#i knoooow i need to practice
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begrudgingly doing my figure drawing practice, as if i wasn't the one that forced myself to do this in the first place
#i knoooow i need to practice#but even the practice looks so bad. idk if im doing it correctly#i promised myself i would use my semester break to practice and improve my art. if i don't. the alternative is spending my life#doing something i don't enjoy half as much#artsy girls will pick the stem track in high school and then immensely regret thrir choice in college 😔#mar speaks
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the highlight of my day so far: i’ve been in another city to watch my men’s team in handball (the team i work for) and when one of the opponents scored, all of a sudden, all i could hear was……
dUDUDUDUU MAX VERSTAAAPPPEEEENN
my two worlds collided. i was so shocked. they actually played max’s song in the speakers when some guy scored??? it’s been like two hours and i still can’t believe it
#usually there’s a choice of like 5 different songs for handball matches#take me home country roads#sweet Caroline#heeeeey hey baby ooh aah i wanna knoooow if you’ll be my girllll (idk the name)#and two others#I’ve never heard the max song? in handball????#would’ve been so funny if the guy who scored was named max heh#no one cares about this but i needed to share 😚#also wait is there practice in 10 minutes or am i dumb?
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hhhhhh I just got 10 splats in a game and that’s definitely a personal record but 3/4 of them were from ultra stamp and I don’t know how to feel about this. I have such a love/hate/??? relationship with this special. I feel like I can only barely control it and can rarely hit specific targets with it so I’ve learned not to rely on it for anything other than inking and being a huge distraction but every so often it just mows down the whole enemy team. apparently sometimes twice.
#splatoon#ultra stamp#yes I fell back into my splooshie comfort zone#I'll need to practice with more weapons again soon but I fear this might just be The One#I say 'fear' very lightheartedly#I love my sploosh-o-matic I just get really restless#I wanna be good with dualies and brushes so badly lol#but I have to pick my practice-battles with the limited time in my day and it's gonna take me so long to improve#and while I'm practicing survival/situational awareness I should probably stick with a weapon I'm comfortable with#but does that mean it'll just be even harder to switch down the line? I don't knoooow#I am SUPPOSED to be working I have a meeting in like 25 minutes I haven't even written my notes for hdhjfasghkd
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Partners in Death... and Life
Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted
| Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Part 4: The Radio Star’s Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes|
|Masterlist| ao3| Tag-list|
Parings: Alastor x wife!reader
Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason.
Please take note of the following warnings: Body horror. Graphic descriptions of injuries, glass piercing skin, cutting of skin, cutting of chest. Dissection of Human muscles. Misogyny Just…be careful out there
Hello. I usually aim to post on Wednesdays, and I knoooow it's not a Wednesday. But, in my defense, this chapter is longer than chapters 1 and 2 combined.
Also, I tried to keep the body horror to a medium level. I tried to find a perfect balance of horrifying but also still readable. Would you guys want more body horror, or less, or is this a good amount?
Updated: 5/01/2024 *just realized that I forgot to add the part I was supposed to add*
The heart monitor beeps with a steady rhythm. The model’s ECG reading dip, but that’s normal for her species. You study the model asleep on your table, and take your place.
Turning to your interns, you adjust the fit of your gloves as say, “Are you ready?
From the other side of the table, Lys nods her head with such vigor that you’re afraid it would fall off. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!”
Heme takes their place next to you, wheeling the cart within your reach. “Aren’t there supposed to be more people here?” they ask, adjusting the fit of their mask with their shoulder. “We don’t even have an anesthesiologist present, and the technician dumped the tools and left without a word!”
Sighing, you take another look at the screen, and monitor the patient’s ECG readings. Just a couple of decades ago, you wouldn’t even be allowed to take five steps into a surgical suite, but in your death, you stare at the state-of-the-art Vox technology heart monitor.
“This was dumped at the last minute. And the Vees paid a hefty amount for the best,” you say, smiling to yourself. “I guess it doesn’t help that most of the staff have clocked-off for the night already.”
“It really doesn’t,” Heme says. You think they frown, you’re not actually sure. It’s hard to tell with masks on, but Heme sounds like they’re frowning.
“On the bright side, this is a special case, and special cases require special means,” you say. “Stick around, and I’ll make sure to show you something amazing.”
Lys squeals, jumping a bit, “I can’t wait to see your work.”
You turn to Heme. “Tell how you were guided into stopping the bleeding by Doctor Neisseria.”
Heme straightens, round their shoulders. “Hemostatic dressing for the capillaries,” they recite. “Then Lys clipped the bigger vessels, and Doctor Neisseria used an electrocautery for any that we missed.”
“Good,” you say. “Lys, is this your first time using a clip?”
“…Yes,” Lys tells you. Even with a mask on, you could tell she was sulking.
You eye the cart between you and Heme, double checking that the technician brought everything you requested for. “It shows,” you say. “Practice every chance you get. Make a deal with some poor and down on their luck Sinner who wouldn’t mind making a deal for permission to poke around whenever you want. They’ll heal on their own if it’s not too severe…or don’t—I mean, that’s how I did mine.”
Lys blinks at you. “I’ll…keep that in mind.”
Your shoulder slumps. “…Shall we just begin?”
Heme hands you a needle driver, the needle already clipped to it. A bunch of suture forms around your palm. It’s study, and made of pure Sinner Magical Energy, or just magic or whatever. It comes out of your and you have full control, that’s all you need to know.
Heme and Lys lean closer to observe the threads you make.
I don’t get to do this often.” You turn your head, motioning to the detached arm placed on the side. The skin has been stretched and the jagged and stringy muscle fibers sticking out tell you it’s been ripped off rather than slice. The radius protrudes out into the air, jagged and sharp. It would have hurt this model quite a lot. “Steady her arm please.”
Lys snatches the arm, holding it with confidence as she steadies it. “This is so cool.”
Heme hums. “Cool in a gross way.”
“Whether your patient is awake or not, a steady hand is key,” you say. “When you pierce your needle, be sure to do it right at the epidermis when dealing with the skin. Too deep and you’ll puncture the arteries or nerves.”
Lys brings the arm closer, and you do the first suture that will connect the limb of Velvette’s model. Valen-something apparently tore her up, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. So, they rushed her into the Emergency Room three days before this poor girl’s debut, and dropped her into your care with her arm and leg in an ice box.
You sew the model’s arm. The threads around your fingers are light, but sturdy. You entwine some around your fingers like some puppet master for better grip. Blood vessels, bones, nerves, and muscles. Not a single cell escapes your control.
You quiz your interns from time to time or tell them to take a closer look at where the vessels stick out the muscles, making sure they’re able to observe how a proper reattachment is conducted.
You study the threads connecting the arm to its body There are thousands of loose sutures. One single pull, and it will be completely reattached.
You shift your shoulders and crack your neck, giving it a slight stretch. “How long has it been?”
Lys glances at the clock behind you. “Five hours. I think it’s almost sunrise.”
“Be ready to be here for a while,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “The leg will be more complicated.”
Heme groans and their shoulder slump. “I guess I should just be thankful the model is mostly humanistic.”
You pull on the singular thread, and the stitches shorten until the arm is fully connected to its base. A thing line is the only indication that any limbs have been detached.
The door swings open and you snap your head at the sound.
“Hey doc!” The little Egg Boi saunters into the room, an envelope in his tiny hands. “I got something for you.”
Your feathers crack and sharpen. “If you wish to keep your shell,” you hiss at him, “you will leave this room before you contaminate it further.”
Egg Boi #04 wobbles a bit. “I was told to give you a message.”
A headache forms on your temples. You want to massage it, but that would contaminate your gloves. “Lys, show the egg to the observation room. Show him the microphone.”
Lys pouts a bit but exits the surgical suite.
Heme grabs the leg, and you begin again. You pause to take a deep breath. The threads don’t just appear out of thin air—they’re created because you will them to take shape. It gives as much as it needs to take from you.
Egg Boi# 04’s voice echoes on the speaker. “I have a note for you.”
“Read it then leave.” You pierce the tibia bone with your needle (special hell needle, you guess. Normal needles definitely cannot pierce bones) and connect it to the model’s leg.
Your concentration does not waver, even as Lys enters back into the room.
“My dearest good doctor,” Egg Boi #04 reads. “What a helltastic day for –"
“Stop!” you exclaim, and the threads you’re producing fizzle a bit, “Is that from Alastor?”
“Uhhh…yes?”
“Give me 10 minutes.” You sew the model’s leg just like before, starting from bones, then vessels, the muscles, and finally skin, but this time at a much faster pace.
Thousands of strings connect the detached leg to its place.
Heme gawks at you. “I thought the leg was more complicated?”
“It is.”
“It took you five minutes to sew everything,” they say. “Why did it take the arm until sunrise?”
“You wouldn’t have been able to learn anything if I went too fast.” You hand the needle driver to Heme, who takes it with eager hands “I trust you will be able to close for me?”
“Yes!”
“Go around the skin—remember not too deep,” you say. “Once it’s all connected, just one strong pull and the threads should work their magic. Lys, once she closes, you can practice your knots.”
The door closes with a swing. You discard your gloves then peel off your protective layers, but you keep the scrub cap on your head.
The Egg Boi waddles into the room, threatening to tip any moment. He holds up Alastor’s note and you’re forced to bend when you reach for it.
You open the envelope and sigh. “This is a letter, and definitely not a note,” you say counting all the pages jammed into the envelope. “Notes are small pieces of paper, and not fifteen pages of paper scribbled back-to-back.”
You take one deep breath, flaring your nostrils as you contemplate your marriage choices, and begin reading.
Heme enters the holding room as you’re reading through the last page.
They take a look at the pages you’ve read. “Ohhhhh a letter?” they say, discarding their mask into the trash. Their gloves are next. “Who is it from?”
“My husband.”
“Why a letter?” Heme asks you “Why not just shoot you a text or a phone call?”
“He mumbles to himself when he writes, and he just loves hearing his own voice.” You turn to the Egg Boi once you’ve read the last word. “Tell Alastor I’m busy—I can’t leave work to go to the hotel on such short notice!”
“Right….” Heme leans against the sink. “Management will be dropping by this afternoon.”
Your eyes squint. “This afternoon? I was told there'd be visiting tomorrow!”
“Yes, they informed you last night,” Heme says. “It’s tomorrow now—morning, actually.”
Your eyes twitch as your turn to Egg Boi #4. “Tell him I will be early. Now go, run along now, least you get scrambled.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Bustling sounds from the other side of the circus themed doors. You knock then take a step backwards, least Vaggie greets you with a fist to the face.
A crash sounds from the inside. The door slams open, and Charlie pops out, hair disheveled and sticking out in odd places. You see the relief oozing into her. Charlie’s smile relaxes and her eyes stop bulging at the sight of you.
She says your name with enthusiasm. “It’s just you! I am so glad to see you.”
You wave at her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s good to see you as well.”
“Would you like to come inside?” she says at the same time another crash sounds. Charlie’s smile turns sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”
“It’s quite alright,” you say with a polite smile. “Who am I to judge another person’s mess? It can be quite entertaining sometimes.”
Charlies smoothens the stray hairs sticking out. It does little to actually fix it. “Sooooo what brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome here! Everyone is welcome here! We don’t discriminate at –”
The door swings wider and Alastor pops out with that permanent smile of his. “I called her here.”
Alastor helps you out of your coat as you enter through the doors, and drapes it over his arm. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the crudely attached banners. Strobe lights are being taped to the railings. Its brightness makes you blink. “Are you throwing a party? Is that why you called me here?”
Alastor hangs your coat on the rack. “We’re preparing for a sudden guest,” he says. “It seems we’ll have to delay our plans, only if you’re happy with waiting for me.”
Charlie shrinks and her eyes water a bit. “Alastor…,” she says with a frown. “If you have plans, that’s alright—go. We can manage without you here!”
“Not at all, this is where he needs to be right now,” you tell Charlie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her smile brightens immediately. “Who will be the special guest today?”
Charlie fiddles with her fingers. “We…invite my…dad.”
Alastor twirls his microphone. “The King of Hell himself.”
“Oh,” you start, “the demon is coming here?”
“That’s actually Satan,” Charlie says with a smile. “Dad often gents confused with Satan but they’re not the same
“Oh…So, Lucifer is coming here.”
“Pretty much.”
You laugh a bit—you’re not even sure why. Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed. It sounded so awkward, even to you. “Well, how can I help? If it’s alright with you, of course.”
Charlie’s eyes brighten, and she shakes your shoulders. “Are you sure?”
Alastor grabs Charlie’s fingers with the tip of his own and pry them off you. “I’ve already come all this way,” you say, and turn to your husband. “I’m sure we can make the most out of this situation.”
Charlie leaves to change her clothes, and hopefully brush her hair while she’s at it.
Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his, even when you know it’s unnecessary to escort you to a living area that’s five-feet away.
He leaves you, walking to the kitchen with a wave of his microphone.
The hotel looks the same, just more diverse colors hanging around. Niffty stalks past you without a word, engrossed in her task of sweeping the floor. Angel Dust or Vaggie don’t seem to be around, nor is Husk at his usual post. Only a one-eyed cat keeps you company.
On the table, deflated balloons are left forgotten with two pumps resting next to it. You take your seat, and complete the unfinished task.
You’re on the third balloon when Alastor presents a mug to you.
He leans over the chair, reaching his arms to place that ‘Oh Deer’ mug on the table. It’s difficult to meet his eyes when he leans so far in front that his whole face is upside down.
His hair hangs in the air, and your husband looks goofy in such an awkward position that you can’t help but laugh. “You look awful this hellish morning!” he says, and his grin widens until his teeth show. “I thought you could use a bit of brightening up. You’re practically dozing off in the chair.”
“Thank you,” you say, a small smile on your face. “The coffee smells good.”
Alastor swings back, and lands next to you. “I know we agreed to leave such tasks to you,” he says and he waves his arms as he talks. “But you look ready to drop dead any second. Poor Niffty had swept about a hundred feathers on your short walk from the door to this chair—Long day?”
“Longer day, actually. Yesterday’s long day turned into a late night that bleeds into today’s early morning.” You take a sip, and revel in its taste. Even after all these years…his coffee still tastes like acidic bean water. (If you smile, then that’s your business.) “The coffee tastes good.”
Alastor crosses his leg, cracking a laugh hard enough for his eyes to bulge. “You didn’t even try to check if it’s been tampered,” he says with that same wild smile. “Are you that tired, my love?”
You smile at him, lips curving bright and wide. “My deerest, did you place something into my coffee?”
“Not at all.”
“That’s disappointing,” you say, taking another sip. “That suit of yours could use some brightening up! A splash of this bean water would add such an interesting texture to it.”
“We’ll it good to see you’re not tired enough to lose your way with words,” Alastor says, smiling at you. “But if you’ve had a ‘longer’ day, you could have sent the Egg Boy—"
“It’s Egg Boi, my deerest.”
Alastor squints, his brow furrowing as he does. “That’s what I said.”
“You said Egg Boy, deerest,” you tell him, taking a longer sip than usual to drown your laughter. “Those eggs are called Egg Bois. They have different numbers—except Frank.”
On the corner of his cheek—just where it’s always been—Alastor’s smile strains. “You said the same thing as I did.”
“Egg Bois.”
“Egg Boys.”
“Egg Bois.”
“Egg Boys.”
You chuckle a bit, and take another long slip. “If you say so.”
Alastor rolls his eyes and he makes it a point to show you he’s doing so. “You could have mentioned to that egg creature that you’d had a long day.”
“Management was dropping by my floor today.” You grab another balloon to pump it.
Alastor’s head tilts, and you hear the small crack of his neck. Static fills the air. “Well, I’m always glad to be used in such a way.”
You roll your eyes, making it a point to show Alastor that you’re doing so. The sharpened feathers and the glow of your eyes were just for the fun of it. “There is another reason why I dropped by the hotel.”
“Do tell!”
You knot the end of the balloon and throw it to the side. “Who am I to refuse the summon of the Radio Demon?”
“His wife.”
You snort, and toss a balloon at him. One balloon becomes two and now you’re just tossing whatever balloon you could get your hands on.
Alastor pops a balloon and static emits from his microphone.
You cross your arms, staring down at him. “I was going to use that.”
Alastor grabs the second pump.
An hour passes too soon. They always seem to do around your husband. The balloons are stringed and weighted. Razzle and Dazzle—the two lambs Charlie made a point to introduce you too—put up a…er… interesting banner on the railings.
Sir Pentious slithers out the kitchen, a tray of cookies in his hold. The Hazbin Hotel looks lively. The space looks decent—live in — as if Sinners actually gathered and used the space. (Those are your favorite kind.)
Sir Pentious offers a cookie to you, and you munch on it. You give him a compliment for its taste.
By the entrance, with Vaggie to her side and Alastor at the other, Charlie takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she does.
Vaggie gives her a smile, and Charlie opens the door.
The bringer of sin rushes to his daughter, drowning her in a hug.“Chaaaaarlie!”
Charlie squirms in his hold. “Heeeyy, Dad!”
Egg Boi #13 and Egg Boi #08 twist their poppers and confetti pops into the air. Niffty grabs her broom, sweeping the floor.
You watch Lucifer, and try to hide your smile. The King of Hell looks different from any paintings or drawings humans make. They can’t seem to capture how shy he looks. How awkward. No painting has been able to capture his search for a place to belong.
This Fallen Angel has blond hair. He’s not the brunette you thought he’d be, which was a shame for you rather liked brunets. It makes sense he’d be blond. Afterall, Charlie has blonde hair as well, and she is the spitting image of her father.
If someone told you it was Lucifer who birthed her, you wouldn’t be able to deny it.
“It’s finally nice to put a name to the face.” Alastor shakes Lucifer’s hand with his microphone, wiping his own right after. “You are much shorter in real life.”
You turn aways, coughing to hide your laughter as Alastor banters with Lucifer.
Husk rolls his eyes at you and grumbles. “Of course, you’d find that hilarious,” he says. “Everyone knows it's smart to insult Lucifer.”
You place a hand on your cheek. “Guilty as charged.”
Charlie brings Lucifer to meet your group. He calls Vaggie, Maggie. Smiles awkwardly when Angel Dust calls him a ‘short king’. Lucifer waves back when Husk waves at him, and shrinks when Niffty jumps and pulls him by the collar. One by one, you’re introduced.
You extend your arm for a handshake.
Lucifer smiles awkwardly, shrinking a bit, but reaches out to shake your ha—
The chandelier crashes to the floor.
And oh God…
Lucifer begins to sing.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Your hair sticks to your face.
Water droplets splash on your clothes. You accept your fate, and trudge through the rain, even as your fingers freeze. The breeze blows your hair, making you nuzzle into your damp coat. You should have brought an umbrella, or taken a cab. Just your luck, a sunny day turns into a drizzle that turns your shoes into a lake. You hate damp socks.
An umbrella blocks the rain from your soaked clothes.
You spring out of its coverage, spinning to look behind. Your arms jerk out, causing you to wobble because of the wet pavement. (That’s totally not embarrassing.)
“The point of an umbrella is to stay underneath it when it’s raining.” Alastor smiles, giving you a small wave.
You wave back.
“Oh…hello,” you say, adjusting the straps of your bag. Alastor takes a step forward, and you jump backwards. “I’m alright—I can manage by myself.”
“Why don’t you tell me all about your very capable self from underneath the umbrella,” he says, twirling the umbrella. “Come on, now.”
You dip your head inside. Alastor inches closer, but there’s still a respectable gap between your shoulders. “I’m really alright,” you say. “I quite love the rain.”
“Yes, the rain is a beautiful thing to frolic underneath when you’re in a meadow,” Alastor says. You can’t help but feel that Alastor is scolding you, “not when it splashes off buildings and drips off power lines and other items that have not been cleaned. We are in the city, my dear.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“My mother would roll in her grave and haunt me when she finds out I left a lady in the rain.”
“But—”
“Constant refusal is quite rude, you know,” he tells you. “And I still owe you one favor.”
“You really wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Alastor says with a smile that makes you smile back. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m happy to leave my umbrella in your umbrella-less but capable hands, and be on my way.”
You shake your head, inching closer. “We can share if you don’t mind walking.”
“I love walks. It keeps me stimulated.”
Alastor follows your every step, covering you with an umbrella that was meant for one. You glance at his shoulder, and turn away to hide your frown. Half of his shoulder sticks out into the rain, gathering droplets, while not a single speck of water slides on you.
Alastor is giving you the bigger half of the umbrella.
“Would you mind holding this?” he asks.
“Not at all,” you say, and take a hold of his umbrella. Alastor is taller, and you have to quirk your arms higher to avoid hitting his head.
Alastor slips out of his coat. You watch him slide it off his shoulders and pull his arm out the slits. He’s wearing a vest—a fine vest as well. Alastor flicks out stray waterdrops. He leans close enough for you to smell his cologne. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, grabbing the lapels to adjust its fit. His body heat lingers. It’s warm…he’s warm.
Alastor pries the umbrella from your grip with a wide smile. “Before you say anything, the only response that I will be accepting is, ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you, Alastor.”
“You’re welcome.” He adjusts the angle of the umbrella, careful to keep every drop of rain from touching you, even at the cost of his own clothes. “Whatever made you decide to walk? There are cabs and busses for a reason.”
“It wasn’t that bad when I started,” you say. “Plus, I was eager to get home.”
He keeps his eyes ahead. “It’s still quite dangerous.”
You step over a puddle, narrowly missing it. “Dangerous?”
“Yes!”
“The sun is—well, was still up when I began walking.”
Alastor hums, shaking his head. “Murders and thieves do not magically dissolve in the sun.”
You smile to yourself. “I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on that subject.”
Alastor turns to you, and his hair shifts as he tilts his head. “Pardon?”
“I heard your voice on the radio this morning,” you tell him, adjusting his coat around your shoulders. “I caught the news segment.”
“Well,” he starts, his smile widening. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you must have been busy when I mentioned the forecast then.”
You inch closer as much as he’ll allow you, trying to keep a respectable distance, but still close enough that Alastor doesn’t need to sacrifice his clothes to keep yours dry. “Speaking of radio, what brings you to this area?” you say. “Isn’t the radio station all the way across town?”
Alastor laughs in a way that makes you wish you’ve kept your mouth shut. “Have you been tracking my movements?”
“Not at all,” you say and try to mimic his laugh. It comes out strained instead. “I just know how to read a map.”
Alastor steps over a puddle. He places a hand on your back, guiding you away from it. “I just had some business in the area,” he says and drops his hand. “I turned the corner and I found you walking all alone in the rain!”
You smile, careful to keep your eyes forward. “I’m thankful to whatever beings that fated our paths to cross.”
Alastor leans closer, eyeing your hands. “Been gardening recently?”
You glance at your nails, at where stubborn soil sticks underneath the cuticle. “No…not at all,” you say slowly. “I guess you could say…light treasure hunting…?”
“The more I get to know you, the more I find myself dumbfounded at your wide range of hobbies.”
“I hate seeing things go to waste.” You try to ignore the squish of your socks. You are definitely never forgetting your umbrella again. “For example, your garbage is my treasure.”
“What a wonderful philosophy to live by.” Alastor meets your eyes and smiles.
You smile back. “Indeed, isn’t it?”
Alastor’s hold on the umbrella stays firm, even as he follows you around the corner and across the street. Not a single drop of water lands on you. “What treasure were you able to find?”
“You have a lot of questions for me today,” you say and ignore the thumping of your heart. “I feel as if you know me more than I know you—I think that’s rather unfair.”
“Well, what would you like to know?”
You move your foot to avoid puddles of trash. The city could really use a good cleaning. “You know so much about my hobbies. So, I’d like to know some of yours.”
“There isn’t really much to tell,” he says. “The radio is my life.”
A strong breeze has you sinking deeper into Alastor’s coat. “You have your hunts.”
You glance at Alastor, and oh…his hair is as brown as his eyes. Wisps of hair stick to his face because of the rain.
Alastor’s brows furrow a bit, but you swear his smile turns sweet. “Those are more of… a necessity than a hobby.”
“In what way?”
“The woods around my area have a lot of… let’s say… mammals that don’t necessarily belong there, it is as if someone just leaves them from time to time. I hunt a few here and there to thin the population a bit.”
You smile to yourself. “Well, tell me about the radio—What is that like?”
He places his free hand on his chest. “Why, it is the proper medium of expressing oneself, of course.”
“It must be nice having such a creative outlet,” you say. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re able to come up with the most exciting segments.”
“Sadly, you would think after all these years of bringing success and money into the company, I would be allowed to have more control over my content.”
You step over another puddle. A small tug on Alastor’s arm, and he steps over it as well. “That is quite sad to hear.”
“For example,” he starts, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. “I wanted to have this whole portion just on crimes that have been committed.”
“Like… the news?”
“No, not at all,” he says. “I was thinking more on the lines of old cases like robberies and murders—some solved, some not. Unfortunately, the director said it would be too gruesome.”
“It really depends on how you choose to present it,” you say. “I think audiences would love a good mystery with a satisfying conclusion.”
“That is exactly what I thought so as well!” Alastor’s smile widens. “I came across this story…Oh, well I wouldn’t want to bother you with the details.”
“I’d love to hear this,” you say, chuckling. “Show me how you would present it.”
“One winter night,” he starts off with that never ending smile on his lips, “a child—no ordinary child—disappears in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break in and nothing other than the child was taken from the home. Not a single dust was out of place.”
“Wait, what was so special about the child?”
“I will tell you,” he says. “That child was the two-year old son of aviator Charles Lindenberg! Some newspapers called the child the ‘Eaglet’ because his father had become the first man to fly across the Atlantic Oce—Oh, why are we stopping?”
He angles the umbrella, careful to keep you dry. You smile at him and point at the small apartment complex behind you. “This is where I live.”
Alastor doesn’t frown, but his smile droops a bit. “Oh…” he says. “I was getting to the most interesting portion of the story—what a shame.”
“A shame, indeed,” you echo. “You have such a captivating way of conveying your words.”
“Thank you.”
The rain splatters on the umbrella. It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Your socks are damp and it’s starting to get colder. “Would you like to finish what you were saying?”
Alastor’s smile widens, just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. “On the month of May, after continuous searching, a tiny little corpse was found abandoned on the side of the road. Forensics determined that the baby was bludgeoned to death.”
“It’s quite funny,” you tell him. “You talk of such gruesome murders but I find myself captivated.”
“Indeed.”
“Thank you for going out of your way for me, Alastor.” You slip out of his coat, returning it to him. It’s cold—has it always been this cold. “Will I see you around?”
“Of course,” he says. “We always meet in such unconventional places.”
You duck out of the umbrella, giving him one last smile and head up the steps. A twist of a doorknob, a few flights of stairs, and you would be home. You were tired, your socks are soaking, and the back of your clothes stick to your skin. So, why…why do you find yourself running back into the rain?
“Wait!” you find yourself exclaiming.
Alastor covers you with his umbrella. “What’s wrong?”
‘I… I may have a problem.” The words are slipping out of your lips. “Are you busy by any chance?”
“Not at all.”
“What about your business in the area?”
Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I can always come back.”
“Would you help me?” You bite the inside of your cheek.
“Of course.” Alastor brings the umbrella closer to you. “What can I do for you?”
“I think…” you begin to say. Stop. Stop! You should turn back; head inside where warm clothes and a bath awaits you. “I think I’m in the wrong area.”
Alastor laughs, and it’s that same breathy and light laugh as before. He drapes his coat over your shoulder once more, and adjusts its fit to secure it around you. It’s the warmest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left a lady stranded in the rain.”
“Not at all,” you say with a smile that you do not remember smiling. “Lots of scary thieves and murders out there—apparently they don’t disappear during the day.”
Alastor nudges you along, down the path, to a destination either of you have the faintest idea where it will end.
Your feet stay locked in its place, and you hold Alastor in your gaze. (His bowtie is crooked, and even with his coat around you, he looks presentable. His vest matches his shoes. You note how his smile is asymmetrical, and how his eyes are still as brown as his hair. Alastor’s glasses are frosted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.)
“Are you alright?” Alastor asks you.
“I’m fine. It’s just….” You shake your head and smile. “It would be a waste to forget this.”
“Come on,” Alastor says in a voice that is oh so soft. He offers his arm, and you hook your own around his.
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“Motherfucker!” Husk curses into the air, his ears quirking as he does. “Would it fucking kill you to be gentle with that shit?”
“I am being gentle.” You stare him down, keeping the towel pressed firm against his foot. “Would you want to know what it’s like when I’m not? I’d be very happy to comply.”
“………No.”
“Then settle down, Husker,” you say and use your free hand to grab the forceps from the hotel’s medical kit. “This will be much easier if you stay still…or don’t and give yourself a harder time. I’m not the one with glass sticking out of my foot.”
Husk sinks into the clinic bed, sulking as he crosses his arms. He picks on the pillow, fidgeting with its seams. “Bitch.”
You raise your eyebrows and huff. “Virgin.”
Husk’s fangs show when he growls. “I am not…grandma.”
Your feathers bristle. It’s smart to keep Husk talking, even if hurling insults is the way to do so. If it keeps him distracted, you won’t complain. “I died in my late twenties…or was it my early thirties — I honestly forget.”
The blood on his foot begins to clot, and you toss the towel to the waste basket. You walk to the sink, rinsing stray droplets of Husk’s blood with soap.
“Settle down then, grandma,” he says with a triumphant smile, and you roll your eyes. “Today, it’s your memories. Tomorrow, it could be anything.”
You plop on the clinic chair, waiting for your hands to dry. “Yes, it would make sense you’re familiar with the signs,” you shoot back, “considering you lived long enough to be called Pawpaw — Is that why you’re a cat?”
Husk barks a laugh, his wings flaring. He grabs the pillow and tosses it to you. It hits the side of the chair and langs on your lap. You pick it up and toss it back at him. “At least my husband didn’t walk out on me for several years without so much as a word.”
You chuckle, and settle his foot on your leg for better access. Taking your forceps, you brush away slivers of glass from Husk’s foot …or would this be his paw?
You clip a shard of glass, and glance at him. When Husk doesn’t whine like a little bitch, you pull a shard and drop it to the metal pan across you. “At least my marriage lasted even through death, Arachnid Simp.”
Husk rolls his eyes. You smile when his whiskers twitch. “Where did you even learn that word?”
“I see you’re not going to deny it.”
Husk sinks deeper into the bed.
“This wouldn’t be happening if you—I don’t know—wore these things called shoes?” You pluck another shard of glass. Husk tries to jerk his foot away, but your hold stays firm. “They were invented a long, long, time ago, and were created to keep your feet protected.”
“Stop talking as if I’m a child.” Husk frowns and his teeth stick out. “Wearing them feels weird.”
“I guess they kind of are weird.” You grab a fresh towel when blood squirts out of Husk’s foot. “You die and then suddenly waking up to see you don’t have toes
A beat passes between you. “Do you…do you not have toes?”
You toss the towel, and pick out the last shard. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”
“What does that even mean?” Husk growls, running his palms over his face.
“I…have absolutely no idea.”
You reach into the medical kit, grabbing some dressing. You peel the plastic and toss it to the trash, and press it against his foot.
Egg Boi #03 waddles up to you, a gauze roll in his tiny hands — you weren’t aware the little egg creature was in the room. You thank him with a smile, and wrap the gauze roll around Husk’s paw then his ankle. Satisfied, you clip it in its place.
“You’re all done,” you say. “It might be weird to step on it for a few hours, but it’s not impossible. The glass didn’t puncture you too deep.”
“Good to know.”
“Oh…and just in case, the amount of blood you saw isn’t anything to be scared of. There’s just a lot of tiny vessels on the foot. That’s why it took a while for it to stop,” you say and toss him a new set of gauze rolls and pads.
Husk stares at the items. “I don’t know how to use this.”
You stare at him, leaning into the chair. “Just slap the square on the skin and roll the gauze around your foot.”
Husk hops out of the clinic, keeping pressure off his injury.
It takes a while to clean up after yourself, but Egg Boi #03 keeps you company. The little egg speaks a lot of nonsense, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. You flick the lights, and Egg Boi #03 follows behind you.
The chandeliers had been dragged away, and the glass and debris cleared off the carpet.
Mimzy’s hug makes you take a step back.
You squirm in her hold, placing a placating hand on her shoulders.
“I am sooooo glad you are here!” Mimzy exclaims, shaking your shoulders. “This is like one big reunion, ay. Just between you and me, that Lucifer is a real looker—shame on Alastor for not warning a gal. I would have dressed better, and who knows? Maybe I could be the Queen of Hell. Ha!”
Mimzy grabs your arm and drags you to the bar. Husk pours you a drink with a nod, and stalks away. Seeing him hop up the stairs makes you laugh.
You swirl your drink. “It’s always good to see you, old friend.”
“Not that old!” Mimzy swats your arm, a huge grin on her lips. “And there’s no need to lie to me, darling. I doubt you actually feel that way.”
“Well, I still have those burn marks on my wall from the time you decided to play bartender with matches.”
Mimzy barks a laugh, and her legs kick. “C’mon you can’t still be blaming me! If I remember correctly, it was Alastor who brought out the matches.”
Angel Dust walks up to you with Sir Pentious trailing behind him. You wave.Sir Pentious waves back, his hood flapping open.
“Mind if we join ya?” Angel Dust asks.
“Not at all,” Mimzy says. “I’m always weak to such lookers.”
Angel Dust takes the seat next to you and pushes back his hair. Sir Pentious takes the one behind him. “Sooooo, you two and Alastor run in the same circles.” He takes a drink. “And you guys are friends with him?”
You take a sip of your own drink. “You could describe it that way.”
“Well, those are your words, not mind, but I think it fits.” Mimzy glances at you, a knowing smile on her lips. “But our good doctor here is more than just—Hey! Why do you look so surprised?”
“Well, I just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery,” Angel Dust says. Sir Pentious nods, his head squeaking as he does “What's his deal?”
Mimzy is happy to explain tall, dark, and creepy’s ‘deal’.
“But before that, he was the prime bachelor of my day,” Mimzy says. “Not a single lady wouldn’t want a taste of that twink. But eh… I wouldn’t wish marriage with Alastor on even my worst enemies. It would be a real shock when you die and find out your hubby’s got a real screw loose.”
“Well, it wasn’t a shock to me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You swirl your drink—hmmm, it’s good to know Husk still knows what you like.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Mimzy chuckles nervously. She scoots closer, elbowing you lightly. “You happy he’s back? I still remember the few months you’d visit my place to look for your deerest, most darling Alastor, Mimzy at the bottom of a bottle.”
Your eyes twitch. “Quite pleased actually,” you say and force a smile. “It’s great to finally see my husband again.”
“Husband?” Angel Dust chokes on his drink.
Sir Pentious tilts his head and his hat slides off a bit. “Oh you’re married?”
You show them your ring, wiggling your finger. “Indeed.”
Sir Pentious puffs out his chest. “I would love to meet thisss husband of yours,” he says. “If you cannot be my rival, he can fight in your stead.”
“That wouldn’t be a smart idea
Mimzy stares at him. “He’s not the brightest is he?”
Angel Dust drops his drink with a clink. “Pause,” he splutters. “Shut u—” He coughs, still reeling from his drink going down the wrong pipe. “Shut up. Plause. Pause!”
Sir Pentious frowns, and his tongue sticks out. “No one elssseee is talking.”
“There is no way,” Angel Dust says. He turns to you, eyes bulging. “I refuse to believe that Freaky got hitched.”
Sir Pentious gapes, and his hoop opens. “Alastor is married as well?”
Mimzy slaps her forehead and points to you. “He’s married to her!”
“You are mess’in with me,” Angel Dust says. “Well, you can’t trick me. I refuse to believe it, toots.”
Mimzy takes a swig of her drink. “No one’s mes’in with ya,” she says with bright eyes. “They had a big white wedding and everything. I even got to bless them with my singing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Mimzy glares at Angel Dust, a hand on her hips and her noise in the air. “You calling me a liar?”
You place a hand on Mimzy’s shoulder. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?” you say.
“Could’ve been better without the rain,” she says shrugging.
The lights flicker. Static fills the air, making your skin buzz. The bar glows a faint green. “The rain made it sentimental actually,” you say and glance up the stairs. “We quite like the rain.”
Angel Dust crosses both sets of arms. “I thought you said you were friends.”
“I said partners,” you tell him. “Alastor said friends.”
Angel Dust blinks at you and sighs. “So, you married him? Like you’re his wife.”
“I am, indeed!”
“Are you sure?”
“I sure hope so,” you say, crossing your legs. “It would be weird not to be sure considering I was there in a white dress, walking down the aisle.” Mimzy barks a laugh, and the feathers on her head sway. A part of you hopes she topples off the chair.
“Uh…Is this something we should know?” Angel Dust asks. “He’s not going to try to kill me because I learned about this right?”
“We’re not trying to hide it, but we don’t broadcast it either,” you say. “And well…no wife likes to be introduced as a ‘friend’.”
Sir Pentious’ tongue sticks out. “Does Alasssstor own your soul or something?”
You empty your drink and revel in the taste. “We got married back when we were alive.”
Angel Dust reaches across the bar, grabbing a whole bottle off the shelf with his long arms. He pops open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottom. “I still have trouble belive you,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I just…I can’t!”
“Your belief, or lack of, won’t change the fact that I have a ring,” you say. “And it’s not really for you to believe, now is it?”
“Why…?” Angel Dust’s mouth quirks into the cutest frown. “Why…ya’know?”
You sigh and place a hand on your cheek with a smile. “He makes me laugh.”
Angel Dust makes a face, and coils back like he’s been shot.
“Oh he’s a total kitten,” Mimzy says with a bright smile. She inches her glass closer to Angel Dust, and he fills it up for her. “Catch him in a good mood or pour him a drink and play some jazz and he’s totally harmless.”
“You still shouldn’t toss caution into the air, Mimzy” you say. “If I were you, I’d be wary about trusting Alastor just because he likes cleaning up your mess.”
Angel Dust crosses his arm, and his eyebrows quirk. “Ain’t he your hubby?” he says. “Isn’t there this whole spiel about trust and love and faith and all that other boring vanilla shit.”
“He wouldn’t be the Radio Demon if he could be trusted by just anyone, now would he?” you say. “It still crosses me when I remember how he lied to me.”
Angel Dust’s eyes shine. “You said no wife likes being introduced as a ‘friend’.”
“Yes?”
“It must have crossed you quite a lot, huh?”
You shrug, a bit confused. “I mean… I wasn’t really a big deal at the end of the day.”
Angel Dust’s smile widens and that golden tooth of his shimmer. “I want to know everything.”
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Despite the rain, clear skies show the moon, not a cloud in sight.
The flashlight clipped on your collar shines on your path. Your boots sink deep into the mud, but that’s alright. A few inches of goo won’t stop you from your destination. You adjust your leather medical bag—double checked that there are gloves inside.
Between those two trees, your treasure lies buried.
You lay your kit on some nearby stones and reach in for your gloves. You dig until bits of the cadaver’s skin stick out. You brush the soil of his chest and peel open the flaps of his skin. The underside of his skin has blood vessels attached to it. It was worth cutting out the fat to have a glimpse.
Superficial fascia connects his muscles to his dermis. You take your probe and disconnect the thin filament. It reminds you of spider-webs.
You discard your probe and exchange it for the bottle of formaldehyde. You can’t study the whole body, not when it’s exposed to the elements. His fingers are starting to rot, but that’s alright. The chest is all you need, for now. So, the chest is all you’ll preserve.
The cheesecloth you placed on him last night is still damp. Good, that means it’s been sanitized this whole time. You take the cheesecloth and wife it against his open cavity, sanitizing every surface you can reach.
The formalin stings your nose and burns your eyes. It makes you cough, but you push through the pungent chemical.
You peel off the cheesecloth and use it to spread formalin into the deeper crevices between his skin and muscle.
Good. There are no maggots yet. It means you still have time.
You discard your gloves for a fresh pair and prepare your tools. You take your forceps and clip the scalpel blade onto the handle. You lay all your tools on a clean cloth for easy reach.
A human’s adipose tissue buildup is thicker than animals. This man’s fat is soft, easily squishable. Sadly, you’re not here to study his fat.
The scalpel blade is balanced perfectly. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.
You slice through his adipose tissue, discarding it behind you, carving the cadaver until a nice rectangle opening forms. Muscles are grey, not like the red color printed on textbooks. You run your fingers along the smooth fibers of his pectorals. It’s slimy. That’s probably moisture mixing with the formaldehyde.
You quirk your shoulder to adjust the angle of your flashlight, still running your hand on his pectoral.
There, on the side of the chest where a muscle resembles a fan, do you find what you’re looking for.
Taking your probe, you define the muscle. You don’t use your scapple—never a scapple, because it could slice the fibers. You’ll scrape off the muscles later when it’s time to move on to the systems.
You take a pen and write your notes.
Muscle name: Serratus Ventralis.
Description: The Serratus Ventralis appears to be a fan-shaped muscle, just like Hyman writes it to be. Although he’s not describing humans, I think it looks the same. Will double check to see if such similarities are indeed correct. Just like the book says, I can see the muscle extending anteriorly and posteriorly from the scapula and to the walls of the thorax.
The Serratus Ventralis appears to be divisible into anterior and posterior portions, with the anterior originating deeper into the body. (Will cut open if there is still time.) The posterior border seems to be where it originates from, and while it is buried by other muscles, I think it originates from somewhere between the ribs.
Origin, Insertion, Action:
Origin: Textbook says it originates from the outer surfaces of the upper eight or nine ribs. (Will double check once I’ve moved on.)
Insertion: The muscle fibers appear to move upward to the side. Inserts along the anterior surface of the medial border of the scapula
Action: If it indeed is inserted from the scapula, this could mean that it could draw the scapula, forward, backward or against the body.
You flip to the previous page, and cross out Serratus ventralis. You move on to the muscle on your list: Xiphihumeralis. Based on the name, the muscle should pass through the xiphoid process to the sternu—
“Is this what you meant about my trash being your treasure?”
You startle, jumping back until a tree hits you and there’s nowhere else to escape. Run. Run. Run! Your heart screams at you, hammering in your chest. No one is supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be alone. You were careful—not careful enough, apparently.
Alastor emerges from the trees.
He waves at you when your gazes meet, but you don’t wave back. He’s smiling. “Hello,” he greets you with a gentle voice that strikes your core. It would be foolish to mistake his gentleness for kindness. “And yet again, I’m forced to comment on how you have such interesting hobbies.”
You press deeper into the tree, even if a knot digs into your back. “This….” You pause, trying to find your voice. Do you run? “This isn’t a hobby. I’m merely studying.”
Alastor drops a bag on the ground. It looks heavy. “A man?”
“A cadaver,” you say, careful to keep your voice steady. You cannot let this man see any cracks. “They’re already dead, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be a waste to let them rot like this? At least now, their sorry lives will be making a meaningful contribution.”
The admission of your crime was easy to say. You don’t want to know what that means about you.
Alastor laughs. It’s not that breathy and light laugh he had earlier. This one is lighter, more elated. “Please, tell me more.”
You harden your heart, searching for any speck of bravery. “Why would I?”
Alastor smiles until his teeth show. The moon makes his brown eyes glow—you did not think it would be such an attractive color. “I’m the one holding the large knife.”
You glance at his hand, and oh…that indeed is quite a large knife. It’s not even a kitchen knife, but a proper hunting blade meant to kill. “I see you’re resorting to threats,” you say and you don’t know why you do. It’s not really a smart idea. “I did not think you, a man, would feel the need to say such things to a woman.”
“That was barely a threat,” he says. “I’m just curious to know your motivation to dig up trash.”
“I’m studying—that’s my reason.”
Alastor waves the knife as he talks. “Are there no other dead bodies for you to prey on?” he says. “Don’t hospitals have an area specifically to keep the dead?”
“Only morticians or medical students are allowed access,” you say. “I am neither.”
“Why not become one then?”
“Women as doctors are still a relatively new phenomena,” you say. “There is not a single medical school in this area that will allow me to study, nor are there any that won’t bring me into debt.” Your blood boils and it replaces your thumping heart. It still beats in your chest, but it’s not because of fear. “I needed to find a way to learn, to study, and textbooks could only describe it in words. I want to see for myself.”
Alastor plays with the tip of the knife. “Sounds like a classic case of lusting for knowledge.”
“If lust is to be my sin,” you start and a wonky smile appears on your face, “pride would be yours. A classic case of judge, jury and executioner.”
“I do not need to explain myself to you.”
“Well, you are holding the larger knife,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Anything more you’d like to know?”
Alastor hums at you. “How did you figure it out?”
“A little bit of a suggestion?” you say, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “You should buy suspicious items at different times and places. Your turn—How did you know I was here?”
“A little bit of a suggestion?” he echoes laughing like he’s told the funniest joke. “You shouldn’t have told me where you lived so easily. I thought I would have to hang around your clinic for a few days before I got your address.”
“I made sure to be careful.”
“You weren’t in the slightest,” he tells you. “Even an animal is harder to track. It was quite a surprise to see you heading in this direction.”
“Wait…,” you say slowly. “Hang around the clinic? You…you were stalking me?”
“I wouldn’t say stalking,” he says, putting his arms up. “And if we’re pointing fingers, you would have had to follow me around for a few days to learn where I buried my trash.”
Your eyes drift to his bag, and then to his knife. Realization hits you like a cruel bus. You face heat. “You!”
“Me?”
“You lied to me!” you say, venom lacing your words as you puff. “You had no business in the area, nor did you randomly spot me! You followed to kill me, didn't you?”
Alastor smiles at you.
“Oh my God!” you scream at him, throwing your arms into the air. You point at him, glaring “You’re still going to kill me?”
“I can’t exactly let you leave, my dear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What did you think?”
You stare down at him from your nose. “Don’t be so brainless,” you spit, crossing your arms. “If you would use this thing on your head called a, ‘brain’, and use it to think, you would be able to deduce that you’re currently not in cuffs.”
Alastor glares back at you, tightening his grip on the knife. You don’t give a single flying fuck.
“Since you are adamant on not using your brain, I shall do so for you,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to rat you out to the coppers, wouldn’t I have done so already? Hmmmm?”
“Don’t speak to me as if I am a child.”
“I wouldn’t have to, if you aren’t thinking like one,” you say. “Why would I tattle on someone for giving me what I want.”
Alastor gives you a dry smile. “So much sarcasm to the person who does so.”
You cross your arms and lean against the tree. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”
“Will you?”
“No,” you say. “I don’t thank liars.”
You smile to yourself when Alastor rolls his eyes and furrows his brow. That strained smile of his is an extra bonus.
“If you’re going to kill me, be quick with it,” you say. “I’d like to die with my dignity as a lady.”
“How curious,” he says. “You’re not going to try and run? Fight me off in some clever way? Those are always the best kinds of hunts.”
You roll your eyes, making a point to show him that you are doing so. “That would be a waste of our time, wouldn’t it? And I think you’ll forgive me if I am not exactly keen on giving my murderer the satisfaction of experiencing ‘the best kinds of hunt’.”
Alastor laughs, breathy and light this time. He tosses the knife into the trees and puts his arms up as if surrendering. “It seems you have made me change my mind,” he says. “Not many are able to do so—especially not when I’ve settled on a hunt.”
“What an honor then,” you say, smiling dryly.
“Indeed, it is.” He takes a step forward, and when you don’t run, he walks to you and brushes stray dirt off your shoulders.
“Why change your mind?”
He smiles, inching closer to you. That is for me to know,” he says. “But, what I will say is I know potential when I see it.”
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“Someone, please, kill me again!” Angel Dust massages his forehead with one arm, using the other to empty the bottle. His third arm reaches into the bar shelves for a new one. You stare at his arms and wonder just how it got to be so long. “You’ve got to be shiting me right now. That’s your example? That’s your final answer?”
You pick at the wooden table, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes “Yes…?”
Angel Dust chugs his bottle at your answer. Mimzy avoids direct eye contact, choosing to study her empty glass. Even Sir Pentious keeps his gaze locked to the floor.. You bite on your cheek, letting out a soft huff.
If they didn’t want to know, they should not have asked.
“Out of all the misery he’s caused and will be causing,” Angel Dust says, “you think that Freaky ly’in to you about his reason for walking you home was the best possible example.”
“Yes?”
Angel Dust takes a deep breath. “Let’s be clear, okay? I’ll rephrase what I said, so listen closely,” he says. “Alastor lied about – and let me get this right—he lied to you about why he was in the area, and that’s why – hold on, bear with me – and that is why you were angry.”
You cross your arms, huffing a bit. “You make it sound stupid.”
Mimzy sighs, shaking her head with amusement. “That’s because it is, darling.”
“It is not!” you say, pouting. “It’s a very valid reason to be cross.”
Angel Dust takes another swig of his bottle. “It’s the fact that you weren’t angry that he was going to murder you in cold blood for me.”
You throw your arms into the air. “Okay, so it might not have been the best example,” you say, tapping your legs. “But that isn’t exactly my fault. Alastor is strangely honest.”
Angel Dust gapes at you. “No, he is not!”
“I don’t know, hun,” Mimzy says, leaning against the bar table. “Alastor kina is.”
“You won’t get the truth if you don’t ask,” you say, nodding your head. “And when you do ask, Alastor will either say the full horrifying truth, say it in a way that’s vague but still considered to be true, or dodge and not answer your question.”
Sir Pentious tilts his head, and he keeps a hand on his hat to keep it from falling. “And that is why we should not trust him?”
“There is no we, my dear,” you say. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust him.”
The hotel trembles.
You startle in your seat, gripping the table for stability. Mimzy clutches your arm, and you grab hers. It’s a small reassuring gesture that would make you smile at any other moment. Someone pounds on the door. You snap your head towards the entrance, nearly giving yourself whiplash. The hinges creak with every bang, and you watch with horror as the wooden frame begins to crack. Whatever wants to go in is determined to do so.
“MIMZY! We know you’re in there, you lousy bitch!”
You lock eyes with Mimzy, glaring at her with bristled feathers. “Really?”
“Whooops…?” she says with the most innocent smile. You grab your glass and throw it at her head. Mimzy snarls at you, searching for a stray bottle. She never finds it.
Glass rains down to the floor. Dust fills the space, and you cough when it irritates your throat. The whole hotel is in disarray. With a yelp, you jump away from the bar when one of the bone heads detaches and crushes your seat.
Mimzy scurries behind the bar.
A portal rips open in the middle of the room…Huh, that’s pretty cool. Vaggie steps out, Lucifer and Charlie behind her. “What is going on?”
Mimzy explains what she did. You roll your eyes when she does.
Fireballs shoot out the broken windows.
Motherfucker! You are going to kill Mimzy. You press against the wall to avoid Sir Pentious’ long tail from smacking into you as he slithers about. Angel Dust scurried away at the first sign of trouble. Of-fucking-course this happens today. Niffty scurries about, cleaning every debris in sight, You grab her by the collar, pulling her away from a stray fire. Niffty squirms out of your hold, and hops away. Another fireball keeps you from pursuing her.
“We’re under siege!” Sir Pentious exclaims, slithering about. “Take cover!”
Alastor pops out of your shadow, jerking your arm to pull you away.
You flap your arms to regain your balance.
Alastor keeps a steady hand on your shoulder, his hold on you firm. His touch keeps you grounded. Your eyes flutter to where you pressed against the wall, but Alastor pokes your cheek with the tips of your fingers, nudging your face to keep your eyes on him. The hotel burns in chaos, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat.
Alastor holds your gaze. He smiles at you softly, but you see the hardness in his eyes and the tension is his jaw.
You try to give him your best smile. “Much better?”
“No, not in the slightest” he says, eyes squinting into a harsh glare. Alastor doesn’t frown, but his teeth bare into a snarl. “Are you hurt?”
The hotel trembles, and more fire crashes through the windows.
You try to turn to the chaos around you, but Alastor leans to the side, blocking the surroundings with his face. “I’d like an answer.”
He smoothes the feathers on your hair, and you lean into his hold, shaking your head. “Not a single feather out of place,” you say. “Thank you, my deerest.”
The hotel trembles once more, but you keep your gaze locked into Alastor’s.
“All of you get a safe distance,” Vaggie says, spear raised.” I’ll take care of this.”
Satisfied, Alastor drops his hand from your head and turns to the door. “No, my dear. Leave it to me.” Radio static warps the air around you. His eyes morph into radio dials. “It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.” He has the smile on his face—that same smile that tell you he’s on the hunt. It makes you buzz.
Mimzy pops her head out. “Ugh, finally!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Took you long enough.”
Tendrils shoot out of Alastor’s back and it waves around the air as if owning a mind of its own. His bones break with audible cracks to adjust to his expanding size. “A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!” His teeth stick out when he smiles, and the little ‘x’ on his forehead appears.
Alastor laughs and begins his kill.
You rush out when your husband crawls out the broken doors, bolting from the bar and out the entrance. You watch Alastor. He grabs a shark with the tips of his fingers and uses the others to pull him apart, slowly, painfully, with a grin.
“Mimzy…” you say, slowly.
Mimzy shrinks next to you. “…Yeah?”
Alastor’s nails elongate and he pierces the shark, letting his blood trail down, reveling in his screams. “I really appreciate everything you do for me.”
A leg sails across the air, it’s bone sticking out. You smile to yourself as Alastor hunts down his prey. Blood paints the flowers red when his tendrils wag like a happy tail.
You’re faintly aware of Lucifer and Charlie arguing behind you.
The show is over too soon.
Alastor shrinks, twirls his microphone and stretches.
Mimzy runs, the first to approach Alastor. You don’t hear a word they’re saying, but Mimzy jabs her fingers into his coat. She leaves with a frown and a middle finger pointed at him.
You walk closer to your husband, a smile on your face. Alastor inches to you, bending close enough for you to reach his bowtie. The fabric is smooth against your fingers as your straighten it for him. “Much better?” you ask.
“Indeed.”
“You put up quite the show,” you tell him. “You looked absolutely riveting, my deer.”
Alastor’s smile widens, and he offers his arm, guiding you back into the hotel. “Did I?”
“You always do, my love.”
And oh…
Another song.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Lucifer leaves, taking his singing with him.
As quietly as possible, you grab your belongings and check that nothing is missing: wallet, flip-phone, bus card, pieces of mint, various essential items, and lastly, your umbrella. You step out of what is left of the Hazbin Hotel’s front doors and stifle a yawn. Today’s excitement has gone on for too long. It was time to go home.
Drops of acid fall from the sky, a light drizzle forming. It was a good idea to stash that umbrella in your bag.
Alastor slithers out of your shadow, and covers your heads with an umbrella. “Did you happen to forget your umbrella?”
You force a sheepish smile on your lips. “I did, actually,” you lie to him. “But a walk seems rather lovely today.”
Alastor twirls the umbrella, his smile widening. “May I join you for your walk?”
“Are you not still working?” You glance behind you, observing the hotel.
Angel Dust sweeps glass off the carpet. He steals glances from time to time, trying his hardest to avoid looking in your direction—he doesn’t try hard enough. Your eyes meet, and you brush your stray feathers from your hair. A not so subtle way of showing off your ring. You stick out your tongue.
Angel Dust laughs, shaking his head with amusement.
Alastor adjusts the umbrella, angling it to block the prying eyes from inside the hotel. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with a questionable glance.
You offer your most innocent smile. “I think they’re going to need a new door.”
“I think it’s time I clocked out,” he sys, inching the umbrella closer. “I shouldn’t have them getting too dependent on me.”
“Are those not grounds for prime picking?”
“I wouldn’t exactly be a doting husband if I left my wife to walk alone in the rain,” Alastor tells you.
“Doting husband?”
He nods, leaning closer to you. “Yes. Was that not your condition for our marriage?”
Your eyebrows furrow. “Did I say that?”
“You did.”
“Are you sure?” you ask, humming a bit. “I do not remember saying that at all.”
“Well, it wasn’t for you to remember,” he says. “And in any case, I did not call you to the hotel to prepare for some party.”
“Then why did you call me here?”
Alastor meets your eyes and his smile widens. “Allow me to join you, and you shall find out.”
“You’ve piqued my interest, deerest,” you say. “The best walks are usually the ones that are shared. It doesn’t hurt that you have an umbrella.”
“What would you do without me?”
You roll your eyes, and take a step closer. “You always seem to remember for me.”
Alastor fiddles with the umbrella. “What did you do for several years—get pelted by acid?”
“You would know the answer to that had you been present for those years,” you say and you don’t fight the coy smile that forms on your lips.
Alastor hums in displeasure. “Well, in any case, I only have this one umbrella.”
“I guess we’ll have to share.”
“Yes, it seems we will.”
Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his. He doesn’t need to take precautions to ensure your clothes stay dry nor do you have to for his own attire, not when you press closely against each other. The umbrella covers the both of you just right.
You rest your head on his arm. It’s nice. Warm. Even if it was as thick as a stick. His bones press into your cheek. Your eyes flutter into a close… just… one… second…
Your knees buckle causing you to trip.
A frim grab of your waist keeps you from the ground. Your nose crinkles when you collide with Alastor’s chest. Finding strength in your legs, you dig your foot into the ground and stand.
Alastor keeps his hold on your waist steady, and you don’t move from his hold.
“Before you say anything—you are not fine,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything else but an agreement.”
You peel your face from his chest, meeting his eyes to give him the brightest smile you can muster. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “It seems…It seems it will be my turn to postpone our outing today,” you say. “The excitement of the day seems to be catching up to me.”
You fell asleep while walking,” he says. “If it was not for me, you would be on the pavement.”
“Then it is a good thing I am no longer alone.”
A single tendril emerges from his back. It wraps around the umbrella’s handle, keeping it secured over your heads.
Alastor’s hand shifts from your waist to your back. You feel his other arm snaking down your legs, trailing your skin until he reaches the back of your knees.
Alastor lifts you like a bride.
Well, you actually are a bride…his bride, specifically.
Alastor continues the walk, holding you in his arms. You lean into him, and he places a chin on your head. “Your pointy chin is poking me, my deerest,” you say but you don’t move to push him off. “It’s digging into my scalp.
His chest rise and fall as he laughs, and you feel every bit of it against your cheek. “I could always drop you right over this puddle.”
“That wouldn’t really be part of the doting husband image, would it?” you say chuckling into his suit.
“No, I guess it would not.”
Smiling to yourself, you nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. “Hey, Al,” you mumble softly, “tell me a story.”
At the corner of your eyes, you see Alastor glance at you. His gaze lasts a second before he turns back ahead. “It was 1929,” he says. “The beginning of the glorious Great Depression.”
You roll your eyes even if he doesn’t see it. “You are the only one I know who calls the Great Depression ‘glorious’. People were starving, and we almost got fired from our jobs.”
“That’s because it was a great year.”
“Because you got to see the sufferings of the masses?” You laugh softly. “That’s definitely something you would do. I can practically hear you laughing at the way they try to claw their way out of misery, only to fail spectacularly.”
“Because we got married that year,” he says. Even if you’re wearing a coat, and Alastor wears his gloves. Even with layers of cloth between your skin, you still feel the way Alastor caress your with his thumb. “Can I continue my story now or would you like to bicker about your failing memory?”
“Continue.”
“So, the start of the glorious Great Depression,” he says. “That day, I saw an ad for the local zoo. I wasn’t doing anything important, so I decided to support my local animals.”
“How kind of you,” you say, stifling a yawn.
“Indeed it was,” he says. “I stalk through the animals. Looking at every malnourished species they kept locked up—”
“You get to the alligator enclosure and to this day, swear that you saw it do a backflip,” you mumble softly, eyes dropping. “That’s pretty good for someone you claim to possess failing memories.”
“Alright then. I shall find another.” Alastor hums as he thinks, and his chest vibrates as he does. “Summer of 1916–long before I met you.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” you say, huffing. “I’m well aware of the year we met, my deer. So, Summer of 1916?”
“It was a dark and stormy night. Weird for the summer seasons. Usually, the house becomes a furnace, but it was terribly cold,” Alastor tells you. “During that second night of the hurricane, a knock sounds from the door.”
“Oh… I’ve heard this as well.” You pick on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, tracing the white lines.
“You have?” Alastor raises his eyebrows
“Yes, it was your neighbor. His tree fell into the window and you and your mother ended up sheltering him for the night,” you say. “Then, you’ll tell me that he gifted you three pounts of cheese the next week.”
“I guess there’s nothing left to tell.”
You lean back to meet his eyes. They’re no longer brown. Once, a long time ago, you thought it was your favorite color. Now, you don’t think you’ve ever had a favorite color. You just liked his color. “Nonsense,” you says. “We are definitely not that old. I’m sure there should be be at least a few.”
“Alright, this one began fifteen years ago,” he says, tightening his grip on you. “I was waiting outside St. An’s, and a Sinner came out. It was my first time seeing a cow. It was quite a conundrum because — Oh, I think you’ve heard this already. Have you?”
Your eyelids are heavy. “I have.”
“And you choose not to inform me?”
“Can you tell it to me again?” You sink deeper into his hold.
“Of course, my love.”
Alastor’s steps lag until he comes to a full stop. He holds you in his gaze as the acid rain splatters grow stronger. It’s just you and him in this tiny bubble of an umbrella.
His eyes flicker, touching every inch of this scene. You do not know what he is thinking.
“Are you alright, my love?” you find yourself asking.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m just…trying not to waste, that’s all.”
“Come on,” you say in a voice that is oh so soft.
Alastor continues his story. You don’t hear the end of it.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
I am excited to know what you guys think about this chapter. My replies and inbox are always open for any questions.
I always get so happy to see my notifications. It's a bit addicting actually.
Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this story. Every like, reblog, and reply means so much to me.
Part 4 will be poasted as soon as possible
#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor the radio demon#alastor x wife!reader#alastor x you#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel x you#alastor x wife reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#alastor x y/n#the radio demon#radio demon
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Dirty things Neteyam does that you like
[He do or he does ? Hm, nevermind...
Neteyam is aged-up unless stated otherwise]
Being kind. Like I'm sorry but it's a big turn on. He smiles to everyone, helps everyone, he is honest, fair, brave; he always listen carefully to everyone requests and do his best to fulfill them. He's a sweetheart and he has a pretty smile. So why are you aroused every time you see him help an old Na'vi ? Why are you horny everytime you see him help his mother cook ? Because you knoooow. You know that the boy isn't like this when it's just the two of you. Don't get me wrong he's a darling with you, always helping you around, carrying you on his back and making you laugh. But when it comes to more...suggestive things, he's MEAN. I just know that he is a mean dom. The kind of guy who will make you cry after teasing you endlessly without giving you his dick and then fake sympathy. So when you see him being nice to everyone you just remember how mean he can be when he is fucking you.
"Oh, my love, crying over my dick. You poor baby."
"My sweet girl, do you want it ? I'm gonna give it to you. Or not..?"
That boy love to pull something while fucking you. He ALWAYS have something in his hand. Like that one time where he was pulling your tail while fingering you, or when he was pulling your hair while you two were making out. Oh ! And when he was pulling your arms while fucking you from behind - this one isn't your favorite but he really likes it. He needs to pull on something because your reactions are so cute ♡ You whimper, pant, moan, and sometimes, when it's too much, you cry. He loves those sounds and he loves the fact that it brings him a feeling of power (?) ♡
"What ? Am I pulling it too hard ? But your tail was practically begging to be held, it was wagging so frantically."
"Love it when you're so malleable."
PRAISES. You should love praises. I just KNOW that Neteyam is the kind of boyfriend who will tease you as if he was degrading you but yet still praises you to no end. Sweet nicknames between two laughs, comforting touch between two rough fuck. The man would LIVE to let you know how pretty you are and how good you are to him, letting him fuck you anywhere and everywhere. You would definitely love hearing him telling you how good you are sucking him or how well you take his dick. It helped with your self consciousness and he knows it. You just love being called a good girl ♡
"Ah, you're doing so good, my perfect and pretty little mate..."
"You love being praised, don't you ? I can feel the way you're clenching around me whenever I call you my good girl."
Last but not least, Neteyam fucks you everywhere. Like, at this point it's concerning. It's been a recurrent topic in my Neteyam pics but yeah, daddy's son can fuck you everywhere. There's two reason; First, he's horny and you are pretty, can you blame him ? I said it before, pussy drunk Neteyam is a must. Like just imagine that you are in the middle of a feast and suddenly he's all about 'nice to see y’all but we gotta go for a bit, we'll be back'. You follow him because he asked you to, but turns out he just wanted to fuck you behind some rock or tree. Or you would be training with the Tsahik when he would come, all smiles, and gently ask if he can take you because 'you need to eat something and rest a bit'. Rest what ? He just wanted to suck on your breast with his fingers deep inside of your cunt. The second reason is because he wants to know how long his 'nice' act would last. He would love acting all innocent in front of his people when he knows that he's just going to fuck you somewhere not so private. How long until someone notice what's behind his smile ? You two bet on it.
"Can I borrow her ? We have some unfinished business..."
"I love seeing their face when they think that we are going to do some leader things when in fact you're just going to open those pretty legs of yours to let me do my things."
"What about the place that we saw last week ? We can leave during tonight's feast to visit it." "..." "You know me so well my love. Yes, I just want to see you on your knees in the middle of the beautiful flowers."
"I think that Dad is suspicious. He will be the first to figure it out." "..." "No way, my mom don't know, wanna bet on that ? If you're wrong you will not cum for a whole week."
"Qu-Quiet love or else they will know that I'm ravaging you. They are barely a few feet away you know ? You know what- Ah- Keep moaning, I want them to ear."
[Next will be about dislikes !
The other way around —> Dirty things you do that Neteyam likes
Feedback is appreciated ♡]
Masterlist
#avatar the way of water#avatar way of water#avatar 2#avatar 2022#avatar smut#atwow#atwow smut#atwow x reader#neteyam#neteyam headcanons#neteyam x reader#neteyam smut#atwow headcanons#x reader#smut#neteyam sully smut#golden's brain is loading
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Do You Think Of Me...?
Rolan x AFAB/OC, NSFW, 6,034 Words
A fic inspired by an incredible piece of fanart by @sammakesart, the full image of which is a patreon exclusive that is well worth the money and has been living in my head rent free for weeks. For WEEKS.
(Ref Sheet for OC)
"I mean. We live in the tower now, yeah? And its Big and all, but we still like to have rooms near each other. I don't know, it feels safe… comfortable, after everything. To know we're close by. But it also means, sometimes, things aren't always… private…"
Clover slowly took sips from their pint, eyes still locked on Cal's darting gaze. Biting his lip, knuckles white in his lap. Clover's eyebrows raised, "Okay? And?"
Cal lowered his head, "Pleeease don't make me say it…"
Lia threw her head back and nearly yelled out in exasperation, "GOOOODS Cal you're such a BABY sometimes. Listen, Clover… Clover. We know," she shoots Clover an intense stare, "We knoooow things. About Rolan. Things no siblin's should know," her hand reached out to grab their arm, "An' Rolan? Reeeeeeaaally misses you…" a knowing smile crept up on her face. Clover's cheeks felt warm, but they weren't even sure why. The gears in their head not fully turning as the alcohol worked through their veins.
"What… what do you mean?"
It was a lively evening at the Elfsong. Swarms of friends deep in drink and song flooded the tables of the tavern, the Hero of Baldur's Gate among them. Busy catching up with Cal and Lia, Clover took a healthy chug of their pint amidst the laughter around them.
"And THEN he tried to tell us 'an unseen servant would be more useful'," Lia continued her ranting, "Like, sure Rolan. Good luck gettin' an invisible jester ta' help with your customers."
Apparently, Rolan had been particularly difficult to work with this past week. Between drinks, Lia was busy retelling all of his criticisms and complaints over his siblings earnest attempts to help him run Sorcerous Sundries. Now that he was the Master of Ramazith's Tower, he had to learn all of said Tower's secrets - on top of learning to run an already successful business. Admittedly an overwhelming task as is, and likely even more so for a perfectionist like Rolan.
Cal followed Lia's complaints with his own, "I get that it's been a lot as of late. But you'd think the man would be grateful to have the extra hands about! And it's not like the patrons are complaining. Hells, some bloke even tried to ask Lia on a date after shift!"
Clover raised an eyebrow to Lia at that, who simply shrugged and sipped her own drink, "He was like, 60 years old at least. Or maybe 600. I think he was an Elf? Besides, if anything, its Rolan who needs someone to ask 'em out. Hopefully someone to help yank the stick from 'is arse." Clover snorted out a laugh in response.
"You really think that would help?" They pondered aloud, "Gods, I can't even see Rolan out on a date. Let alone finding someone attractive. That man only seems to care for Tomes and the Weave," Clover chuckled to themselves, "I mean hey, Mystra's single now, maybe I could set them up..."
Cal and Lia shot each other knowing glances, poorly hidden smiles curling at the corner of their lips. This was a look that Clover recognized immediately. That token Sibling Telepathy. Clover dropped their pint on the bar with a thud and planted their palms on the counter, shooting them their own knowing glance.
"Okay," they pointed between the two of them, "What's all this?"
The siblings eyes darted at Clover and then each other, trying to hide their bubbling laughter.
"Us?" Lia said sarcastically, hands raising up in feigned innocence, "Nothin'! Nothin', honest."
"Y-yeah," Cal said with a lilt in his voice, "You're totally right that Rolan doesn't even find anyone attractive, even. The mans practically a… a Eunuch!"
Lia groaned, "Cal, ew."
Clover rolled their eyes, "You two clearly know something. Some weird secret that I guess I'm not privy to," They folded their arms across their chest, "Very rude to withhold information from the person who's saved your lives on probably, Seven different occasions at this point?"
"Oh c'mon Clove, you can't hold that against us forever," Cal groaned.
"I actually think I can," Clover retorted, "Until you've saved my life seven times, at least." They picked their drink back up and finished the final gulp, tapping their mug against the counter with a wink in request for the barmaid to top them off once more before turning back to Cal.
"Alright Bud, I know you can't keep a secret. So, what the Hells are you two keeping from me?" Cal suddenly turned a bit pale, eyes wide.
"Clover, y-you know I don't do well under pressure…"
Clover leaned in closer to him, their barbarian eyes narrowing, a bite in their voice, "Exactly."
Lia, now tiptoeing between drunk and utterly sloshed, ran her finger around the rim of her cup, giggling to herself, "Clover… you're gonna make'm piss 'imself."
Cal groaned, "Listen, I'll tell you. But it's just. It's weird! It's weeeeeird, Clove."
The dwarf grinned to themselves in victory, "Alright, then. Spill." Lia stared at Cal with a sly grin.
"Yeah Cal. Tell 'em Rolan's little secret~" Cal groaned once more, shoving his face into his palms.
"Okaaay," Cal relented, "Gods above, I… Auuugh, so. How do I even…" he was struggling to find his words, "I mean. We live in the tower now, yeah? And its Big and all, but we still like to have rooms near each other. I don't know, it feels safe… comfortable, after everything. To know we're close by. But it also means, sometimes, things aren't always… private…"
Clover slowly took sips from their pint, eyes still locked on Cal's darting gaze. Biting his lip, knuckles white in his lap. Clover's eyebrows raised, "Okay? And?"
Cal lowered his head, "Pleeease don't make me say it…"
Lia threw her head back and nearly yelled out in exasperation, "GOOOODS Cal you're such a BABY sometimes. Listen, Clover… Clover. We know," she shoots Clover an intense stare, "We knoooow things. About Rolan. Things no siblin's should know," her hand reached out to grab their arm, "An' Rolan? Reeeeeeaaally misses you…" a knowing smile crept up on her face. Clover's cheeks felt warm, but they weren't even sure why. The gears in their head not fully turning as the alcohol worked through their veins.
"What… what do you mean?"
Lia's smile turned even cheekier as she threw her head back - fake, exaggerated moans falling from her lips, "Ohhh~ Fuuuck, Clover- Yes Clover, please! Take me jus' like that," her speech slurred as she rocked her hips in frantic thrusts. Cal lowered his head onto the bar's tabletop as Clover's eyes went wide and their face went fully flush.
"Oh, my Gods…" they muttered to themselves, lifting their pint back to their lips. Lia's mocking cries turned to raucous laughter.
"I'm jus' saying. If anyone could get that man to relax…" she lifted her cup in Clover's direction before taking another hearty swig.
Suddenly, the gears in Clover's skull decided to start working. Frantically.
"Well, then," they announced, hopping off of their bar stool, "maybe I should go get the job done."
Cal and Lia once again exchanged wide eyed stares with each other, "What, like… like, right now?" Lia asked, as if shocked into a sudden sobriety. Clover chugged their nearly full pint in a handful of large, thirsty gulps. The final drops of liquid courage they needed before slamming the glass back onto the counter.
"Yeah, I guess like, Right Now. Y'all've had a hell of a week, right? If I can help…" Clover smiled to themselves, "It's kind of what I do," they gave Cal a cocky grin, "I will count this as saving your life, again. Mark me up to eight."
"Gods dammit," Cal let his head fall back onto the bar. Lia began laughing, clasping her gut as she bellowed.
"He should still be closing up at the Sundries!" Lia started hollering after Clover as they began to leave the Elfsong, "We'll stay here tonight, so take your time!"
Clover heard Cal stammer out, "Lia, that's disgusting!" Before walking into the cool night air.
Sorcerous Sundries was but a brief walk away. And Clover couldn't help all but skipping towards their unknowing wizard, his dirty secret at the forefront of their mind...
The open doors of Sorcerous Sundries allowed a pleasant breeze to flow through the lobby. Rolan took in a breath of fresh air, busying himself balancing the account records of sales for the evening. A small crew of mage hands floated around him, carrying stacks of sales records, tomes to be organized, sorting through everything from profits to taxes to local investments.
He'd typically give himself the time to pat his own back at his creative means of multitasking. If only his mind weren't so overcome with the newfound pressures being Ramazith's Master have brought him. Yes, the Sundries was a success trade business. Yes, the tower held treasures and secrets and power aplenty. But Gods, had Lorroakan ever opened a checkbook in his life? The debts this man owed, the back taxes and unkept promises Rolan was now forced to follow up on. Though grateful to not have a cane to his jaw, the stress of picking up his former Master's mess was taking its toll.
The faint footsteps of a guest entering the building could be heard across the tiled floors.
"Ah, terribly sorry but we are closed for the evening- Oh," he glanced up from his busy work to see the Hero of Baldur's Gate approaching the Sundries counter, "it's You," he mumbled, the voice of customer hospitality lost in his tone, "What do you want?" He questioned, adjusting the pair of reading glasses sat atop the point of his nose, glancing back down at his records.
Clover hesitated a moment, "Ouch, not the warm welcome I was anticipating. Is this how you treat all your customers?"
"I don't anticipate you're here to purchase something," Rolan remarked, focus fully back on his paperwork. The mage hands organizing the storefront flitted around Clover's head as they continued to approach the counter. Rolan just barely took his eyes from his work to peak up at the dwarf in front of him. He paused, "Did you need something?"
Clover slid their hands across the countertop, "Oh, what? I can't just… happen to be in the neighborhood, dropping by to say hello to an old friend?"
Rolan rolled his eyes back to his work, "We're friends now, is it? And here I thought you were nothing more than my siblings overpaid babysitter," Clover's head cocked to the side.
"You don't pay me."
Rolan flipped to a new page on his countertop.
"I know."
Clover rolled their eyes, strumming their fingers against the polished wood, pondering how to get to occupied wizard's attention. He was dressed so casual - his robes gone, wearing just his loose undershirt and fitted trousers. Emboldened by the alcohol still buzzing through their bloodstream, and their newfound knowledge of Rolan's secret desires, they decided to walk themselves behind the Sundries counter.
"This space is for employees only," Rolan commented, without looking up from his records. Clover paid him no mind, walking up to him and lifting themselves onto the counter directly in front of the Wizard, who responded by sighing. Exhausted and irritated, he hung his head, laying his palms down on the counter before him, "Would you kindly be an utter inconvenience somewhere else? I'm trying to work here," he gestured to his documents, but couldn't seem to look the barbarian in the eyes.
"Oh, Rolan, I'm hurt," Clover responded, "Is that really what you think of me? I'm just an, 'utter inconvenience'?"
"Right now? Yes!" Frustrated, he finally found himself looking at Clover's face. But rather than maintaining his building rage, his breath caught in his throat.
They were much closer to him than he initially realized. He could see their mismatched eyes so clearly. Clear enough to see - no, smell - the magic enchanted in the blue glass eye to his left. He could also smell the heavy alcohol on their breath. Though their dwarven fortitude kept them composed, the sour wheat smell of beer was unmistakable. He found it mixed beautifully with their natural sent of musk, the sugar plum soaps he knew they preferred, and that faintest whiff of copper, from all the blood that often soaks their body after battle. Caught in the sheer aura of them, he nearly didn't register as Clover's hands gently gripped at his forearms resting at their sides.
"I'm sorry," they lied, "I must be a real bother right now. I'm sure you're thinking of a million different ways to get me out of your hair," they made a point of dragging their right hand up his neck and tangling their fingers into the hair on his nape. Without even thinking, Rolan's hands moved from the countertop to hesitantly reach for their thighs. Fingers hovering, as if touching them in earnest would cause them to vanish.
"Don't you just wish there were some way you could… shut me up?" Clover's heavy gaze flitted between his eyes and his lips. Rolan swallowed a lump building in his throat, and (unsuccessfully) tried to will away the growing pressure in his pants.
"C-Clover, what are you-"
"Tell me something Rolan," they interrupted, using their free hand to remove the glasses from his face. Their noses brushed against each other as warm breath mixed in the air between them.
"Do you ever think of me when you cum?"
Rolan's entire body shuddered, from head to toe to the tip of his tail. His fingers clenched around their thighs as he pulled their bodies flush.
"I…" He choked, holding his breath for a second that felt like an eternity, before letting himself go.
"Yes," was all he managed to say in response. Spoken in a heavy breath - a whisper, a moan, a prayer. They were already so close, neither one knew who moved first. But as soon as the word left his throat, their lips crashed together in a frenzy.
There was no patience, it was not gentle. Clover fueled by liquid courage and Rolan fueled by sheer desire. Tongues tangled as shared saliva slowly dripped from the corners of their mouths. They kissed each other as much as they breathed each other in, only pulling apart once Rolan bit Clover's bottom lip. Tugging at it gently, just barely breaking skin with his sharp incisors. Chests heaving as they both took a moment to collect themselves. Rolan lifted a hand in the air, eyes lidded and unfocused. With a flick of his wrist, Clover could hear the doors to the Sundries closing and locking shut, as the lights inside dimmed to the gentle flicker of that magical blue/green glow of enchanted flames.
"Well, someone sure knows how to set the mood," Clover quipped, draping their arms around Rolan's neck and leaning back in for a kiss. Which he returned, deeply, but briefly, before breaking away from them again. Clover whimpered in disappointment, trying to pull him back towards them. But Rolan's hands reached up to their arms around him, stilling their movements for a moment.
"Clover…" he whispered, his voice deep and aching, "Why are you here?"
He looked confused, almost scared, his burning yellow eyes glowing in the dim lighting, unwilling to look at them. It hurt Clover enough to not laugh in response, but they never thought Rolan capable of being so dense.
"Is it… is it not obvious?" Their fingers played with his hair. Rolan scoffed, smiling weakly.
"It just feels, surreal. It feels like I'm dreaming…" Clover lowered their head to catch his gaze.
"Well, you're not," they said softly, "but let's pretend that you are. Let's pretend this is a dream," they nudged against his nose with their own, trying to catch his lips, "You're dreaming. And I'm here," they whispered, "What do you want to do with me?"
Something stirred in Rolan's chest. Without looking at them, he captured their lips again, sliding his fingers beneath the hem of their shirt. He began to lift the cloth upwards, but stilled himself, pulling his lips away just for a moment. Clover smiled, whispering approval to continue before catching his lips again. Rolan pulled their shirt up, the hem resting on his wrists as his thumbs traced the shape of their skin, cupping their breasts as he passed over them.
Clover stilled their kiss briefly to let out a moan, and Rolan took the opportunity to remove their shirt completely before returning his kisses to their lips, down their chin, down their neck. Clover's arms wrapped tightly around him, hands holding the back of his head as his tongue traced a wet line from their neck downwards. He explored their skin, finding the shallow dips between their collar bone, kissing down lower until his tongue and hands met their puckering nipples.
"Fuck, Rolan..." Clover moaned, gripping his head by his hair and pushing his face into their chest. Rolan responded in kind with a deep, purring moan. His lips fully encompassing their nipple while his tongue traced around it. Quick, frantic flicks of his tongue followed by desperate sucking left Clover's chest bruised and swollen. When Rolan lifted his head up for a breath, he kissed Clover once more, then returned his focus to their other breast, making sure he provided both with equal pleasure.
The sounds leaving Clover's mouth were bordering on sinful. They had their legs wrapped around Rolan's body, kicking their shoes off their feet and rocking themselves into him. They could feel their own arousal pooling between their legs. Their hips bucked aggressively as Rolan took the stiff bud on their chest between his teeth, and pulled. Clover threw their head back and whined in pleasure.
Rolan smiled, his hands leaving the curve under their breasts and traveling down the soft skin of their torso. He hooked his fingers under the fold of their waistband, tracing his sharp nails across their skin towards the center of their pants. He began to deftly untie the laces of their trousers. Clover unhooked their legs from behind his back so he could pull the rest of their clothes from their body.
Rolan ran his hands along Clover's thighs as he removed one pant leg after the other. Fully exposed, Rolan took a step back to appreciate the creature in front of him.
Clover's chest was heaving, their pale neck and chest marked red from all the kisses and bites Rolan left on their skin. Their legs were spread wide open for him, the folds of their cunt dripping and twitching in anticipation. They had one hand propping themselves up on the countertop, but the other was dancing across their skin, tracing the ghost of Rolan's own fingers in his absence. They shivered, the chill of their bare skin mixed with anticipation.
"I know you're enjoying yourself," Clover mumbled, breath heavy with lust, "but if you don't come back over here and touch me, I'll-"
Rolan nearly tripped over himself returning to their embrace. He grabbed behind their ear with one hand, pulling their hips into him with the other, kissing them so deeply Clover could feel him shaking against them, before pulling away from them abruptly.
"What are you limits?" He asked in haste. Clover's response was hazy and confused.
"My… what?"
"How far are you willing to go with me? Do we need a… a… a signal? A safeword? To tell me to stop, or…" His hand tightened against their waist.
Clover smiled. Even in a situation like this - sat here completely naked, their body visibly yearning for him - he was so nervous. So mindful. They reached their hands under his chin and kissed him softly.
"We can do whatever you want," they kissed him again, a gentle laugh escaping their lips before saying, "though I wouldn't mind being thoroughly ravaged by you."
Rolan let out a sharp, sudden laugh. Or perhaps a grunt, even. Something almost animal.
"Then I hope you'll allow me to indulge myself," he responded, before quickly dropping to his knees. Hooking his arms behind Clover's thighs, he pulled them to the very edge of the counter, letting their legs drape over his shoulders. A wild look flashed across his eyes before he began planting kisses along Clover's inner thighs. Kisses, and bites, not shying away from biting hard enough to draw blood between their legs. Clover gave a sharp inhale, causing Rolan to glance up at them, an unspoken question.
Clover ran their fingers through his hair, clenching their legs a touch tighter against his back, nodding for him to continue. He purred again, a sound Clover's core was beginning to respond to in kind, before biting their soft inner thigh once more, creeping closer to their center. They smiled and shuddered, letting their head lull back, "Do all tieflings purr like that?"
Rolan licked the blood from their thigh, kissing their skin ever inwards, "Only when we're excited," he responded, before sliding his thumbs up between the folds of their cunt, spreading them open for him. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of their desire, and ran his tongue up their dripping arousal. He sucked their clit into a kiss, rolling the sensitive nub against his tongue.
Clover's hand immediately went from a fistful of Rolan's hair straight to his horn, pulling him in closer, "My Gods, Rolan - Fuck!" They nearly screamed as his mouth explored them. Thighs gripped tightly against his head, their hips rocking with a sudden urgency. Rolan could hardly control himself as he moaned, and gasped, and devoured their cunt. The nectar dripping from their swollen lips worth more to him in this moment than air to breathe.
He slid his tongue inside of them, holding the lips of their pussy open between two fingers with his left hand, and carefully massaging their clit with his thumb. Rolan could feel the inner walls of Clover's sex trying desperately to clench around him as he ate them out, and lulled his eyes up to look into theirs.
Clover was putty under his touch. Their chest was heaving, sweat building on their brow. Their cheeks were flush, their eyes were watering. Seeing the way their body responded to him made Rolan's dick twitch painfully beneath the restraints of his pants.
He slid a hand around Clover's thigh. A feeble attempt to loosen the barbarian's grip, which they thankfully understood. Rolan leaned back a moment for a breath of air before standing tall and crashing their lips together, allowing Clover to taste their own sweet musk of arousal. They had draped their arms around Rolan's neck, while the wizard frantically attempted to remove his own garments. Clover caught on to his movements and began assisting in removing his shirt as he wrestled with his own trousers. Both parties having a difficult time as they refused to let go of each other's lips in the process.
"I hope - it's not - to forward," he said between kisses, "But I - I," he grabbed Clover's face and held them in a deep, steady kiss, before pulling them away, "I think if I - If I don't have sex with you this instant, I may - I may go mad."
He took Clover's hand and brought it down to his throbbing member, though he let them take their own time in touching him.
They looked into him, a coy smile and devilish gaze behind their eyes. They gingerly took the tiefling's erection in their hand, and Rolan's knees all but buckled in response. He had to grip onto the countertop to stop himself from collapsing. Clover laughed quietly under their breath, stroking his cock with increasing fervor.
Rolan kissed them again, quickly tracing his mouth from their lips to the crook of their neck. Clover wrapped their legs around the small of his back, guiding the tip of his dick towards their desperate heat. They rocked themselves against him, sliding the length of his shaft between their slick folds. They could feel his entire body tremble against them, hearing the sweetest whimpers escape him as his face remained buried in their shoulder.
Barely audible, he tilted his head toward their ear and weakly begged them, "Clover… please…"
They traced the end of his cock back to their pulsing entrance and rolled their hips against him, allowing the tip to gain entry. They could feel Rolan's breath catch. His hands found their way to Clover's hips once more, holding them steady at the edge of the counter as he slid his entire length inside them with ease. The complex curves and ridges of his infernal features could be felt within Clover's walls.
"Rolan…" His name fell from their lips in a desperate moan as the tip of his cock reached the deepest parts of them.
Rolan stilled once fully sheathed, Clover's cunt pulsing and throbbing against him in pure anticipation. They rolled their hips ever so slightly. Rolan cursed in response, his voice shaky and low.
He began to drag himself out of their pussy once more, almost reluctant to leave them, until just his tip was teasing the entrance of their hole.
Rolan slammed his cock into them, hands fixed upon their waist so firmly his nails were threatening to break skin. He gave Clover a few long, powerful thrusts like this. Dragging himself out nearly in full before burying himself within them.
Soon enough the long, drawn out strokes were replaced with closer, more frantic thrusts. Rolan's hips barely leaving the embrace of Clover's own as he humped them like an animal in heat.
Rolan lifted himself from the shallow curve where Clover's neck met their shoulder. He pressed his forehead to theirs, grunting hard as he fucked them. Clover's hand gripped the back of his neck as they held his wanton gaze.
"How long have you wanted this?" They asked, panting, their hold on his neck tightening, "How long have you wanted to fuck me like this?"
Rolan's pace picked up, keening under his partner's commanding presence.
"Since - Since Last Light," he stuttered between his heaving breaths and desperate thrusts, "S-Since you saved - saved them. Since you s-saved us. Since you - Ah - since you freed me of - of my tormentor - and made me Master of this Tower," his movements grew sporadic and urgent as he spoke.
Clover laughed as they moaned, "Oh fuck, Rolan, that's right. You're the Master of this Tower now," They gripped him by his hair and gently yanked his head back. The whimper that escaped Rolan's lips at their touch was pitiful. Clover began running kisses up and down his neck, before tracing their tongue below his ear.
"Fuck me, Master Rolan," the lust dripping from their voice was intoxicating. Rolan's hectic and rhythmless thrusting sped up, his moans entirely debauched. Clover could feel their cunt clenching around him as they inched towards their own release.
"Yes, Clover - Fuck!" Rolan moaned and whined as he felt them on the edge, "Take your Master's cock. Take me just - just like that," Clover's grip on his hair tightened as their mouth opened against his neck.
"Rolan!" They nearly wept as they came over his thrusting cock, juices spilling out of them with every shallow plunge.
"Gods, Clover, I'm - I," he could barely finish his attempted warning before Clover caught him completely by surprise, pushing him out of them and dropping onto their knees. They gripped his cock as the shaft pulsed beneath their touch, laying the head of him against their tongue. They stroked him frantically, his member still sticky and wet with their juices.
"Fuuuuck!" Rolan's hands fell to the counter as a powerful orgasm ran through him. His legs shook as thick lengths of cum released into Clover's mouth. Strings of his spend so long they reached across their cheeks and nose. Clover smiled as they rubbed him through his release, sucking on his head to milk every last drop of him.
Once the last of the aftershocks finished running through him, Rolan dropped to the floor to join his equally exhausted partner. Their backs resting against the counter shelves. Slick with sweat, heaving chests, swollen lips, both covered in marks from each others touch.
Clover leaned their head against the wizards shoulder. Rolan placed his head atop theirs, turning and planting a kiss in their hair. Clover ran their fingers on the floor absentmindedly. Rolan took notice, and slid his own hand across the floor a touch, gently nudging his sharp claws against the dwarf's rugged, calloused hands. They responded immediately, interlacing their fingers with his own.
They turned to look up at the man who had just well and truly fucked them near senselessness. They had never seen him so disheveled. His hair was loose and curling with is sweat. He was still panting, this likely being some of the hardest physical work a magic user like him has had to do in quite some time. Still naked, Clover took the time to examine the man's infernal features. The spikes and grooves on his chest and shoulders that so starkly contrasted their own soft and squishy stomach and thighs.
They took their free hand and ran it up his chest, tracing the bumps under his skin. Rolan jumped at the unexpected touch and looked down at his partner, equally debauched. He laughed as he attempted to wipe some of his now drying spend from their face, instead opting for a quick prestidigitation. Clover smiled.
"How are you feeling?" They asked. They weren't really sure what to say, now that the deed had been done. But they were here to help him relax, after all. They should at least find out if it worked.
"How am I feeling?" Rolan responded, almost in disbelief, "That's a rather loaded question, I mean... I still feel like I must be dreaming -"
"But you're not," Clover interrupted, planting a kiss on his shoulder.
"I… yes. Okay, yes, but I'm not," he sighed, resigning to the truth of the situation, "Then I feel like… I feel like I just, um…" He cleared his throat, "I feel as though I just bed the most beautiful creature in all the realms. Gods, in my place of business, no less. I hate to see the mess we've made in proper lighting," He trailed off into his thoughts, almost embarrassed by circumstances.
Clover climbed onto his lap, straddling him in an attempt to get his full focus, "Thank you ever so much for the very literal explanation of our current situation," they expressed with a playful mocking tone, their hands running up and down his arms, "But I do in fact mean how are you feeling, emotionally. Do you feel okay?"
Rolan sat still for a moment. As if he truly needed to consider whether or not he felt okay after all of this. Clover's heart was pounding, suddenly worried if this was a bad idea. That is until Rolan reached up for their face, pulling them in for a tender kiss. When he let them pull away, he held both their hands in his own.
"Clover, I feel incredible. And I feel… confused? But the incredible aspects outweigh the confusion. And perhaps we can discuss the confusion some other time, because right now, I… I'd really like to bask in the incredible."
Clover smiled, and nodded, leaning into Rolan's chest. He wrapped his arms around them, breathing deeply of their scent, committing it to memory. As exhaustion fully took its hold on them, they melted into each other's embrace.
The morning light crept through the stained glass dome of Sorcerous Sundries in a dance of rainbow prisms. The twinkling causing Rolan's dreary eyes to squint tight before slowly opening.
He was sat on the floor behind the Sundries front counter, still undressed, with an equally bare dwarf sleeping soundly against his chest. The memories of the night before washed over him. Clover's body flush against him, calling out his name as they came with him inside them. It all sent a renewed wave of arousal crashing through his body.
That is, until he heard a shout from the busy streets outside, and the reality of his current predicament crashed over him even harder.
"Oh Gods," he glanced around himself. Papers strewn across the floor. Various bobbles lay in disarray, likely dropped by the mage hand assistants last night once he lost concentration on the spell. Drops of his own errant spend now dry on the shelves. Stains of sweat and what other fluids he could only guess marking the floor beneath them. He palmed his face, rubbing his temple between his fingers before rousing his partner from his arms.
"Clover, get up," he started to lift himself from the floor as his companion groaned, "Get up, damn you! We fell asleep," he was whispering, as if someone outside might overhear them. Clover sat themselves upright, eyes still closed.
"Yeah… We fell asleep. People tend to do that when they're tired…" Clover mumbled.
"We fell asleep in the Sundries you idiot!" Rolan was trying to dress himself while cleaning up after last night's… experience, "We have to leave - No, you have to leave. I have to finish cleaning up before I open," his movements were frantic. Clover watched him dart around, still sat on the floor. He conjured a quick bust of himself - a modified version of mirror image, perhaps? - swearing as he attempted to fix his hair. Clover yawned, lazily picking up their own clothes and dressing themselves at a snails pace.
Still sat on the floor, Rolan found himself tripping over them as he aimlessly paced around the counters. Stacks of paperwork flew from his arms as he fell. Clover tried to reach out and break his fall, though it did little help.
"Bugger it all!" Rolan slammed a fist against the tiled floor, propping himself to his knees, "Could you PLEASE get up and either help me, or leave!" He shouted in Clover's direction.
They both froze, Rolan held his breath.
"Y'know…" Clover slowly stood up and walked over to the wizard kneeling on the floor. At this height, they were at eye level with each other, "Calling someone an idiot and demanding they leave the morning after you've fucked them silly? Not exactly the best impression one wants to make," they tried to joke, lifting a hand to his cheek. Rolan didn't comment, his gaze locked onto the floor.
Clover sighed, pulling his head to their chest as they held him. Their strong arms felt both soft and secure, the rhythm of their heartbeat providing a sense of grounding Rolan didn't even realize he so desperately needed. As Clover spoke, their voice reverberated against his cheek.
"I'm no mage, Rolan," they started, one hand gently stroking his head as they spoke, "I can't detect your thoughts, or calm your emotions with a spell. I can't compel you into a zone of truth and force you to be honest with me. But I can tell when someone is overworked, and overwhelmed," they squeezed his head tighter for a moment before releasing him and holding his face in their hands. He looked up at them, his eyes glossy with tears he refused to shed.
"You need a break, you stubborn jackass," Clover said with a smile, "There's nothing wrong with that. I think the city will survive if the Sundries is closed for a day or two. And if you're truly that worried I'm sure I could convince Gale to come visit and-"
"Absolutely not," Rolan interjected sternly, clearing his throat, "Forgive me, but that man has no idea how to speak to patrons without coming across as a pretentious, pompous, know-it-all."
"Oh, but you do?" Clover retorted with a grin. Rolan seemed shocked at first, then smiled back. Chuckling to himself, he reached up to hold Clover's hand, pulling it from his cheek and planting a deep kiss against their palm. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, still holding Clover's hand.
"I'll set up the portal upstairs to take you to the washroom of the tower. Let me finish with what I had started last night, then I'll come join you," Clover cocked an eyebrow.
"You'll come join me, eh? In the glorious, magical washroom of Ramazith's Tower?" They tried to tease him, but he simply turned to them with devious look in his eyes.
"Yes, I'll be joining you. After I finish cleaning up the mess you made," he leaned down to their ear, "Be grateful I'm not forcing you to help," he said sweetly, kissing their cheek. He raised his hand and flicked his wrist, the familiar sounds of a transportation portal wooshing to life on the floor above them, "Now, off with you. I don't need any more distractions, especially if you'd like me to get this finished quickly."
Clover smirked as they began to walk off, "Whatever you say, oh great Master Rolan," a shiver shot up his spine as they dragged out his title across their tongue. He tried to compose himself, but his tail flicked with excitement as the dwarf ascended the staircase.
"I'll be waiting."
#rolan#bg3 rolan#rolan bg3#rolan x tav#tav x rolan#I am holding a delicious beautifully frosted cake with 12 bags under my eyes bloodshot & weary please accept this humble gift I made
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So, I want uh... an Autobot (NB) reader and Soundwave, both pinning on each other and in a more calm battle (maybe 2v1) readers "subtlety" compliments him in his battle skills and the other member of the team prime is like 'THAT'S THE ENEMY' while Soundwave is completely calm about it, at least in the exterior and beating their asses. You are welcome to add whatever you like, and if it was headcannons I would be pleased
(I am aware that that would be extremely ooc from Soundwave but it's was a funny idea in my head 😔)
You get both hc's and a short blurb, aren't I so delightfully evil? Also I don't know how I managed to make this into angst but I hope you like it.
Pairing: tfp!Soundwave x nb!autobot!reader, romantic
Missions with Bulkhead were, simply put, fun. There were no real restrictions, safe for the obvious once like "don't cause human casualties" and "aim for the spark but torture isn't cool". No one would complain in the background as the wreckers lived up to their name and utterly wrecked the surrounding area.
Bulkhead didn't complain about the mess, no, but he did complain about… other things.
"Oh! Such elegance and grace! He moves like he's air~' the bot practically purrs in admiration as they stare at the sleek Decepticon who's very much so trying to get somebody killed today.
"Uh- hey you do remember that he's the enemy, right? Haven't hit your processor and forgotten that, have you?" Bulkhead asks as he barely dodges another attack from Soundwave, giving his teammate an opening to shoot, which they gladly take. To no one's surprise Soundwave gracefully moves to the side and dodges the energy blast, "I knoooow, it's such a shame the cute ones are all Decepticons, right?" "I- have you lost your mind?!" "First Knockout, then Breakdown, and now him! I mean seriously, what's with that?" "(N/N) now is not the time for this" talking and fighting at the same time come to the pair like breathing comes to humans, at this point it's just how things are. They kick ass and exchange their thoughts in the process.
"If not now, when?! I can't just gush over him at the base! Arcee would yell at me" they frown, taking another shot at the con, finally landing a hit though it barely even scrapes his paint job.
Bulkhead is so done. If it was anyone else- correction- if this was an autobot his friend was gushing over he'd be nothing but supportive. Truly he wishes them all the best.
Not with a goddamn Decepticon though. He's internally begging that they're just messing with him.
They aren't.
Miko definitely sneaked through the groundbridge to witness the battle and yeah she definitely heard and yeah she definitely ships it.
In a sense, Soundwave is completely unaffected by the compliments. Of course had this been a time of peace he would have entertained the thought of returning the affections, but he knows it's a foolish thought now. His spark may yearn for a lover but he denies the call, he won't betray his cause, not after everything he's done in its name, and he knows the autobot is unlikely to betray their friends.
He's neutral toward the compliments, he doesn't need the praise, he's not blind to his talents. He knows he's graceful, agile, and though he doesn't give it much consideration he knows he's beautiful in the eyes of many.
Though slowly and slightly he warms up to the bot. They seem kind, he might be a Decepticon but that is still a trait he admires, even if he more often than not would take advantage of such a trait.
As time goes forward, slowly he starts to go just slightly easier. Gives them a second longer to dodge, doesn't immediately go for their spark.
Small changes, but once he hopes they can notice.
Maybe after the war is over, regardless of whose victory it'll be, maybe then he could spare them more of his time, get to know them a little better. Return their compliments, allow himself to open up to them.
But that is all wishful thinking, he's aware of as much. But it's a wish he keeps close to his spark.
Perhaps he would meet his doom by their servo, or perhaps he would extinguish their spark before that wish ever came true, they were in the middle of a brutal war after all.
He's fully aware that each fight could very well be his last, or theirs. He knows that each time seeing them could be the last, he tries to savor those brief moments.
Either way, whatever the future holds, however the story goes, he hopes that their face would be the last thing he sees. Be that because they bested him in battle, or because they'll be the last thing he'll be thinking of, along with his long lost cassettes.
There was a time they met alone in a barren battlefield, or, now it was just a field.
There was no need to fight, no real desire to.
Both were standing face to face with an enemy, yet neither made the move to kill.
No, for that brief moment they looked around and exchanged their wordless confessions.
The world was still, for a moment it felt like the years of endless bloodshed were yet to happen, or almost as if they never existed at all.
It felt like they were back home on Cybertron. The other's presence didn't feel like the one of an enemy, no. Instead it felt like they were both new sparks who had met for the first time, yet at the same time it felt like they'd known each other for all their lives.
It felt like all these eons spent at war had been pointless after all.
They stared at him for a little longer and he stared back, he didn't need to say a word, they understood the meaning easily.
"After the war"
"After the war"
That was a promise he could only hope he could keep.
But as the cruel and unrelenting fate, which at this point he assumes to be vengeful, would have it, he was right. That accursed moment of separation came eventually. Not because death tore them apart, rather it was the fault of humans.
Now he was to roam this lonely realm, Shadowzone, alone, silently watching as the bot he'd made his sweet promise had to quietly grieved for him in solitude.
After all, Bulkhead was under the impression they were merely joking, and how could they ever tell the others the reason behind their sparkache? As if they'd understand the pain that came with this loss, one they needed to cope with by their lonesome. He was their enemy yet he was undeniably loved by them. But now it seemed that said love could never truly bloom, not even after the war as they'd once promised to one another.
He never left their side, not till they went too far for him to follow, back to Cybertron.
Now he's alone.
Even still, he hopes that one day he'll be able to keep his word.
"After the war"
He'll wait for that moment for as long as it takes, but at the same time he wonders.
Will they be waiting for him as well?
#rid15 happens and he gets out of the shadowzone and just graps steeljaw by the scruff of his neck and asks where the f his spouce is#tfp x reader#tfp soundwave#they love eachother your honor#tfp soundwave x reader#soundwave x reader#look I love him anyway but his tfp design was PEAK#g1 and anything similar to it? I love. They go hard. But I am not immune to slenderman robot either#soundwave' shaking steeljaw: inquiry: where is designation: (s/o)#steeljaw: who the fuck is that?#soundwave isn't evil anymore he wants that fucking date okay.#my writing
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Rainbows
dni: k!nk, anti-agere, agepl4y, or ddlg-esque blogs 🍄 this blog is a safe space for age regressors and age dreamers 🍄
word count: 500
pairing: caregiver!mama!Loki x little!reader
(loki uses she/her here ☺️)
summary: your mama helps you pick out your first ever pacifier.
cws: none that i can think of except for tooth rotting fluff! please let me know if something needs to be listed. /gen
a/n: hi guys! long time no see! i've been reading some neil gaiman books recently and it's been inspiring me.
♡
"Alright darling," Mama gestured to the coffee table in front of her that was absolutely full of pacifiers. "All of your options are right here."
There were greens and blues and purples. Reds, and oranges, pinks and yellows, too. Some of the pacis had polka dots and some were plain. A few had pretty decorations. Some even had rainbow squiggles, too!
It was a wonderful sea of colors that captured your little mind. Nothing else mattered. Just you and Mama and...
THE ARRAY OF PACIFIERS SHE MADE APPEAR OUT OF THIN AIR!
You still couldn't believe it...
How did Mama do that?!
"Spark?"
Your wide eyes moved towards the sound of Mama's voice.
"Honed in on the pacifiers, are we?" Loki chuckled.
"Mhm!"
You liked the sparkle in Mama's eyes. It reminded you of bright, shining stars and the twinkle lights in your bedroom. It meant she was happy, and you liked when your Mama was happy.
"Which of these lovely pacifiers makes you want to squeaaaal in delight?" Your mama suddenly tickled you while she spoke, enunciating her words.
You giggled and giggled.
And giggled and giggled some more.
"I don't-" you stopped and let out a breathy laugh. "Don knoooow, mama! Too hard!"
Your mama finally relented. "Ooh, I understand that. When I ascended the throne to Asgard, I had to choose between allllll of these wonderfully colorful garments and jewelry I-"
You stared at Loki, your lips slightly ajar and your brows furrowed tightly. Your adorable face blatantly had confusion written all over it.
Your mama shook her head softly. "Nevermind that, moving on! Let's see here..." Her eyes scanned the pacifier filled coffee table. "How about this one here, with the cute little turtle on it?"
You shook your head and scrunched your face.
"No? Alright...hmmm." She paused a moment to think. "Oh! How about this one with the-"
You stuck out your tongue. "Blagghhh."
"No problem, darling." Loki threw it swiftly behind her. "Definitely not that one, then- OH!"
Your beautiful eyes were wide and practically glowing. If life was a cartoon, you'd have hearts for eyes.
"OoOooOOO!" you exclaimed in intrigue.
The pacifier with which your eyes were glued on had your favorite animal on it and it was your favorite color! It was so very, very perfect.
"Aha! We've found your match, baby darling." She held it up closer to you. All you could do was stare in amazement.
Finally, a pacifier to call your own. One that'll make you feel content and happy. One that'll make you feel like the most special baby in the whole wide world. No! The universe! A special pacifier for the most special baby in the whole wide universe!
"Mine!" You snatched it and all your Mama could do was grin excitedly.
"Yes, pumpkin, it's all yours."
You quickly slid it into your mouth and slammed your body against Loki, wrapping your arms tightly around her. Your words were less English and more like cute mumbles that Mama just adored. "Thank you, thank you, Mama!"
She laid her head gently atop yours. "Anything for my little one."
♡
#loki x reader#age regression#agere#agere fanfic#little reader#loki x little!reader#agere caregiver#agere marvel#cg!loki#caregiver loki#daddy!loki#daddy!loki x reader#caregiver!loki x little!reader
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Expressions + Mannerisms (part 2)
By semi-popular demand, another analysis of Solas and his expressions :)
For all you fanfiction writers and solavellans!
I would like to state, for the record, a lot of what I say/have said is purely my own personal interpretations and understandings, and by no means should you take my word as gospel here. This is just some fun :)
I stated in a previous post (I shall call 'Part 1' for simplicity) how Solas has 2 expressions; his 'in the moment' expressions, in which his true feelings are on display, and his 'in character' expressions, in which he's very much putting on a persona.
If you're in solavellan hell, have some hyperfixation-tendencies and/or unresolved feelings towards a specific fictional character (like myself), you'll probably be able to tell the difference between these 2 expressive states of his.
Allow me to elaborate ;)
Solas, In the Moment "when he's honest/caught off-guard/not 'in character'"
Solas clearly has trouble with lying; he's rather terrible at it. I would go so far as to say he only ever lies to you once in the entire game (lying outright, I mean); and it is after the Winter Palace;
"You miss court intrigue... When were you at court?"
"Oh. Well, never... Directly, of course." <- big stuttering liar.
He can't lie worth a damn, but he's by no means honest; he's manipulative, deceptive and sly. I believe I heard someone describe him once as having a 'malicious compliance with/towards the truth'.
I believe his expressions, as well as mannerisms, follow this mentality.
I'll show you several images/scenes in which I believe Solas is being honest/showing himself without his guard up. (And in 2. Solas, In Character, I will show you the contrast).
This one will be hard to show without gifs (which I'm clueless on how to create, forgive me);
A. He blinks a lot, very a-rhythmic.
B. He gets this look about him, and I don't know how to describe it, beyond "'scuse me?" (the long face gets longer, shrug)
Genuinely surprised:
C. He looks very deep in thought/far away - and sad (this man needs some therapy) this is the face he makes when he knows no-one can see him (I'll make a part 3 going into these comparatives of 'you can see me'/'you can't see me');
No ones looking, it's okay (it's not, but whatever) face :
D. He just looks sad when he's being quiet/honest/not putting on some bravado/persona. (You know how 'resting bitch face' is a thing? This man has a resting depressed face, and i think it has to do with the tragedy - he practically embodies philosophical pessimism)
Acceptance/I don't see a way forward/I need a break face:
E. He has the softest look about him when he's touched/shown affection (yes these are all from the dream-kiss scene) (bless my poor solavellan heart)
Yes, I like to be held, please kiss me on my face face:
F. Smug face... He has a smug face (to be fair, this is literally him revealing he has complete control over when you're awake/asleep... and much more, given the context of Tevinter Nights - idk this face always creeped me out actually XD like i knoooow this guy could fuck me up if he wanted)
"It's my world, you're all just living in it" face:
G. He fidgets a lot when it's just him, or he's talking to you honestly. Like he always has to be doing something with his hands. (I noticed he doesn't do it when he's in groups, or with others) - not a facial expression but I thought it was interesting behaviour. In fact, his movements in general increase a lot - he fidgeted, he sways, he wobbles, he gestures, moves his head a lot. (Just watch all of his personal quest, you'll see what I mean). (He also does this when you first meet him, but I chalk it up to he's just super excited that you're not dead and finally you can fix his mess - since he was 100% sure you'd be dead and he was ready to bolt with his 'i didn't say it was a good plan' plan)
At the risk of just listing typically behaviour in people with certain emotions, I'll move on to his 'in character' part.
2. Solas, In Character.
A. He blinks rhythmically, every like... 5/6 seconds?? (yeah, I know... I do have a hobby besides this stuff i swear XD i just like this egg). It's soothing, like a heartbeat. The blinking just always stood out to me with his character, idk.
B. He smiles a lot, but I can't tell if I know who he is and what he's doing, and that's clouding my vision, but it feels very much like a job interview kind of smile. Like, every split second it falters just a bit.
This man just doesn't want to smile (though, I suppose this is early in game when he's very much 'these aren't people' 'oh i have to pretend really hard rn'
C. He stands pretty damn still and stiff - if he's doing this i'm 99% sure he's being manipulative with you, sometimes the only movements he has in a scene is him blinking, perhaps glancing sideways. - think just before the journey to skyhold when he gives you a talk about the orb and how you need to prove yourself - he's in 110% manipulative mode
The trouble with Solas is, he doesn't have many tells - but the ones he does have are big. And, without delving into scenes as they stand, I'd have a hard time expressing this.
But I will leave you with my favourite expression-transition in the entire game.
How he goes from optimism/pride when standing beside Inky, to when the figure passes him, his expression becomes so serious/foreboding. I love it so much.
And I once again want to mention how much I just adore the little details of animation, from eye movement, skin twitches, or full on bodily movement. - especially for a character I adore. It's beautiful to look at, especially as someone who studied animation (absolutely wasted degree on me, I swear) and gets very attached to fictional characters (particularly ones as complicated as the dread egg).
In future parts, provided I get flycam to work on my pc - I'll be able to go through scenes of the egg to give him a bit more of an in-depth view (with gifs and whatnot, can you imagine?).
#dragon age#dragon age inquisition spoilers#dragon age spoilers#dragon age inquisition#solas#solavellan hell#fen'harel#the wait for dreadwolf is getting to me guys#dragon age analysis
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I knoooow same with me😭 like that's some straight up weird anime shit😭 like sister-in-law if you need some d**k go get some but not from your brother😭😭
Sorry for being a bit nsfw🙏
Don’t apologize I’m perfectly fine with NSFW shit. I’ve mentioned whimpering men (*quietly* i’m so sorry) on my blog a couple of times you’re fine.
HELPEJWS YOU’RE SO RIGHT. Like love go get some!! But not from him. Him who is your brother. Who is married. Who has 3 kids. WHO IS YOUR BROTHER. WHO PRACTICALLY RAISED YOU.
It’s like the boy mom anomaly idk. Except with his sister. Like SEEK JESUS.
#seek a mental hospital#seek a support group#seek dick somewhere else#none here for you girl 😒#reia’s asks!!!#reality shifting#shiftblr#shifting realities#shifting#desired reality
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girl I'm down bad for tenoch, like i havent been in a long time for a male celebrity. i am obsessed!! his birthday is tomorrow!
i have so much curiosity about him (as a person, you know), like does he believe in astrology? hes such an aquarius! and because of that, the answer could be yes or no hahah
I have been practicing my spanish more nowadays; i have read almost every single tweet this man has tweeted. im currently reading his book (which is amazing!! must read for people who want to know more about mexicos power dynamics, racism, colorism! very enlightening; as a latina myself, i could swap mexico to my countrys name and it would fit perfectly) (also he is very articulated, intelligent and funny! such an easy-going read besides the theme).
whats his favorite book? what kind of songs he listens to? share your spotify account with me tenoch!!
whats his comfort food? whats his WhatsApp profile picture? is it from a professional shoot or a selfie he took on his phone? did he cave in and bought an iphone? did he have pets growing up? whos taking care of his plants back home?
does he have a nickname? maybe 'Té', or 'Noche'? or is it something that has nothing in common with his name (my family nickname is completely different from my given name)?
and so on so on!! i need ANSWERS!! necesito tomarme un trago con el!! necesito pachequearme y hablar de la vida con este hombre!!!
Same. Like I literally found myself back on this godforsaken site after years because I needed to be able to vent about my love and obsession for this man.
Oh I would love to know his random opinions and his belief systems. I think he would find it amusing that we have looked up his astrological chart to the best of our abilities. Like he would definitely think "wow thats extensive" but he wouldn't make fun of it like some guys do.
So I know like very rudimentary Spanish that I learned because of my job. I got so often mistaken as some type of latin or hispanic person that it was easier to learn enough Spanish to get by and guests were always so understanding. "Oh she can understand us but it's hard for her to reply." I want to learn more Spanish but I don't have the time right now. I wish I could read his book but a translation isn't out yet.
As a filipino I feel like there will be a lot for me to relate to in the book considering the rampant colorism in all parts of Asia. Filipinos are often referred to as the 'Mexicans' of Asia. Which is weird but also fitting. What snippets of translation I've seen have been so interesting though.
I know he hates reggaeton with so much passion its kind of hysterical. I think I remember him mentioning one of his favorite books in an interview but I can't remember off the top of my head. I knoooow this man has all kinds of proud Latin music on his playlist. Also unabashed bangers like Selena.
He apparently has a screenshot from his whatsapp on his twitter somewhere and I think it's like a normal pic not anything professional.
DOES TENOCH HAVE PLANTS? THAT IS THE QUESTION I NEED ANSWERED BECAUSE I AM A PLANT MOM!
Did you see that interview where he was mad hungry and eating the food the interviewer bought him? I wonder if he's one of those mexican dads who is willing to try a bunch of stuff or if he's the type to always choose latin food over anything else.
I've seen some of his activist friends call him 'Noch' or 'Nochie' I also know that Diego Luna specifically calls him 'chiquitin'. And that makes me giggle because I think he smiles his stupid cute smile every time Diego calls him that.
LOL I have two first names and depending on who you are decides which one you call me. So I don't have any nicknames. Everyone would just get even more confused.
I wanna talk to him about everything, life, love, politics, bull shit, the things that make us happy, the things that make us sad. I wanna talk about our pasts, our futures, our dreams.
I want his advice. Like I bet he gives the best life advice.
thank you for the ask,
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I can’t sleep so naturally I rewatched ShogunMaitoh’s scenes to pass the time (your enthusiastic screaming about them got me to watch the show in the first place and I’m glad I did, it’s a precious little show) and the language nerd in me started to wonder about something.
Maitoh uses phi to refer to Shogun and it got me thinking if he would ever switch to hia? I could see it happening with Maitoh either using it as a joke at first and both of them realising that they actually really like it, or Maitoh using it as a way of flirting, being affectionate and/or teasing. I also feel like it would only happen in private at first and if Maitoh ever started to use hia in public as well it would happen gradually, unlike with Team who ran with Hia Win and never looked back. 😂 Any thoughts?
(And happy last day of this year! 🎆)
hi hi hiiiiiiiiiii!!!!
FHFNSIFID ANY THOUGHTS?! FOR SHOGUNMAITOH? THERE'S ALWAYS THOUGHTS!!!! and i'm soooo glad you like it!!! it really is SUCH a lovely warm little show!!!!
yeah no i literally think maitoh would probably call him hia a few months down the line into their relationship, especially when he starts hanging out / sleeping over at shogun's place more and more frequently, and he sees the exact way namwah says "hiiiiiaaaaaaaa" when she wants something from shogun or is tryna make up with him, and he sees how SOFT shogun is and how EASILY he just .... gives in to his little sister .....
so he keeps that in mind and then one time maitoh wants shogun to finish work early in the studio but shogun's all "listen Babe i NEED to finish this" and maitoh just literally WHINES "hiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaa", and that Literally has shogun PAUSE and turn slowly to face maitoh who has the BIGGEST doe eyed look on his face, and he says it again, and again, and he's now Literally just smirking at shogun and then says "oh? does hiiiaaa not have work to finish now?" before walking out of the studio and heading Straight to shogun's bedroom.
SO YES. and they keep it between themselves for a bit and shogun ADOOOORES it when maitoh calls him hia (for the Very Same Reasons that win has when team calls him hia)
until one day they're with everyone and they're having band practice and shogun wants them to run through it again but maitoh knows that this is just shogun wanting it to be Perfect Perfect when its already good enough anyway. so he just whines "ohhh hiiiiaaaaa i'm tired!! .... " and EVERYONE's just like.
O.O .... WHAT did you just say?
and maitoh does That Thing he does when he gets shy, looks down and purses his lips together and has that little smile, before he looks up to see shogun who's just. Looking At Him. and his ears are literally RED like they were when they first kissed. and he somehow manages to say "uh yeah okay thats enough for today." and everyone just sorta Gets The Hint and leaves.
and maitoh just shrugs his shoulders with sooo much casual confidence when shogun looks at him again, and then teases him and asks "what's wrong, hiiiia?". bc yeah, what is there to hide now anyway? everyone knows. everyone knoooows.
uhhhh and what can shogun do anyway! like he's sooooo FOND OF and ENDEARED BY maitoh he GIVES in to him EVERYTIME. he is Literally his BABY the APPLE OF HIS EYE.
SO YEAH. shogun just ends up shaking his head with the biggest grin on his face, walks up to maitoh who's sat behind his drums, takes his face in his hands, and replies,
"nothing. nothing's wrong. besides, i like it when you call me hia. but you already know that."
(happy new years eve to you tooooo!!!! 🧡🧡🧡)
#faiza answers#why you ... y me?#shogun x maitoh#NFJSBFIZIF THIS ASK CHDHFUS8D MAITOH CALLING SHOGUN HIA LITERALLLLYYYYY IS SHOGUN'S UNDOING.#you KNOW where he whines hia. YOU KNOW. 😏😏😏.
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ShinDekuMei Soulmate AU? Maybe in POTSOD? (I don't know the idea of Goth/Punk Shinsou with two girls practically made of sunshine sounds hilarious and wholesome.)
(I debated about this since in POTSOD Hatsume is gay but I decided that in this case, she and Shinsou are just in a really queer relationship that while she isn't into him as a man, she loves him as her soulmate. Neither are intimate, nor kiss but they call each other love, and consider each other to be together.)
The screen opens up to show a workshop full of tools and parts, a green-haired teenager picking through the area. She is carrying a toddler wearing overalls and holding a wrench, the girl making noises to be put down.
“No, you’re going to hurt yourself Tomoe,” the teen says.
“You need to clean up your shop Mei.” Izumi said to her soulmate as the other girl sighed.
“I knoooow. Tomoe can’t come and play when it’s a mess. I knoooow.”
“Mei, you need to eat,” a voice says as the teen and the toddler walk through the lab. They find themselves facing a purple-haired teenager and a pink-haired one soon enough. The purple haired on is holding out a takeout container.
“No time! I made a jetpack for Izumi!” Mei says eagerly. “It’s going to be awesome!!”
“Jetpack!” Tomoe, the toddler, cheers. The other two look up and Mei grins. “Mummy! Daddy!”
“Tomoe!!” Mei squeals. “My baby! Wanna make some invention babies!”
“After food.” the lone boy says firmly. “Right Tomoe? Food is important.” The toddler blinks but then nods.
“Yes, mummy eat.” she says sternly.
“You two suck for turning our daughter against me like that.”
“Eat or we won’t have to.”“My soulmates turned my daughter against me.” Mei whines but took the food anyway as the other two laugh a little, smiling.
#bnha#bnha au#shindekumei#hatsume mei#midoriya izuku#shinsou hitoshi#fem midoriya izuku#pulling on the strings of destiny#tomoe the baby#show more queer relationships!
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🥺you sleep with the stuffed animal I won you??
This feels like Paul and Mia ... whichever one has the stuffie, that's up to you.
"So anywaaaay, in conclusion, that's why the use of, like. Runestones and carved bones and such are falling out of common use within the modern mage's workbox, in favor of the, um. More lightweight and practical... gosh. I'm sorry, Paulie. My notes got shuffled. Hang on." Mia's face disappeared from Paul's phone screen, and he stifled a laugh. Mia had been so worried about the class presentation that she needed to do for Trein's class, so he offered to be a virtual audience for her to practice with after his shift at Mostro. And although the information was a little dry, the way she had delivered it was so cute and animated; he was having more fun than he thought he would.
While she was collecting notecards from her undisclosed offscreen location, the camera showed the dorm room behind her. It was angled so that he could only see her side of the room; there was a window with a heavy velvet curtain, a standing wardrobe with a poster of Neige LeBlanche taped to the door, and part of her bed just visible. It was neatly made, with a soft yellow and orange floral pattern on the blanket, tucked beneath a few fluffy pillows in crisp white cases, and sitting on the pillows... it was hard to make out. Paul squinted at his phone screen. It looked familiar, but the focus was a little off.
Mia's face popped back onscreen. "Sorry!! I dropped a couple under the desk like a knucklehead!" She stuck her tongue out and gently rapped on her head with her fist. "Duh. Anyway, where'd I leave off?"
Paul grinned at her. "Stones and bones. But before ya go on, can I ask ya somethin?"
Mia blinked. "Sure thing, Paulie. What's up?"
"That thing on top of your bed, up there. That looks familiar, but I can't really see too good. What is it?"
"Huh?" She turned to look behind her, then faced the screen with a smile. "Oh!! That's Mister Grunty!"
"Mister who now?" Paul scratched his head. This wasn't solving anything.
"You knoooow! Mister Grunty, the lil' warthog toy you won for me at that darts game the Savanaclaw students set up at the cultural festival! He's, like, super soft, so I use him like a pillow at night!" Mia straightened and re-straightened the index cards in her hands, not quite making eye contact with the screen.
Paul's cheeks got warm, and he also found himself not quite looking at the phone. "You... you sleep with the stuffed animal I won you?"
"Uh-huh." Mia's ears drooped slightly. "Mister Grunty's kinda special? Because, like. That was our first date, sort of?"
"That's really cute...." Paul whispered, and he buried his face in his hands.
It took a full minute before either of them said anything else, but finally, Mia managed to squeak out, "I... think I got the conclusion of the presentation ready. I'll... I gotta... I'm gonna letcha go for now, okay?"
Paul nodded, and uncovered his face. His cheeks were bright red and ached from smiling so hard. "You'll knock that ol' man out, Mia. Full marks for sure."
"Really?" Her ears pricked back up. "You really think so!?"
"I know so," he assured her. "Now getcha some sleep before your housewarden calls ya out for stayin' up too late. I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Thanks again, Paulie! See ya thennnn!!" Mia reached forward to disconnect the call, but paused, looked over her shoulder, and then looked back. With a huge smile, she blew a kiss to the camera. "Good niiiiiight!"
The call disconnected, and Paul's phone showed just his own face looking back at him. He never knew he could smile so widely.
#twisted wonderland oc#mia sealponte#friend's oc#paul pilchard#the two cutest freshmen on campus according to my unbiased sources
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Pokemon crack
Mayl: Lan! Do you wanna eat together at my dorm tonight? I'm gonna use the kitchenette in our dorm room to try some new recipes and I need some feedback on how they taste
Lan: sure, I would love to
In the background
Mega: this is literally a date!?
Roll: why can't they see that!?
At Mayl's dorm
Lan: No offense, but I hope it's not sandwiches. After seeing them everywhere I'm getting sick of them!
Mayl: Don't worry, it's not. I'm actually trying a special curry dish!
Lan: Now you have my attention! Do you need help?
Mayl: No, no, I got this, you just relax and make yourself at home
In the bg
Mega: So domestic hehehe
Roll: I'm so excited! Mayl's been practicing this dish all week, just for Lan!
Mega: So romantic!
Roll: I knoooow! Heehee!
Mayl: What are Mega and Roll doing?
Lan: Whispering and giggling about something I guess
Mayl: Flirting?
Lan: What else?
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Ulcer Update!
As you may or may not knoooow
I've been dealing with some issues regarding my gut health. I found out after a particularly helpful visit to the emergency room (ER) that I have been dealing with stomach ulcers and an H.Pylori infection.
I'm deep into my wellness regimine now and it includes *so* much releasing and letting go. Physically, metaphysically, spiritually, etc. Damn. It also includes a firm restructuring of my boundaries.
So immediately qhen I got all the medications I stopped / cut out / immediately stopped drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, and eating sugar.
And let me talk about that, because it sucks.
Quitting cigarettes is interesting. It's not the worst thing I've ever experienced. After all, I quit cold turkey when I found out I was pregnant. So my body is sort of sighing in relief. There are moments when I feel like I need to smoke again, often just out of habit! It happens when someone goes out to smoke or when someone is smoking when I pass by or even sometimes if I see it on tv my brain perks up, like "Oh! yeah, that's something I relate to, a past time or a hobby or a practice so I'll grab my lighter and..." and then I take a breath, an extra deep one, and send that healing breath deep down into my belly, and just let it go.
Quitting coffee is strange. I will definitely go back to it at some point and I'm sure I'll enjoy some espresso or a macchiato or whatever but for now I've switched it out. I've switched it for Matcha which takes an entire ritual to make so it's not as simple. It makes me more conscious of what's going in to my body. And I have been sleeping a bit more and I think fixing my sleep schedule which should level out (I'm told / I've read) after my tiny human turns 6! Just a few more years to go! The third day I slept and woke up taking the longest, slowest, deepest breaths I've perhaps ever taken in my life. It was a reset.
But Quitting Sugar is brutal.
To be fair, I'm not "quitting sugar". I live in the U.S. where everything is processed and full of fake ingredients like corn syrup and sugar. Like... In juice, in bread, in everything. So I haven't cold - turkey "quit" sugar, like I've quit the other things, but I have absolutely and definitely stopped having sugar gratuitiously.
No chocolate, no candies, no super sweet things. And babes, it's fucking lame as hell.
Now, from all my research and stuff, quitting everything "cold turkey" can actually be kind of shocking or dangerous to your body so I'm giving myself grace through the process. The first week was ugly. And I'm definitely substituting things in my life to add more sweetness to my life.
But I guess that's the perfect segue to talk about the medicine of bitterness.
Bitterness as one of the five main tastes (I made a video about this I'll see if I can upload it today!) is a great and necessary medicine. It's what usually is known as a blood cleanser. Growing up some of the bitter medicines I knew about were Bittergourd and ... I want to say Burdock Root! I guess I can't think of too many off the top of my head.
But bitter gets things moving and helps cleanse the blood while too much sugar, especially created sugar that's super processed like corn syrup or whatever, slows things down and clogs things up.
According to some theories craving sugar means one is craving more fun in life. More community and connectivity. It makes sense when you think about it. Our hyper-individualistic society leaves many people pondering in isolation.
Yeah, that's another thing, my holistic healing approach means I'm taking a look at the whole thing - as one should during any healing process - physical body, emotional body, spiritual body, etc. This will help reach deep into the root of the illness and pluck it out, as one might a blade of grass growing up around one's vegetables.
It's gotta go and the space it embodied needs to be filled with warmth, love, healing practices, new neurological pathways and great patterns to set me on the path of success.
It's damn exhausting.
And gives me all the time in the world to over think which is sort what I'm really good at. So I've gotten back into my art which has reminded me that I am actually an artist, so that's really great. I'm going to share some of my paintings soon although some are definitely for my eyes only.
And I've incorporated some great wellness habits into my life which I imagine after a few more weeks will seem like second nature, I can't wait.
Taking long walks with my kiddo, drinking hella water (I'm lying, I am always dehydrated but I swear I'm working on it!), cooking so many more meals at home, even if I have to make some quick / frozen / microwaved peas or whatever, drinking a ton of my medicines, and going back to my chinese medicine specialist.
The easiest way to ingest lots of nutrients isn't in a pill / supplement form, in my opinion, it's in smoothie or tea form! So let me see if I can remember which smoothies I started with.
At the beginnning I was taking Probiotic Kefir that I got from Hannafords and blending it with ginger, frozen fruit, one or two kinds, cardammon, clove, cinnamon, honey, a pinch of salt.
The next week I added a smoothie that was water based with celery, ginger, filtered or alkaline water, cinnamon, honey and maybe one fruit.
Then I added my own lemonade, that lemon juice concentrate which isn't the best for you but it works in a pinch, spring water, honey, and my dried herbs - cinnamon, ginger, clove, whateverrr!
And I try to have at least one of these a day in addition to my meals.
It's made a massive difference in my energy levels and in the type of pain I'm experiencing.
Now sometimes people with an H. Pylori infection need to revisit the doctor after one month to see if the symptoms are back and if they ARE they need to REPEAT the antibiotic protocol. Knowing my luck (and stress levels) the cases of this happening are HIGH so I want to cut them back to zero.
This was my first time taking antibiotics in years and I don't like to do so regularly because aside from putting you on the pharmaceutical hampster wheel that is very hard to get off of it also can leave a lasting imprint on your liver, kidneys, gallbladder, spleen and intestines, in short - all the things that already need healing now in my body.
So the chinese medicine I'll get into next time - I've got to go make a cuppa or something and I feel like I've been writing for so long, but this is how I've shifted my lifestyle since I learned about this infection!
Thanks for witnessing the journey, and if you have ever dealt with stomach ulcers or an H. Pylori infection, what did you do to heal it? How are you now?
Much love
xx
#healing stomach ulcers#wellness#health#wellness journey#holistic healing#gut health#h pylori infection#change your thoughts
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