seriousness. Maybe it was that all of this team were older than the usual TOP GUN students or the workload, but usually she did manage to engrain herself better than this.

"Captain?" She asked, putting her pen down and standing.

"Sugar-" He seemed to hesitate as he spoke her callsign.

She laughed.

"I know, it's a weird one to get used to. I'll answer to just about anything- like an old dog." She smiled, breathing out, though still tense.

"Right-" Maverick nodded, a smile tipping at his mouth.

"How can I help you?" (Y/n) asked.

"Well- you deal with all our HR? Don't you?" He asked.

"I am your HR department on legs." She chuckled and nodded.

"Right- then team bonding is kinda your thing?" He asked, relaxing a little.

"Oh- I'm all over it." She grinned, then paused a moment. "Don't tell me- you're cooking something up?" She tilted her head.

"Yeah, something like that. Dogfight football, on the beach." Maverick nodded. "And we were hoping you'd join us?" He smiled.

"We?" (Y/n) scrunched her nose a little and cocked an eyebrow. Mav turned and opened the door, then looked to the young woman.

"Do you mind?" He asked, now with a grin, motioning to the door.

She nodded, with her own smile and rolling her eyes- but moving outside of the office anyway.

Mav followed and lead her to the window at the end of corridor.

He opened the latch and slid it open, looking out to the parking lot.

He leant out, and gave a thumbs up- with a tremendous grin on his face.

This was greeted with a cheer.

He stepped back and (Y/n) just looked at him. He nodded his head to the window, so she looked out; to see the entire team stood in the parking lot.

When they saw her, a series of whistles, whoops, shouts and applause- which she returned with a wave and a laugh.

She scanned the group- it was Hangman, Coyote and Payback who lead the whistles, Bob waved back and smiled, Pheonix whistled and shouted the loudest of anyone, Fanboy pumped his fist in the air like he was in some kind of victory dance, and Rooster, he applauded and cheered- but for some reason her eye was drawn to him for just a second. Just a moment, and he seemed to stop.

(Y/n) shook her head with a laugh and looked back to Maverick- who shrugged.

"They're pretty keen on you." He told her.

"I was told you'd be trouble-" (Y/n) couldn't help but laugh. "So- the beach?"

Within five minutes she'd abandoned her paperwork to supervise the exercise- and had her gym stuff out of her trunk.

On the beach, she had changed into something more appropriate for the situation, and tied her hair completely out of her face.

She stood there, her sunglasses on her face, along with a smile. It wasn't wasted time being here- the more she knew about the team the better. Or that's how she was justifying it anyway.

She watched on the sand, quite enjoying looking at something that wasn't a piece of paper covered in words and numbers.

She cheered on the teams, and was happy to remain doing just that, wiggling her fingers into the warm sand and soaking up the sun- the fresh smell of the sea filling her nose.

Or she was until Hangman walked up to her, in a short break between games.

She squinted up at him as he stopped in front of her, a sly smirk on his face, he paused, then moved so that his shadow shaded her face and she could see properly.

"Hey Sugar-" He smiled, hands on his hips. "You gonna play the game?"

"I'm not nearly as fit as all you- I think I'm better suited to spectating, or I'll be trampled." She laughed as she moved her sunglassed to sit on her head.

"Aww- come on now; what if we went easy on you Sugar?" He cocked an eyebrow and held out a hand.

"I'd love to say yes- but-" She smiled but shook her head.

"Hey, you're our HR department, aren't you? You and the Captain want us to bond? Fine, but we all gotta bond, and you're part of the team." He spoke, with utter confidence. She just shot him a look of 'yeah- sure.' "What if I said it would affect my mental health, to see you, sat here, not joinin' us? As HR, you wouldn't like that, would ya?" He smirked. (Y/n) had found, despite his sarcasm and comments, he was the playful one of the group- just not in the traditional sense. He was competitive, reckless, bold and could make anything a game. Reminded her of someone else with a similar reputation.

"Well then I suppose I couldn't say no, could I? Just one game." (Y/n) laughed, and took his hand.

"Alright." He nodded, and pulled her to her feet, but didn't let go of her hand. "You do think you're part of the team, don't ya?"

"If it all goes wrong, then it'd be my fault- so yeah I'd like to think so." She smiled, a little confused.

In a split second, Seresin pulled the young woman in and into a firemans lift, with a good laugh on his lips.

(Y/n) let out a quick squeak but couldn't help but laugh- not having expected it.

"Good think nothing will go wrong." Seresin nodded and turned, walking back to the group with, effectively, one of their bosses slung over his shoulder like it was nothing.

"Is this how you treat all women, Hangman?" She laughed, giving in to it.

"No- of course not." He laughed, like it was obvious. "Just the ones on the team who try and get out of playin'."

"Bagman! Put the woman down!" Phonix called out. "Are you insane!?"

(Y/n) could only laugh.

Jake planted her down in the sand, and the moment she was out of Hangman's hands- Phoenix punched him (not very hard) in the arm.

Quite quickly (y/n) realised she'd ended up put down directly in front of Bradshaw.

She turned and found that they were just inches from eachother.

She managed to fumble an awkward hello, before Hangman called her and she turned on her heels, catching the ball that he'd thrown to her.

It really wasn't long before she was in the competitive spirit, and even Maverick had joined in. She wasn't a tall person, so most of these guys, who were considerably taller than her even when she had heels on, towered over her.

Even so, she was quite sprightly; despite this competitive disadvantage and never really ever having been much of a sportswoman.

She enjoyed herself, had a smile plastered over her face the entire time and one game turned very quickly into many more than that.

It was nice, seeing the team get along, work together- it was like overnight they'd become her absolute dream.

She looked over at Maverick, and wondered how she could have doubted him. Well- she'd not really, but she had been worried- and those are two different things. She knew he could do it- she trusted her boss, Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky had never, in her experience, been wrong; about anything. And he hadn't been about this. It was just- the ease at which it could be done that she had worried about, what the consequences might be.

But whatever Maverick had done, or said, it'd worked, and she suddenly had much more faith in how the whole thing might run smooth. Or smooth enough.

She stepped off of the pitch for a moment to catch her breath, and just watched, pulling her hair back from her face again.

She couldn't help but be particularly pleased in how her pet project seemed to actually be becoming human. It was something she was thinking as he walked over to her- how he seemed a great guy. How his smile was great, and how attractive he was when he wasn't so miserable and formal. God, that felt so unprofessional to admit to herself, but she was only human.

She was so lost in that thought that she didn't process that he had his eyes fixed on her, and was actually coming toward her.

"Hey-" He spoke, a small smile on his lips.

"Rooster." She nodded a greeting, a matching smile on hers. "Are you gonna be shirtless everytime we talk? Is that a thing now?" She teased and he laughed. "This is what you're actually like then?" She smiled as he stood beside her. This was her chance, to actually just talk to him for a second- not lecture him, not be so professional and formal and disciplinary. She'd be lying if she said she'd not been looking for the chance.

"What? This?" He laughed. "Nothing like me at all." He spoke sarcastically, an eager twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"You think?" She looked up at him, sweat on his brow, low sunlight hitting him perfectly. He was a picture. "Well..." She spoke as she stepped forward and back into the game, turning and walking backward away from him. "Feel free to show me more, Rooster." She grinned, even convinced herself to manage a sly and slightly over cocky wink, before turning and getting stuck right back in.

In that moment, he really didn't know if she meant that- or if it was just another way to make him open up; in other words, was it said because she could or because it was her job? He didn't know if it mattered. Undeniably now, the fuzz in his stomach entirely stemmed from the words she said and how well she said them.

For a moment, it seemed they were both eachother's challenge.

When she spotted Simpson talking to the Captain a while later, she jogged over, the smile on her face she couldn't wipe off.

"Sir-" she tried to retain some kind of professionalism in the eyes of her boss.

"Miss (L/n)" Simpson nodded, a slightly stern scowl on his face. "This is going well, then?" He spoke, unsure of what he was looking at.

"Yeah, you could say that." She nodded, watching the game rage on ahead.

"Is, this- going to help with our mission? Sugar?" He asked, he tensed his jaw with hands on hips. It was clear he wasn't convinced by these methods.

"I think so, Sir." (Y/n) nodded, very confident. "I think we might just about be finding our feet here." She had her doubts, and fears, she was certainly keen to have it all over with- but she had more belief in these men and women every time she spoke to them, sat in on their breifings and listened to them. "I think RECALL might actually work, Sir."

"I trust your judgement, Sugar." Simpson turned to her.

"Thank you, Sir." She smiled and gave a nod as he departed.

As she stood in the sand, glistening with sweat, as everyone else was, she had a thought. Heatstroke was never going to do anyone any good. Thankfully, she had a solution in mind.

She turned and headed up the deck of the bar, a sweet smile on her face and greeted Penny. She'd met her many times before, frequenting the Hard Deck on many occasions before and after the elder woman had purchased it.

Her absence wasn't noted until she walked back up the beach, balanced elegantly on her hand, a drinks tray, filled with ice cold bottles of beer.

Even then, a sharp whistle was required to draw attention, as she watched as the team finished rallying around Bob, who had presumably just scored. Rooster slapped him heartily on the back and he put him down off of his shoulders, as did the others.

"Refreshments folks?" She grinned as their heads turned.

"I didn't think HR would condone drinking on the job?" Coyote raised an eyebrow.

"Well- if one of you would like to tell me the time?" (Y/n) asked with a tilt of her head.

It was Fanboy who took up her request, looking at his watch.

"18.01?" He spoke.

"Exactly, so technically the working day has ended, and I have no moral or professional dilemma in this round being on me." She grinned and nodded.

Happily they all took a bottle, thanked her and were glad to have something cold to drink in the evening heat.

She hugged the tray to her chest, a satisfied smile on her face as she watched the group gather in chatter.

"You know, I don't think it's very fair..." (Y/n) heard and startled, turning quickly to the source.

"Rooster!" She laughed and shook her head, looking up at him. "What is?" She questioned, looking him over.

She was almost blushing as she stood there, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, his classic aviators perched on his nose, though they'd slipped down enough that he could see over them.

He was unforgivingly good looking and now (Y/n) could really take it in.

"That you know every intimate detail about me and my life- and I don't know barely anything about you?" He spoke, calmly, and (Y/n) suddenly felt the dynamic shift into something more equal.

He glanced up to the bar, where the rest of the team were heading inside.

"Come in? I'll get you a drink?" He spoke, not moving his eyes back to her- fearing she'd simply say no, and hoping that, in that eventuality, averting his gaze would preserve some of his dignity and not pull threads in his self esteem.

"Alright." She smiled and in a snap Bradley couldn't help but look at her. He was almost suprised at the answer.

So they walked into the Hard Deck, Bradley slipping a t-shirt over his head and pulling it down over him, as some of the others had also done. The team were spread around the room, a few at the pool table, Maverick keeping a parental eye on them all, scanning the place from behind the bar, where he was helping Penny.

The pair sat at the bar, nearer one end, far enough away from the others that it was quiet enough for a conversation.

"I really don't know everything-" (Y/n) shook her head as she sat beside the pilot.

"Well I only know what I can- assume." Bradshaw said slowly but quite purposefully.

"And- what can you assume?" (Y/n)'s interest was piqued.

"Well... You've gotta be pretty smart-" He began.

"Thank you-" She muffled a small chuckle and nodded.

"And you know how to talk to people, you, uh, certainly told me-" Bradley nodded, raising his eyebrows and leaning back on his bar stool. "I think you probably said all the right things."

"That's my job- saying the right things." (Y/n) softened, her smile twitching a little. "Go on, what else?"

"Yeah, well- You're not married, or engaged? No rings." His eyes drifted to her hand, where indeed there was nothing aside from a plain and practical watch.

"Nope. Who's got the time these days?" She nodded and confirmed his suspicions and hopes.

"The only other thing I know for sure then-" Bradley paused for a second and leant in, whispering as he spoke next. "is what shade of lipstick you wear." He pulled back and laughed a little, and (Y/n) grinned, giving a confused look. "I noticed it this morning. Growing up with just my Mom I spent lots of time in drugstores waiting for her to pick out mascara and nail polish." He smiled.

"Some would call that a pretty intimate detail." (Y/n) almost teased.

"I think it's pretty inconsequential." He shrugged, his own smile on his lips, looking down at his drink.

"What do you wanna know then?" She asked, leaning an elbow on the bar and her head in her hand.

"Hmm... I'll start with: What you want to drink?" He looked up at her and grinned.

"Just another beer is fine." (Y/n) nodded.

"Alright, a beer it is." He nodded and got Penny's attention. She swiftly delivered another drink to the pair. As she returned to Maverick at the other end of the bar, who had just noticed the pair in isolation, they shared a subtle knowing look. "Now, Sugar-" He turned to her as he pushed her drink to her across the bar.

"Yes, Rooster." She nodded.

"How'd you end up here? Managing Top Gun?" He asked, quite genuinely.

"Well," She paused for a moment to collect the story. "I had a job just out of highschool, that was in a dentist's office- I was a secretary, one day in walks some great big military type, begs me to find an emergency appointment for his kid, I get him a slot for within the hour. He gives me his email and tells me he owes me a favour and to contact me if I ever need anything. A couple years later I find myself without a job and I'm running out of options, about to be thrown out of my apartment, loads of debt, and I get in touch-" She explained herself.

"And he helps you out?" Bradley nodded.

"Yeah- Pretty much." She laughed.

"Who was it? Not Admiral Kazansky?" He asked.

"No, but you're close- Ron Kerner?" She spoke the name, quite sure he'd know it.

"Slider? His wingman?" Bradley was as pleased as anyone would have been the coincidence that had brought her here.

"The very same." (Y/n) grinned. "He said the best he could do for me was a job out in California, an old buddy of his was running a flight school, was needing some administration staff and he could put me in touch with him." She took a sip of her drink. "I didn't know any better, had no other options, and of course it turned out to be Kazansky and Top Gun. Slider had put in a good word for me and I got the job, moved out here and worked my way up. That was... Nearly seven years ago?" (Y/n) sighed and realised how much time she'd spent in California.

"Wow, it's- that's- Do you still keep in contact with Kerner at all or?" Bradley asked.

"Yeah- sure I do! I'm god-mother to his youngest kid, they have me over every thanksgiving, since I'm usually too busy to get home." She grinned, reflecting on the whole thing. She hadn't seen the Kerners for a while, swamped with work, but made a mental note to send a message and ask after her god-child.

"That's neat- A good story too." Bradley nodded.

"Yeah..." She paused and looked to him. "I guess you got into the job cos' of your Dad?"

"Uh- yeah, mainly." Bradley nodded and then did a double take. "Wait- seven years?"

"Yeah 2012 I started as an administrative assistant. 24 and still fresh faced- no idea what I was doing." (Y/n) nodded.

"You were here as I was going through Top Gun." He stated, suddenly his mind swirling with his previous stint at Top Gun, trying to mind a snapshot within a memory that might contain her.

"Uh- Yeah I must have been." She thought on it and nodded. "I'm not surprised we didn't cross paths, I was hidden away in a corner of the office doing paperwork till- well must have been not long after you graduated." She turned the bottle about in her hands, from label to branding to 'don't drink if pregnant, don't drive after consumption' warnings.

"Then this drink is overdue." She looked up at him with a small smile, almost shy and more mellow than her usual fire spitting sarcastic persona. "If I'd have met you back then I certainly would have bought you a drink." He nodded and peeled his eyes from and out into the room to give a faux sense of nonchalance.

"I appreciate it." She spoke with a nod.

(Y/n) let her eyes drift silkily down his profile. The droplets of water and sweat still on his skin and dewily in his eyelashes. The slight coarseness of his skin, the tones of it. The muscles that pulled his lips into the slightest nuance of a romantic smile. Any loose strands of damp hair which pressed to his forehead.

But she thought he was pretty sweet, and if he'd done what Jake had earlier in the day, she would have melted like butter for him.

She almost hated the atmosphere between them, building up into what it was. It was unprofessional, and she knew full well she shouldn't feel the way she did, and yet it wasn't so easy to deny.

"Do you think I should go back to being your boss now? Or stick around for a game of pool?" Bradley looked to the woman. "Cos I reckon I could win back the cost of my round." She smiled a mischievous smirk.

Rooster just gave a smile and shrug. He wanted to tell her he liked it when she wasn't his boss. He'd especially be lying if he didn't like the idea of what he could do if they were both people with less professional integrity.

Her smile grew and she held in place for a second, before she jumped off of her barstool and put her hand on his arm, or went to. Actually she held his wrist and he allowed himself to be lead to the pool table, acutely aware of the placement of her hand and savoured it before she let go and before anyone else seemed to notice their closeness for that one second.

By the end of the night (Y/n) had won fifty dollars total and had finally felt like she'd made some sort of ground in actually getting to know her team.

And for once she enjoyed herself.

And at the end of the night, when they all had to admit they'd drunk just enough to let their inhibitions go and enough to head home...

Standing in the parking lot of the Hard Deck, the sun hadn't fully set. There was a sweet honey glow in the sky.

She stood waiting for her cab, leaning on the wall by the door, a little tipsy smile on her face.

She thought she was alone, Penny and Mav weren't in sight but couldn't have been far away. She was sure she'd seen everyone make their own ways home, and she just closed her eyes and felt the buzz of the alcohol and the slightest tingle on her lips as she chewed them.

For a second she thought she was dreaming as she heard the twinkle of a piano.

It took her a good few seconds to realise that it was coming from inside, shifting between tunes she recognised, from Auld Lang Syne, to Paul Simon, Bad Moon Rising and Queen and then finally it settled into something.

She stepped into the doorway and observed quietly, but with a flutter in her chest and a heat in her cheeks. He had no idea she was there.

"Sugar-" She heard in a familiar, mumbled, singing voice. "Ah- Honey, honey-" She could hear the smile on Bradley's face though she couldn't see it from the angle she was at. "You are my candy girl, and you got me wanting you."

She stepped in, knowing the drink meant she wasn't thinking about her job and what she should or shouldn't do.

The creak of the floor boards as she did make him glance up for just a moment.

"Honey, Ah-sugar, sugar." He continued on, as she got closer and eventually came to stand by him, leaning on the piano with a shine in her eye.

His voice drifted off as his eyes drifted to her and his fingers were slowly distracted from playing.

He pulled them away from the keys as they were wordlessly magnetised to eachother, he reached out and placed his hand ever so gently on her waist, and she just stepped into the touch.

He had turned on the paino stool, now perpendicular to the keyboard and looking up at her.

His large hands, warm but worked and not soft, guided her hips forward, into him.

Soon she had straddled him, and they were entangled in a hot and sweet affair.

He tasted sweet, sweeter than she could have dreamed. Maybe that was just the element of risk and inherent risque nature of their actions as she pressed her fingertips into his jaw, and felt his on her waist, hips and over her own hands as he held them in place.

Rooster could have been manipulated like clay by her. Enough drink was in the two of them that it wasn't shameful, and the fuzz and electricity in their stomachs and throats and fingertips was amplified by a hundred.

That was until (Y/n) felt a lump rise in her throat, she felt her heart beat just that bit harder in her chest, and she just wanted it to be harder to breathe and harder to tear herself away and she wanted everything a young woman might want.

She felt a pang of momentary sobriety which brought all the morals and rules and fears flooding back into her mind.

Then she paused, her hands cupping his cheeks, and just pulled away.

She breathed, and looked the young pilot in the eye.

"I think-" She whispered as he looked up at her with sparkling puppydog eyes, desperate, hungry and achingly, deeply wanting. "Bradley- I think- I'd better go back to being-" She tried to speak the words though they felt quite torturous.

"My superior?" He finished for her.

She nodded.

"Yes." She half whispered, part breathed and nearly simply mouthed.

She let him move to softly place his hands over hers, pull them from his cheeks with a sigh.

He looked down as he held her hands.

He turned them slowly and nodded.

"Right." He turned a slight smile up to her.

She backed off, and headed to the door with a sweet smile shared between them.

"(Y/n)?" Rooster called out.

"Mhm?" She glanced back at him, trying not to let on how she wished she could turn that part of herself off that made her stop and go back to him.

"Sorry." He spoke, not having moved a muscle. She shook her head and mouthed a 'don't be' to him as she did. "No- I know I should have thought about it first, but I don't want this to- to affect anything. Not the mission, or anything else." He was incredibly genuine. "I'm sorry."

TAGLIST ----------------

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 1 year

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The Mysterious Murder of the Beautiful Cigar Girl

The mysterious murder of Mary Rogers, known in the penny press as the “Beautiful Cigar Girl,” in the summer of 1841 remains one of New York City’s most infamous unsolved cases. Even Edgar Allan Poe took a crack at solving it, yet while her ghost is said to have visited the numerous suspects that the press circled after the beautiful young lady’s death, the truth of the grisly crime is still as murky as the Hudson River waters where her corpse was found.

In 1838, John Anderson, who owned a tobacco shop on Broadway in Lower Manhattan, hired Mary Rogers to stand at his counter purely to allure gentleman customers. It worked, and the dark haired beauty who was described as ”ethereal and hypnotically pleasing” made Anderson’s Tobacco Emporium one of the most popular in town. It had a regular clientele of notable figures like Washington Irving and, it’s stated, Poe himself, as well as a cavalcade of journalists, which would help to get her gruesome end its high profile in the press.

One day in October of 1838, Rogers went missing. Two weeks later, she suddenly reappeared, and many thought that Anderson had staged the disappearance for publicity. Rogers’ adoring fans swarmed the shop, and she soon felt overwhelmed and left to work in her mother’s boarding shop. Yet in July of 1841, she went missing again, and this time two men on the shore of New Jersey spotted her floating near Sybil’s Cave.

Built in 1832 to connect to a natural spring, Sybil’s Cave once offered cool water to visitors to the Hoboken shore. The visitors have long vanished, but in 2007 a new gate was built in front of the manmade cave. It’s here that many believe Rogers was murdered, although how is still a matter of speculation. The bruises on her body and ligature on her throat suggested gang violence or a vengeful lover (one of her many suitors, perhaps). From when her swollen remains were pulled from the water, each new clue or suspect was breathlessly reported in the tabloids, and the public loved it, buying the papers in an unprecedented frenzy.

The attention, not surprisingly, took its toll on the people involved, particularly her fiancé Daniel Payne, who had a solid alibi, but was hounded by the press nonetheless. He was discovered near Sybil’s Cave dead from an apparent suicide by poison, with a note reading: “To the World - here I am on the very spot. May God forgive me for my misspent life.”

The rampant press also inspired Edgar Allan Poe, who had his own theories about the case. In his story “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt,” he not so subtly changed the details to Paris with a murder victim named Marie Rogêt. While his detective C. Auguste Dupin speculated on many suspects, he never settled on one, although Poe studiously kept updating the story with new evidence. It’s considered to be the first work of fiction that used a real murder as its source material.

One suspect, Anderson himself, was speculated to have had his amorous advances rejected by Rogers. Although he’s buried in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, he died in 1881 in Paris, claiming to his last days that he was being tormented by her ghost. Payne also claimed to have seen the slender Rogers as a specter.

A later theory came from the deathbed of a tavern owner near Sybil’s Cave, who, after accidentally being shot by her son, gasped out that Rogers had actually died from a botched abortion. Some have theorized that this was done by the infamous Madame Restell, an early abortionist who practiced while it was still a felony. Restell would cut her own throat in her bathtub in 1878, and she’s now interred in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.

It’s likely the mystery of who killed Mary Rogers that summer night will never be solved, although you can retrace her last steps yourself at the ruins of Sybil’s Cave, and wander to the final resting place of her employer in Green-Wood Cemetery, where he is perhaps resting in fitful peace with the ghost of the girl who once bewitched the city to his shop.

#mary rogers #unsolved mysteries #cold cases #true crime #crime

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encyclopediacr · 1 year

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Last month at the wiki — April 2023

Encyclopedia Exandria is always changing with updates, additions, expansions, and edits. The first Wednesday of every month, we highlight significant work done in the previous month by our editing community.

As always, to start, here's a selection of ten articles created in April. You can find more of our newest articles at the 50 newest pages report!

D&O Toy Emporium, toy store in Uthodurn

Spell scroll, single-use parchment that casts the written spell

Catlyn Delafin, clothier and fashion boutique owner in Uthodurn

Abyssal abomination, monstrosities created by K'Varn

Summon Crimson Shade, summoning spell, a reskin of Summon Aberration for Imogen's subclass flavoring

Scars of Scale and Tooth, ruling body of Xarzith Kitril

Midst characters, list of characters appearing in Midst

Woodset Auditors, group of researchers in Uthodurn

Pulse stone, crystal that attracts undead found in Thomara

Ghoul, type of humanoid undead

In April, we finally completed a pass rewriting plagiarism in all articles that were discovered and tagged as having copied text from episode transcripts. We plan to make another scan in the future comparing articles to episode transcripts to catch any we missed tagging in the first round, but we are ecstatic to have completed this pass.

Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities was overhauled in anticipation of the upcoming release of The Mighty Nein Origins: Mollymauk Tealeaf, part of an overall effort to polish articles known to be or believed potentially relevant to the comic.

In miscellaneous articles, which may not be relevant to current releases but remain very important to our wiki, Rockguard Garrison and Ruhn-Shak were updated and untagged as stubs, and Talks Machina 49: Curious Beginnings and 50: A Show of Scrutiny now document all answers.

We look forward to what May brings in new releases of Campaign 3, of Midst, and of Mighty Nein Origins.

#Critical Role #Critical Role wiki #last month at the wiki

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fightwing · 6 months

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dick's relationship with bruce + the titans too-long meta

there's been so many of these but i have many thoughts on this subject!!! dick's two biggest allegiances are to the batfa.m and to the titan.s and the two simply do not vibe (with pictures!).

for the most part, i feel like (at least in team settings) the titans are pretty vocal about not being batstans and bruce in kind has never put a 'proud parent of a teen titan' bumper sticker on the batmobile. like i feel like there's so many examples of:

and:

i also think both sides thinks dick goes too easy on the other. that dick will always give batman the benefit of the doubt, and he will always answer a titans call. like the titans are constantly grilling dick about why he would listen to batman:

and batman thinks the titans focus too much on the power of friendship:

& i personally do think its a dash of 'what do you mean you're adults you were twelve yesterday'. like all the titans are the original sidekicks to most of the JL, and generally speaking the firsts of their mantle's so i do think there's a dash of parental caution at letting your newly adult kid do whatever they want with their friends. especially considering its not like theyre working at safety & gentle work emporium theyre all vigilantes/heroes and their missions are often life or death. they also are very excessive about each other and would absolutely kill or die for each other given very little prompting (ex: wally literally turned back time and revived dick grayson, thereby killing himself in this very issue). and the titans cannot go a single run without saying 'we didn't create a team... we created a family' and saying shit like:

when they are also (often) the JLs family. But especially in younger years, like the titans were dicks main reason for ever leaving gotham. and in early years robin, dick's sole focus was gotham, bruce and robin. & they worked so well together, dynamic duo who became such a cohesive unit and spent every waking moment together in some capacity (and often enjoyed that time very much)

but once the titans started to meet his duties split and like any teenage kid he found himself wanting to just hang out with his friends rather than his dad sometimes. and dick was so lonely in the early years and naturally sociable that finding other kids who could relate was so important to him. & i just think there's no doubt the titans were the rift that caused b&r to end. at the very least the timeline was sped up by the titans because dick was the youngest of the OG 5 and watched them all break off into their own adult selves and being the first active sidekick i think dick started thinking if they can be adults, can no longer be someone's #2... why can't i? and considering the titans were older than him, dick had several places to land or look for comfort or reassurance in his friends who seemed to have it together more than seventeen year old him. and bruce pushing him away (whole meta on that later) and dick seeing everyone else age out of their sidekick roles, led to stuff like:

and don't get me wrong, no matter the age, i think dick values very few other opinions than batman's. like titans (2016) broke apart because bruce was disappointed in dicks leadership and eventually convinced him wally & donna needed extra supervision (context: wallys heart problems & troia). also, dick rarely leaves things out of reports so im sure bruce saw that /technically speaking/ both dick (bruces son who he is not normal about) and wally died on this mission. but the titans didn't back down:

i also think the titans really respect dick's leadership, and they rarely (if ever) take well to anyone outside the titans shittalking dick grayson (sidenote -- specific titans can do it all they want because they have been a long time dg stan sufferer(TM) but outside of the team it rarely goes over well). but anyway, only dick could convince the titans to not fight this (much) and only bruce could convince dick:

so when dick stopped fighting it and agreed with the JL i feel like it was obvious bruce influenced that.

AND i think super important is that batman/most of the titans aren't super close so all they hear about each other is through dick. and dick can be emotionally intelligent, but he can also be unreasonably secretive. so every time bruce and dick fight or like, those big moments like dick's firing, or kicking dick out of the mansion after jason's death or like any of their big, shocking fights its like dick coming to the titans at his lowest. and because he places so much self worth on bruces opinion on him, i feel like that in turn might make the titans dick does run to in those moments (donna, roy, wally, etc.) resentful because he doesn't always go back into how or why they made up, when they always do.

but anyway all that to say this wouldn't be a problem if dick didn't love them both SO MUCH like:

and:

#LIKE the point of this is that dick loves bruce and loves the titan.s but he's always always letting someone down by doing both #dick says 'so the titan.s think---' and b rolls his eyes and dick says 'so bman thinks---' and the titan.s boo #dick: 🧍#also this narrative that the titan.s are scared of bruce is simply not true #i feel like theyve all individually told b to fuck off at least once a titan.s run #but on the same note i dont think bruce doesnt like the titan.s like he works with individuals from the team all the time #but as a group my interpretation is that he thinks the titan.s will always put each other/friendship above anything else #and even that can just be reckless and regardless of age i think b is very protective of his kids (his eldest included)#but anyways its funny how most of the ones that actually confront dick about it are kory roy and occasionally wally #dicks emotional support redheads show no mercy #anyway theres a lot more to the titan.s/bruce that just doesnt even include dick but alas i am a dg rper. likely place for dg content to be #* meta #* long post

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annachum · 8 days

Text

Spider Rhapsody

There is a power in a family name, and a foolishness in isolation. It seemed the Tarantallas were destined to discover this bit of information for the rest of their days.

Even if this particular district didn't know Constanza by name, there was an air to her walk, and the way she held her brows that sent a clear message to back away. What it was about her face and her walk signified her message, they never quite knew. She didn't appear royal, but there was regality. Her expression wasn't disgusted, but there in her eyes glowed a power that she had seen the worst of the world and lived to tell the tale. So the sinners swept back from her path instinctively.

She exhaled a ribbon of pink smoke as she moved down the sidewalk. Her white boots paved her way, unmarked by the dirt and filth of the street. Her quick visit to Rosie's Emporium was a nice breath of air after the week inside.

The television sets droned around her, but she was accustomed to the endless praddle that tacky television overlord spewed every hour. She marches right by. Until she heard him say, "The Hotel."

There was only one 'hotel' that would warrant news. The one her youngest child lived.

"Things are taking a turn for the worse as lines are drawn all across Pentagram City!" Vox said far too brightly to signify any sort of true danger broiling in the alleys. "I'd say the forecast is 'stay indoors' as much as possible til the worst blows over."

She lowered her pearl rimmed sunglasses to peer suspiciously at the screen.

"You know what they say. Keep your loved ones close. We wouldn't want anyone in that hotel to be at a strategic disadvantage because someone was just walking down 69th Boulevard. Alone. Unguarded. Accidents happen." He leaned forward on an elbow as his voice took a low, charming lilt.

"Look around you. It could be anyone's Father. Sister. Brother." The screens flitted, until they rolled together into one image of his leering face, triple her height. " Or mother."

Constanza took a step back.

His grin spread. Synthetic teal lights gleamed from his teeth.

"Gotcha."

Her pulse thumped.

Look away.

She should just turn her head and leave.

Just like Angel warned her.

Never look him in the eye.

Never look him in the --

Her hands fell to her sides.

Her gaze went blank as the symbols and waves spun in her irises. Her dark painted lips parted in a daze.

Her heart beat slowed. Her head filled with a soft fuzz. Everything was fine. All her worries melted away.

And yet, not enough.

Her mind hissed at her to snap out of it. Don't let him get to you. Angel had carefully laid out what to do. Look away, cover your eyes. Her hands refused to move.

Vox must have sensed her resistance to his pull. She put up much more of a fight to his charm than the rabble of reporters.

"Relax, honey. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The voice calmed her, while it simultaneously lit a flame inside her pulse. 'Honey'? How dare he speak to her like this. After how he treated her family? Using a soothing, Mr. Rogers', gentle voice like she was a child. Her fingertips tingled. She burned to throw a web into his camera.

But his seal held her still.

"I promise to let you on your happy way, cross my heart, hon. You wanna tell me where your family is squatting? I know they're hiding somewhere."

At least not moving made it simple not to speak.

"Aw, nothing?" Vox drew a little heart along the camera screen with a glowing fingertip. "Y'know, I just got a special message from someone I'm sure you've heard of. He's a friend of mine. And a real special friend of your son's."

She knew the laugh before the face floated into her blurry vision. The eyes were lost behind the heart-shaped glasses. His smile was slick with red poison.

"Well, well, well. Aren't you as lovely as a ripe peach. Looove the lipstick, baby. If you ever tried to smile, you'd be the loveliest creature of ever laid eyes on. In fact, the last time I saw someone this delectable, I had him chained to my bedposts."

He blew out a cloud of crimson. It twirled into an elegant, wispy silhouette of her youngest child.

Her shoulders shook.

"Why don't you wait right there for us, Bellassima?"

To hear Valentino purr out a beautiful word her own husband had kissed against her shoulder made her brow knit, despite however hard Vox tried to hold her.

"We'll bring you right up to my penthouse. I'll phone up your pretty boy, let him know we're taking real nice care of you. And who knows? We'll see if my darling Angel inherited more than just your looks." His words trailed off in a low chuckle.

Vox rolled his eyes. "Geez Louis, Val. Right here in front of everyone?"

"You're such a prude," Valentino shoved him away.

Suddenly, quite suddenly, the world was a thundercloud of ruby smoke. Sparkles and gunpowder burst in a chaotic rush.

Constanza's head cleared. She shook off the hypnotic hold on her body. She stepped away, slapping herself back to her senses.

The smoke rolled away. The television screens flickered and blurred patterns of

broken rainbows.

Someone gripped her arm.

She yanked it free and whirled.

Oh. It wasn't one of the V's goons. It was Angel's wild friend, Cherri. Cherri with the raggedy hair, raggedy flair for style, and a raggedy smile across her freckled face.

"Better steer clear of any video screens, Connie!"

Constanza scowled. She disliked Cherri's love for nicknaming everything, but it was better than other words she could use. And she was grateful for the intervention.

Constanza pushed her sunglasses back up over her eyes.

"Did Anthony send you to watch me?"

"Nah! Just crossing by. Just be your lucky day, Connie! C'mon! Let's leg it!"

She made a swipe for Constanza's fingerless gloves. This time, Constanza let her.

Their flight was dangerous. The long skirts around her high boots were not meant for

running. But neither were the mismatched shoes Cherri had plucked from a power line. They tore through the crowd who hurriedly jumped out of their way.

Constanza drew her arms below her skirts to slide them aside. The rolls of chiffon slid across her bared arms. She sat atop the vanity seat.

She held a make up wipe to her eye. She lifted it away. It clouded about her eye, making her appear all the more exhausted.

She gazed fully upon her reflection.

The months dragged on within the depths of the Tarantella Manor. The decor, in all its splendor, was a prison of it's own. The family had faced everything together. And yet, even as the war broiled out there, the only safe place for her was here in the heart of her home.

The door at the far end of the bedroom opened. She used the mirror to watch as her eldest son entered.

He crossed the ornant rug to her side. He tipped his head. Dark fluffs fell around his magenta eyes. "Papa's back."

"Alive, I'd wager," Constanza said.

Arakniss shrugged. "Mostly."

"Will you bring him up?"

Arakniss nodded.

He bent down. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. She hardly moved. As he stepped away, she longed to put her hand atop his. But she felt empty.

She slid open the drawer of her dresser. She didn't need to look. Her hand slid within. She gripped the handle of a knife. Slowly, she drew it out into the light.

The door opened again.

Henroin stumbled into the room. A thick aroma of dried blood almost drowned the scent of gunpowder. He fell against a walking stick as he dragged himself across the threshold.

"Mi amore. We've done it!"

Her shoulders relaxed.

The breath she felt like she'd held for months finally left her chest. She rose and turned.

"Of course you did," she said briskly. She swept her hands over her dressing gown. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

She watched as he fell across the bed. He emitted a deep groan.

"You did have to go and get shot though."

His low laugh rumbled through the mattress. "I couldn't help myself. I needed you to fawn over me when I returned." He turned his head. His eyes locked on the knife in her slim, white hand.

"I hope that wasn't for me."

She switched it to her secondary right hand. "Not today, cara mia."

She marched across the room. She yanked his blood-splattered suit jacket from his

arms. The shirt followed. His dark, bristly fur matted in two places. One just shy of his scapula. The other deep into his waist.

"I noticed Salvatore was having trouble walking too."

Henroin grunted. "He practiced so long to make sure you wouldn't notice it was broken."

"You can never hide that from a mother," she said. She laid a cloth down beside them. She brought out the tweezers to remove the bullet.

The muscles twitched against the metal points. She continued her to fight the led cylinder out.

"Anthony isn't with you?"

Henrion shook his head. "He took a real working over. We had to leave him with Charlie. I'll bring you over. It'll do you good to walk around. You know they let Molly down to offer a hand?"

He hissed as Constanza pulled.

"Something about getting special healing gifts. I didn't understand all her prattle about it. But he'll be fine."

Constanza poured rubbing alcohol onto her handkerchief. She pressed it against the wound.

"You remember the day Cherri brought me back?" She asked. Her voice sounded distant.

Henroin sighed. "I owe her for that. You might have been stuck in that penthouse all this time. We would have just got to you out."

She watched the knots in his back grow tight at the thought.

Constanza lowered her gaze to the knife.

"I wish she wouldn't have stopped him."

Henroin lurched about. He moved too quick. He gripped the bed clothes and his teeth clenched. He regained his composure and stared at her face.

Her lip was tight. Her eyes, dry, tired, smudged with eyeliner. Her face was soft with white fur, fur that shone down to her open shoulders. The sweeps of the night clothes held her in loose webs of blushcolored chiffon.

"Don't you say that," Henroin said in a low growl.

"No one ever had gotten close to Valentino," she slid the knife from the leather sheath. The silver metal flashed in the lamp light. She held up the blade. She stared at her reflection. "He would have brought me inside. And I could have sliced his tongue out. And his lungs. And then his heart. And then--"

Henroin put his hands over hers. Slowly, he pushed her fists to the bed. He then moved his fingers to her face. He held her pale face with his dark palms.

"I would have loved to see you do it. But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if he laid one parasite ridden finger on you."

Her lips pressed tight together. "Then how do I live with myself?"

Henroin watched as the tears rolled from her eyes to his thumbs. He pulled her close in a hug.

Her head rested against his shoulder.

"I know we could never protect them from the world. But did it have to go like this?"

He carefully moved, as not to strain the newly cleaned wounds, to wrap his arms tight around her. He fell back atop his mattress.

He held her as she fit perfectly against his body. They were bent, but not broken

Burned, but safe.

The edges of his vision grew less gray. He managed to force open his heavy lids.

Purple.

He relaxed.

Good.

His was in his room.

The lights strung around his bedposts and up around the canopy gave a gentle illumination, coupled with his meager collection of neon lights. He turned his head over his silken pillow cases.

His heart thumped.

Molly!

He rose, too quickly. He thumped back against his pillows, hissing. He set his teeth. (His teeth felt funny). His fluff of hair fell in a mess around his scratched cheeks. Careful this time of his recoverung wounds. He glanced down.

Just below his solar-plexius, a brace held him secure. Considering how bad of a beating he took, he should be a lot more turn up.

Gingerly, he pushed himself up to his elbows.

He reached out for Molly's arm.

She laid sprawled over her his Roman chair. Fat Nuggets snuggled on her lap. Her mouth was open as she breathed, showing the faint lines of a split lip. His little pet's rapid, piglet breaths rushed in and out under Molly's fingerless glove. Angel's fingers brushed her exposed fur on her upper arm.

She jumped.

"Wassat? Who's there? Who--"

She stopped. Her smile squished her cheeks deep into her eyes. "Tony!" She leapt onto his bed. This dumped Fat Nuggets up with him on the blankets. She flung her slim around around his shoulders. "You're okay, you're okay, YOU'RE OKAY!"

"Easy, Mol! Yeah, I'm fine. Considering the crap I just crawled though, I feel great! Dunno how, though. Really t'ought I was dead back there." He shuffled the brace to one side. "Didn't Val shoot me with a--"

Molly stopped him. "Don't pull it off yet. It's got another twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" Angel frowned at her. "Waaaait. You're tellin' me... you finally learned how to stitch a suture?"

"Oh, better than that. I fixed up the whole thing!" She folded her arms. "All recruits are taught basics in medical fields, from jammed fingers to broken femurs."

"Good t'ing I didn't have that."

"Aaand, I even fixed your tooth!"

"Y' what?"

"Wait til y' see it!" She hurried over to his dressing table.

Angel probed at his teeth with his tongue. His artificial fang did feel a little tender. But again, considering what he'd survived, this wasn't a shock.

Fat Nuggets bumped one of his arms. Angel rubbed his head. "Yeah, daddy's doing fine, Nugs."

Molly bounced back over to the beside. She held a hand mirror. "Okay, so, I'm gonna be honest and stuff. I'm not the best at this healing business and all. You might get a scar here or there, y'know?"

"It bette' not be some place important. I swear, sis, if I look like Frankenstein's monster--"

"Gosh, no. Nothing like that."

She shuffled in her seat. "So, your tooth was knocked out. And, I didn't think you'd want gold again, like your lamp-headed old boss. And I didn't have rose gold, so..."

She handed him the mirror.

He lifted his lip.

His gum was a lot brighter where his golden fang used to shine. But instead of a bright gold, his new fang was a soft white gold. If he tipped his head, it would still catch the light and shimmer.

It's subtle, gentle, and rather beautiful.

Molly tugged at her fingers. "Is it... okay?"

"I kinda love it," he admitted. The shine went well with his pink markings. "Thanks, Mol."

"Away, don't mention it!"

Her phone chimed.

Molly lifted it from the table. She checked the notification.

"Looks like the whole kitten caboodle is here for ya!"

Angel fixed his hair back in place. "All of 'em?" He looked up, face glowing with hope. "Even Mom?"

"Yep! Even Mom!"

"Whatcha waitin' for? Send 'em up!" He scooted up the pillows to pull himself into a proper sitting position.

"Need help?"

"Nah, nah. Lay off. I got this--" he lurched with a jolt, flopping into her arms. " 'kay, maybe I don't got t'is. You ain't got an extra hand, do ya?"

Molly giggled. "Y'know it, Little Brother."

Charlie opened the windowed doors of the hotel. Mr. Tarantella has to duck a bit to get through. Arakniss still stubbornly insists his leg is uninjured and walks on the sharp point without wobbling. Mrs. Tarantella holds tight to her husband's arms. Whether she's helping him, as his other hand weighs heavily of his ornate walking stick, or if she's unable to let herself part from him again is a mystery Charlie does not pry into.

She leads them up the double flight of carpeted stairs, and over the balcony to Angel's room.

She knows that this is a family matter, and leaves them with the room key.

The door opens.

Angel is mostly upright.

Fat Nuggets is flopped on one side with his tummy to the wall. Molly is in the chair. Angel throws his head back against his pillow as he laughs.

"Stop, stop! I can't laugh yet! It hurts!"

She hastily apologizes.

They hear the door.

Angel's face is ridden with anxious awareness as he sees his mother. He remembers to smile. "Hey Mom."

It's hard to admit, but there are times when people like Valentino are right. In this instance, maybe Val hadn't really meant it. But when Constanza Tarantella saw her son, alive, and grinning in a lopsided way...

As the smile lit up her face and rushed to hold her little boy in her arms, there was never a more beautiful lady in Hell.

*special credit to Hannah Latray on Instagram, who collaborated with me on this fic!

#hazbin hotel #spider family #arackniss #cherri #voxval #vox and val being disgusting creeps #angel dust #molly

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