#i will word this better later | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

azulhood · 2 months

Text

Jazz was, at her core, a pessimist.

Oh sure, she wanted the best outcomes and strived to always see the best in people. But listening to her parents talk about and share crime scene photos of someone who was brutally murdered and who may haunt the place they were headed to while true crime podcasts played instead of road trip tunes as they traveled to whatever graveyard had caught their interest had dulled young Jazz's faith in humanity.

Jazz still had memories of a young her standing in an abandoned insane asylum (or abandoned hospital, or old house, or graveyard, or whatever place they dragged her too) holding a small torch with shaky hands and begging to leave because she was terrified "Can we go? Please? this place is scaring me" only to be told "In a minute Jazzy, we down want the ghost getting away."

They had settled down after Danny was born, choosing to stay in one placed instead of traveling all over the country. She still expected them to unexpectedly announce that they were going on the road again, she had plans in case they did (saying she'd stay behind with the van to take care of Danny was better then both of them getting used as ghost bait) But surprisingly they didn't.

And Jazz was thrilled. Sure, she and Danny were known as the kids of the towns crazy ghosthunters, and sure, she basically had to raise her brother since her parents would rarely leave their lab let alone focus on something not ghost related, and yes, she did have to carefully plan out how to use the family's money so that none of them starved.

But no more sleeping in cheap hotels or their van, no more making friends at playgrounds that she'd never see the next day, no more countless hours spent in places where people died, no more English lessons while on the road. She went to school now, she had friends that she saw more than once, she had a home that wasn't filled with cockroaches and the sounds of a argument from the room next door. She had a semi-normal life.

In this time of normality, she relaxed, she let her guard down. Then Danny died and only came back halfway.

And Jazz was back to being that little girl who was scared of ghosts, only this time she was scared for a ghost.

Danny didn't tell her at first, and even though it hurt she understood, and so while she waited for him to tell her, she planned.

She took job after job, from mowing someone's lawn to working at a checkout. Money had been put aside in bags filled with clothes and a pair of new id that she had gotten from Tucker, ("Just in case our parents get classified as supervillains and we need to flee" She said not giving anyway that she knew of Danny's ghostly problem, Tucker had made the id anyway even if he thought she was joking and did not in fact have a plan should that situation happen) One of their neighbors was willing to let her buy their old car despite her family's driving history. A safe house (more like safe apartment) was bought in the only place that was willing to let a teen buy property, Gotham City.

Danny fought numerous enemies until the only enemy that was left was telling their ghost hunter parents that their son was half dead.

Compared to her, Danny was an optimist, seeing the best in everyone without even having to try like she did. Believing that the best would happen like if he didn't, he would break into a million pieces and not know how to put himself together again.

Even though he was scared Danny believed that their parents wouldn't react badly, Jazz hoped they wouldn't but was prepared if they did.

And finally, after many nights spent wide awake in case her parents tried to rip Danny apart molecule by molecule while she slept, the shoe dropped. Their parents loved them, but their work came first, it always came first. Jazz loved her parents, she truly did, but she loved Danny more. And in the end, that made her choice of driving all the way to Gotham with nothing but their go bags all the more easier.

And that was how Jazz and Danny ended up as the neighbors of one Jason Todd.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #jazz fenton #Jason todd #Jack and Maddie were traveling ghosthunters #and that gave Jazz trauma #They did have a youtube ghost hunting channel that had many comments worrying if Jazz was okay #Another way this could go is if the ghosts of the haunted places the fentons visited saw them and went #“we can be better parents then these two”#and just adopt Jazz and then later Danny #I realize now that this whole thing is kind of a slightly scrambled word vomit and probably doesn't make much sense

1K notes · View notes

cemeterything · 6 months

Text

anyone else ever feel like they can never say what they mean when they talk to other people. like i'm just making noises with my mouth that vaguely resemble what i'm actually trying to communicate.

#🐉#this is why i prefer written conversations. i have more time to think and choose my words and i can go back and edit them #if i figure out a better way to express myself at a later point.#like its not even that i lack the vocabulary to express myself i just lack the ability to translate my thoughts to speech

1K notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 20 days

Text

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.

It is a fast dream.

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)

—---

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom.

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #amnesiac danyal al ghul au #songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart #musician danny has my heart and soul #yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks #implied good mom talia al ghul #danyal is a momma's boy send tweet #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc prompts #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au #no beta no edits we die like danny fenton #poc danny fentons #i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense #ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later #morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it #since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous #phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe #not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him

323 notes · View notes

broadwayfangirl222 · 3 months

Text

Ok so this photo implies that they used to be friends, but what was their dynamic like before this falling out? So I think they started out as friends. Obviously, probably initially bonding over both being creatives/performers/entertainers. They got even closer over time. To the point one of their store-fronts were pretty much connected:

In Stayed Gone you see one of Vox's stores literally next to what you can assume is Alastor's because of the mic and radio but also the boarded up sign labeled "Old Crap" over the original name (Vox probably had that done after their falling out or in the 7 years Alastor was gone)

As time went on, Vox started to change. He became more and more obsessed with remaining in the spotlight no matter what and profits over any kind of actual integrity when it comes to running a business/deals made.

Say what you want about Alastor, but he's been relatively honest whenever we've seen him try to make deals. He doesn't promise or offer anything he can't deliver on. At most he'll probably use technicalities and loopholes the other person accidentally put in the deal with him. Like a messed up genie or a monkey's paw kind of situation where your own words get twisted and used against you.

Meanwhile, Vox literally advertised a product he didn't even know he could actually make. He waited until AFTER the announcement to even begin R&D on the idea:

You can argue he kinda had a basic proof of concept since the Vees knew about the dead angel already but I personally wouldn't. And that's not even going into the hypnosis he does to people. Imagine how he is with making deals over souls? So between these shady practices and him always "Flitting between this fad and that" this is probably where the rift between them began. Professionally/as overlords, Alastor began seeing Vox as a sellout who takes the easy route with no finesse to it.

Then Vox's business proposal happened. On Vox's end, well, he caught feelings™ plus working with Alastor would be good for his whole business too. Like back then he just pictured having what he has now with Valentino, just with Alastor: Being business partners and partners��

And Alastor who already has major issues with how Vox conducts himself as a business man/overlord, and now dealing with this personal angle his aroace ass definitely can not handle, basically responded with his iconic "Ha!...No!" (and kinda mixed with Charlie's panicked "fuck NOOO!")

And that's how their strained dynamic fully fell apart, Vox got angry and bitter he was rejected, then it turned to full blown rivalry

#I made a post like this before but I wanted to word it better here #also wanted to point out that store next to Vox's was likely Alastor's #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #radiostatic #might delete later #I feel this might be reaching but I made more reaching posts before I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#staticlovetune

232 notes · View notes

katherynefromphilly · 11 months

Text

I don’t know who might need to hear this announcement in this Virtual Chili’s tonight, but:

The goal of your first draft isn’t to make the story GOOD.

It’s to get the story TOLD.

#writing #fanfiction #fiction #both are good #both apply #i hear screenwriters say this #novelists say this #journalists say this #paid and unpaid #for love and for money #it’s the same it’s the same #get it down get it told #you can’t fix a blank page #you can’t edit words you didn’t say #everyone’s first drafts are shit #every writer director says it #every author storyteller says it #get it down get it down #say ‘yes this sucks it will be better later’

790 notes · View notes

eclipsehos · 1 month

Text

Dead trend/meme but whatever

OG by: soup-erb (Twitter)

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #thistle dungeon meshi #sissel #been getting into this lately #I actually haven’t read the manga but I plan on doing so like #later today #even though I’m a newgen I’m still mad his name in the anime is ‘Sissel’#Thistle sounds better I think #...#also newgen sounds cringe but idk what other word to use

173 notes · View notes

kissingandholdinghandswithmen · 1 month

Text

the comment section of fantasy high clips have been infected by new fans brought in through youtube shorts and oh my god do they hate ally beardsley. its all thinly veiled transphobia and misogyny, no no they dont hate ally they just think "they're really playing kristen to be dismissive and annoying, they don't care about the story!" (i have seen multiple real comments with this sentiment) as if thats not one of kristen's main character traits the narrative is focusing on.

i'm not one of those people against new fans by the way, i just think specifically there is a group of cishet white men from the d&d tag on youtube shorts that don't know the story AT ALL but they think they are so intelligent that they see this queer person playing a flawed, queer teenage girl that they don't relate to and go "well obviously just because i don't understand it, it is a mistake by the PERSON PLAYING THE CHARACTER"

#dimension 20 #kristen applebees #fantasy high junior year #ally beardsley #i might delete this then remake it with better wording later

178 notes · View notes

napping-sapphic · 3 months

Text

Really sorry guys but I’m all out of forehead kisses today😔

All I’ve got instead is mentally cradling your face and resting our foreheads together and reminding you that you are good, that you deserve love and kindness, that you’re welcome here, that i care about you and i hope you’re doing okay

Yeah sorry idk if that makes up for it….sorry for the inconvenience….

114 notes · View notes

zensations35 · 2 months

Text

Technical Difficulties (Al/astor)

OK HERE IT IS Seriously the audio took me longer than I expected but rrrghhh I think it came out SWELL YUSS? I really had to push because I don't do a lot of fan voicing and I'm nervous but >.< I promised!! Enjoy!!

Alastor lounges over his vibrant crescent desk, his planned skit stacked on the red wood. The Radio Demon leans languidly toward his scepter--the microphone now powering the studio, with his help of course.

He flicks a few switches and curls the knobs with pointed claws until the soothing whine licks his ears, making them shiver.

Yes. The good stuff. The correct method.

“Hm~” Alastor hums as he finishes gearing up the system.

The display lights up and--go!

“Welcome, welcome listeners! To another radio show! Today I’ve been sent a request--which I shall graciously grant. I hope you enjoy this gift. Aren’t I generous?”

The click of a switch marks the start of the queued song and Alastor begins to bob his head along. Mmm~ Not exactly what he would have picked, but it’s nice and jaunty. He shuts off his mic so no one can hear him as he flips through the stack of papers, planning out his next few songs. He grins when he sees the lineup.

Alastor rises, hands clasped behind his back, as he observes the new gear in his studio. He had to wait so long to see all of his new toys. Well, new to him. Technically these mechanisms aren’t new. He prefers it that way.

He skates past his neatly arranged desk, shoes clicking like ice cubes on the hard floor, until he pauses next to a bookshelf. A few tomes have been moved, one leaning against another, and a not so thin layer of dust (dust!) has formed over it.

A snarl lifts under his nostril and he can feel the bubble of anger fizzing in his chest. He reaches to swipe across the top of the book and comes away with a disgusting clump. He growls with indignant offense.

Who in all the visible hells is responsible for--

Snf!

Oh fucks no. Fucking hells no.

Alastor’s dark eyes jerk toward the still rolling song. His snarl stutters, causing the sound to fizz. Fuck fuck fuck.

He pinches his nose with his clean hand, cinching the air in his throat, “HX-٨ـﮩZz!”

The song flutters and Alastor has more than one reason to punish whoever cleaned--or didn’t clean--the station before he came.

Forgetting all else, he picks up speed, heading toward the gear and holding his hands above it, as if his magic could prevent it from further disturbance.

There. It’s fine. He just n-eeds t-to…

“H˚〰gk!”

The song crackles, jumping forward by at least half a minute, “H’ZN٨ـﮩKw!” his teeth chit together and the static buzzes with new life.

A violent hiss seethes from the Radio Demon as he threatens his nose with a violent smush to stamp out the tickle. Enough of that.

The song finally ends and he glides back to his seat, voice trilling once more.

“Apologies, folks! Technical difficulties. But! I shall make it up to you, dear caller. I have quite a refined ear--makes for a good host, no? Let’s find some--h٨ـﮩhhh--something with a bit more punch, hm?” he ignores the pops from the speaker and flicks on the song.

He knows he should be gracing his listeners with more of his voice, but first he has to deal with this goddamn dust.

After one more sweep of the station, the Radio Demon finds five more patches of grime. Five! Filthier than a hellhound’s gullet, this is!

Even movement as simple as turning around has him bumping into a shelf of old cobwebbed shelves, spitting granules of dust into the air. The air Alastor is breathing for fuckwave’s sake!

He cups his nose and mouth with a claw as his eyes water. Muffled hitches warm his cheeks and spackle his fingers with moisture.

“Hih٨ـﮩh-XZ٨ـﮩST!”

Godfuckingdammit!

The song on the station warps and a bud of rage burns Alastor’s core. His breaths are beating against his chest, hungry to get free.

“Hh-hmn KZZ٨ـﮩZZH! H٨ـﮩH-FUCK! TZ٨ـﮩZH-IY!”

Alastor stumbles back behind the desk, flicking switches and knobs. Only the clicks and plinks of the switches signify he’s done anything. His left hand covers his face in an attempt to muffle the crackling hitches, but they whine through the janky song regardless.

“H-ih! IH!” The waves bump and leap, Alastor’s fingers wobbling as he fights with himself while trying to regain control of the show. There’s a faint sound, the hint of leftover bandwidth. Then, “HY-X٨ـﮩZZH٨ـﮩH-Y٨ـﮩH!”

A siren pop! The station whirrs, then lets out a final gasp before it loses the last dregs of power.

Alastor freezes in the dark, now silent tower. He gives the switches another flaccid flick.

Nothing’s working. Everything seems to have shorted out. His fist curls, shivering with barely concealed violence.

Alastor rips his hand from his face and whirls to wrench the rotary phone from its cradle near the wall. Thank fucks for landlines.

He dials, eyes black and heavy as he speaks into the phone’s shell.

“I want a new cleaner. Fire the other one.”

A pause. Then, “She sounds perfect. Send her over.” This one better be good.

He scoffs at the next question, “I really do not care what you do with the old cleaner.” He hesitates for a moment, his eyes crawling over the studio, his radio show cut before it even really began. His lips curl, shadows dancing and splitting behind his back. “Actually,” his voice crackles and blares down the line, “I do.”

#aiiihhhh I will be working on getting the radio voice better in the future #but liek #man that laugh was fun af to do #guhhh all of my words and braining went into doing this so i'll just leave this here on your doorstep like a cat #other fics coming later i just wanted to pump this out today #snzfic #snz wav #snz audio #zen audio #snz #snzblr #haz/bin #haz/bin ho/tel #hazbin snz #al/astor #al/astor snz #allergies #zen fanfic #snz kink

78 notes · View notes