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midnightcrw · 3 months

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Provocative

Pairing: Alastor x fem!reader

Summary: Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he sees a good friend he hasn't seen in a long time.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of discrimination (this is fluff, by the way)

a/n: This is my first time writing for Alastor and anything related to the Hazbin Hotel, so I hope you all will like it. Please tell me if there's anything in this one shot that might offend anyone, and I'll do my best to change it or clarify my thought process.

Charlie was walking around in circles because of the fact that her dad was going to come over to the hazbin hotel for the first time.

And while everyone seemed quite unbothered, she couldn't calm down while Vaggie was currently helping Sir Pentious put up the decorations.

"You have been walking around in circles for the last fifteen minutes, darling," your voice was heard as you put a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

She stopped abruptly as she felt the weight on her shoulder and turned her head slightly to look into your eyes, "It's just been a while since I've seen him and I really want this to go well."

Her usual optimistic tone was much less energetic and confident as she started to look around, clearly avoiding your eyes.

You let out a sigh, a small smile finding its way to your lips as you cupped her chin between your thumb and forefinger, "There's nothing to panic about. I'm sure everything will go perfectly."

Your words seemed to calm the blonde down a bit as she gave you a slight nod, "I hope you're right," she muttered as you let go of her chin.

With that, Charlie made her way over to Vaggie to look at the decorations she had put up with Sir Pentious.

You just smiled at the sight when you suddenly heard a low static behind you, "She's been all over the place since the call," Alastor mused, his sharp grin never leaving his face.

Rolling your eyes at him, you opened your mouth to speak, "Let her be, she's trying her best."

"Oh, I know, my dear. I want the best for Charlie too," Alastor's words made you shake your head, knowing there was more to it, but even with you, he wasn't eager to share that information.

If you had known that you would be bound to him even in hell, you would have run as fast as you could in your mortal life.

But your 'lovely' husband had a way with words even then. Even if the two of you didn't marry for love, there was definitely something there.

Back in New Orleans, Alastor had a hard time because he was half Creole. He was always at a disadvantage because he did not fit into the standard, even though he tried his best to somehow blend in.

But radio was really the perfect solution and a passion of his. It even helped him because no one saw his face and only had to listen to his voice, which even he had forced to sound different, his usual deep tone becoming much higher to fit into the society.

And once he became famous, he even started to change his appearance. His usually dark brown wavy hair was straightened by him, while he also started to dress like the rest of the crowd.

But even then it never seemed to be enough. His tan complexion was still striking to some, as people began to gossip about him from time to time.

The prejudices against him never stopped, as people even started to question him because he wasn't married, making him out to be a cruel man who couldn't even find love, and that's where you came in, to get rid of at least one of the many talked about topics about him. At least then the people of New Orleans would know that Alastor really was a lovable man.

You really couldn't have cared less about the standards and the gossip that had made its way when Alastor started to pursue you back then. Even though he did not even reveal his intentions at first, you could still tell that there was more to it than just love in itself.

And even after he revealed his true intention behind a marriage, you accepted it. You didn't really have anything to lose anyway, and his charming words seemed to sway you somehow.

However, getting married and playing the role of a happily married couple had been a struggle. Both of you being at each other's throats, but never really being able to truly hate each other, was definitely odd.

But leaving that aside for now, there were more important matters at hand as you let go of your thoughts of the past.

"Just don't ruin this for her," your stern tone was obvious and with that you went over to help Niffty with cleaning up.

A few minutes passed and everything seemed to be perfect now, but not for Charlie.

"What if he hates the way the hotel looks?" She asked herself, her hands pulling tightly on her hair.

"He won't. You don't have to worry. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you at all," Vaggie said in a reassuring voice as she put an arm around her girlfriend's shoulder and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.

That little gesture made Charlie blush as she leaned against Vaggie, trying to calm herself, and when she felt ready, she made her way to the door.

"Okay everyone, it's showtime!" She said with a smile on her face, looking at everyone as the door was suddenly flung open by Lucifer, who said his daughters name and hugged her tightly.

Standing near the door, Alastor looked at the two of them with a crazy glint in his eyes and his never-ending smile showing his teeth.

And that's when you knew that this wasn't going to end well.

As Lucifer looked around the hotel, Alastor didn't seem happy at all, angry at the fact that he was being ignored.

"It's got a lot of character... What in the unholy hell is that?" Lucifer asked in a disbelieving tone, as a frown made its way onto his face.

Already knowing that Alastor wasn't going to hold back now, you let out a heavy sigh as you rubbed your temple.

"Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit of color, don't you think?" Your husband's voice was heard as Lucifer then proceeded to ask who he even was.

And with the blink of an eye, Alastor is now at Lucifer's side. "I'm Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you, sir. Quite a pleasure," he replied as he wiped his hand on his coat.

You were about to slam your head against the wall when you felt someone tugging at your dress. "He's a bad boy," Niffty said in an excited tone, staring at the King of Hell while you just felt a shiver run down your spine in disgust at your friend being lusted upon.

"You might have heard of me from my radio broadcast," Alastor said with a sinister grin on his face as he held his microphone. Knowing him, he loves to be acknowledged and it didn't look like Lucifer was going to give him any of that.

"Nope, I guess that's why Charlie called it the Hazbin Hotel," Lucifer said, emphasizing the 'haz'.

"Hahaha! It was actually my idea!"

"Hahaha! Well, it's not very clever!"

"Haha! Fuck you!"

Hearing that, you immediately made your way to Alastor as you and Charlie interrupted them, earning a look of shock from Lucifer.

"Is it really you?" Lucifer asked, his eyes wide as he looked at you. And before you could even answer, he threw himself at you, nearly crushing you to a second death and leaving you breathless.

"It's been years!" The King of Hell shouted as he let go of you to examine your face. You let out a chuckle, "It has indeed been a long time."

The interaction between the two of you naturally caught everyone's attention, as they all had a confused look on their faces, except for Alastor, who seemed to be losing his patience by the second.

Not even letting you two continue reminiscing, Alastor put an arm around your waist, causing you to gasp in surprise, as he wasn't usually the one to show off your relationship, especially to Overlords and anyone above that position.

"From where do you know him, my love?" Alastor's static-like voice was heard loud and clear as he pulled you even closer.

Before you could answer, Lucifer interrupted. "My love?!" He asked in disbelief and disgust.

"Oh, yes. 'My love,' the beautiful woman I'm so smitten by," Alastor was really putting on a show as he even planted a small kiss on your temple.

Your arm made its way around your husband's back as you pinched his waist in annoyance, eliciting a small static screech from Alastor.

"You really have some nerve, don't you?" you whispered in a caustic tone as your face came closer to his, wanting only him to hear it.

But even with that, the man dressed in red didn't shy away to take it completely somewhere else, "Just a few minutes, my darling. Then we'll have some time alone. Oh, and how she loves it, almost shameless, isn't she?" Alastor went on talking while you cursed him in your head.

You knew he was only doing it to rile Lucifer up, but of course the rest of them didn't know that.

"So Freaky Face does fuck," Angel Dust mused with a grin on his face as Husk slapped him on the back of the head.

"You sleep with that?" Lucifer asked in a disgusted tone as he ran towards you, pulling you out of Alastor's tight grip as he took a few steps away from your husband.

"Are you sure this is what you want for your future? Are you even sure it is worth of dating?" The short man asked you, almost even praying for you.

You apparently forgot to mention that you and Alastor have been married for decades, but you definitely wouldn't tell him that right now.

"It's a he," you simply replied.

"Well, I couldn't care less about it."

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine #alastor fanfiction #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fluff

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circeyoru · 3 months

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Darkest Confession = Requested

[Human!Alastor x Serial Killer Enthusiast!Reader]

Everyone have that one thing that really really sets them apart from the group, right? Some can be way too addicted with coffee that they don’t sleep much cause of it, or some can be so obsessed with ducks that they have a whole collection of it (ahem Lucifer ahem anyways…). Either way, usually it’s harmless

No, not you

You were no police officer or detective, or any career related to crime. You were someone simple working from place to place, always moving. Yet you found yourself engrossed with the art of killing. No, you don’t kill yourself. But you love to read about the people that do, specifically, serial killers

To just have the urge to kill and do it then deal with the consequences. It was like the most extreme of goal making. The thing with serial killers is that they mostly pick random people off the streets and kill for whatever reason they have. One can’t link the killings back to the killer because there was none! Oh, how you eat those stories up like a bedtime story

You somewhat study serial killers and their killings, feeling drawn to them enough that you’d move from place to place. It was your drive and your calling. One you keep quite deep down, you’d let this side of you out from time to time, but you had to control it since some might think you deserve the straight jacket or put in a hospital, or just label you as mental

Close friends and your family knew this side of you and said one day you’d be in deep waters for this interest of yours. They had advised you to stop and just push it away, find something else to think. Maybe a romantic partner that you can settle down with?

Hell no! (like Charlie to Val)

You follow serial killer stories from place to place. As sad that it was to know it after the killings were brought to light because of the slow news outlet, you take what you can. You’d mostly maybe catch a glimpse of the killer, behind bars or during trials

There was a few close calls. You recall yourself impersonating a reporter to interview the killer and your interest in them got them to talk, but you had to left before someone caught on you weren’t a reporter. Another time, a writer hired a helper to talk with a killer on trial, you wrote so much notes that the writer wanted you long term

Still no, you left to follow more serial killers when you could

You heard of a serial killer at large. In New Orleans, City in Louisiana. You heard it over the radio from a rising host that took over the hearts of the people, even outside of his hometown. He detailed the killings, even claiming to have seen a few of the bodies alongside the police so he could offer a clearer picture to the listeners of the horrors the killer can do and wasn’t afraid to show off

A serial killer still free and in society. While the other listeners in the cafe shivered and whispers to each other to be cautious or relief that the killer wasn’t in their town or city, you were planning your next travel

Next stop the New Orleans, hunting ground of the Bayou Serial Killer

Settling down was easy since you had been so custom to it. Like always, you wandered a bit, get the feel of the place and its people, the vibe of the city so you can fit in. Then you visited the place where the bodies were found, information provided by the local newspaper and the radio talkshows

You didn’t know then. That someone was following you after a few of your visits to the body dumping grounds. You certainly didn’t know that chance encounter with the radio host was staged

“I’d like coffee, black!” You heard the familiar voice ring. You didn’t have to look up to know the customers and staff members of the cafe all drawn to the man that ordered at the counter. You rolled your eyes. It was the famous radio host, Alastor, he started frequenting this cafe only recently (when you showed up in town) and would take his morning coffee here before he goes live

If only he was a serial killer or someone close to one… You remember the first time seeing him when he entered the cafe. You wanted to approach him, but he was always eyed by the people that put him on a pestasole. You learned to stay clear of people like that because, there were always some fans crazier than the other. Take yourself as an example, with your obsession and addiction to killers

“May I join you, my dear fellow?” Your eyes quickly scanned the place. Why was it so full today? You didn’t say anything and just gestured to the empty seat opposite to you in your booth. Great, now you had to go to work early because you wanted to avoid him. Wait

“Are you writing your script now?” You blinked at the notepad Alastor started to scribble over, you couldn’t just start by asking ‘are you writing your script on the serial killer? Can I see, please?’. Your keen eyes caught the words ‘serial killer’ and ‘bodies’

Alastor chuckled and said he was merely reorganizing his thoughts so he could envision his radio host as smoothly as possible for the listeners. You blink ‘for the listeners’, again with that. But does he really put others first behind himself? Somehow you didn’t think so

Of course his notes got you to put your attention on him. Alastor had to internally grin. He noticed a new face in town after some time. Then he noticed you going to his dumping grounds. He had thought you were a new detective or police to hunt him down by looking over new evidence. He thought he was right when he saw you noting down the surroundings even with the absence of the body

You were followed carefully to check if you had family and/or friends that would make a fuss of your disappearance. When you had none, he thought you were an easy target. But you weren’t a detective nor a police. Imagine his surprise when he only found you returning home. Never once had you went to the police with that notepad of yours

Odd

So he followed some more. It then that he noticed you had a spark in your eyes whenever serial killers or their killings were mentioned. While other would shiver with the sight of fear in their eyes, you had interest and excitement. So odd, but he didn’t dislike it. It fueled his interest in you

He tried striking conversations with you, but you were so plain and common, one he can brush off as a local polite individual. You fitted in with the commonality that quickly and easily. Though his concern was your disinterest and ignorance to him, he once let his assistant to play a pre-recorded show to see your reactions to his killings reported

There it was. You and that spark of yours with that notepad and pen, writing so furiously like you were possessed. You were more expressive and childish even, swaying from side to side, tapping your feet, drumming your fingers. It was like he witnessed your true self. He confirmed it when the topic changed and like a switch, you were that mundane self of yours

It was all so fasincinating to him and he had to talk to the real you. So he staged this meeting. He was right on the money, you would start off with someone common, then poke at your interest, wanting him to start the topic so you’d be involved. Slowly and with time though, you’d just talk outright with him

It was routine for him, meeting you before his show at that cafe and in their secluded booth you basically marked your own when it was in the morning. He’s review his notes with you and then talk about the (his) killings with you, the newest discoveries, the clues that detectives and polices missed, all that juicy details you’d like

Another problem came. You saw him as a friend. He saw you as a romantic interest

To you, it was rare that you could connect this much with someone. No one back home, not even your closest family members and frends, would indulge with you in this interest of yours. No matter how much you spoke your thoughts on serial killers and their killings, Alastor didn’t push you away and even ask questions on your thoughts. You cared so much for him, as a friend, but he wasn’t your interest

To him, you were now one of his reason to kill more. That bloodlust was on par with the spark you’d have in your eyes when he struck again. Some poor victim died and you only focused on him, the killer! He once compared you to his friend Mimzy, she knew and helped his killings, but she didn’t give him the same joy and bubbly emotions he’d have when talking to you about his kills. It wasn’t the same. So were you the one? The one to his cold dark heart.

And he confessed. More than just his feelings

“My dearest darling, I would be so honoured if you’d agree to allow me the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to officially court you.”

“No.” There was no hesitation in your voice, nor was there a pause. “Sorry, Alastor, I just considered myself married to serial killers. Or at least, this one in your town. I love them no matter what. So I can’t accept your feelings. But I hope we can continue being fr—”

Alastor held onto you, it was just a stroke of luck that this place was the secluded forest he was familiar with. He kneeled down on one knee and kissed your knuckles, his eyes staring straight at you with that crazed look in his eyes and that murderous grin he only let his victims see, “Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Alastor, the Bayou Serial Killer.”

Note: I had SO MUCH FUN writing for this. Thank you for suggesting this, Any~ (I’ll just call all the anonymous asks this from now on). I would tag the person but this is anonymous request (╯︿╰)

Requests are open, but keep in mind of what I wrote in the Masterlist. I’ll ultimately decide whether or not to write for them. Thanks!

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #human alastor #Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #Darkest Confession

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yourdoorisunlocked · 3 months

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What A Dish, What A Doll! - Part 3

𝐀/𝐍: Yup, we're getting into it now. Remember that this man is literally a cannibalistic serial killer who convenes with dark spirits and shit.

But I think that just makes him more attractive tbh.

Btw this man is like 6'1 in this story in his human form, so do with that information as you wish. ;)

. . .

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑,𝟕𝟔𝟖 𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐖: Descriptive gore, sacrificial rituals, just Alastor-coded shenanigans and levels of down horrendous I'm embarrassed to share... 😭👍 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: - ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴜɪᴛꜱ | ᴘᴀʀɪꜱ ᴘᴀʟᴏᴍᴀ - ꜱʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ

. . .

There was always a moment when Alastor had to take a small smoke before finishing off his prey, allowing the adrenaline of the hunt to wear off as he reveled in his latest kill.

A gentle evening wind brushed against his ears, ruffling his cocoa-brown hair as he smiled up at the full moon with teeth as white as its luminous surface. Translucent curtains of gloom drifted past the celestial orb of night, just as the scent of a marshy swampland drifted up and enveloped Alastor in its nostalgic, wistful aroma of home.

Though he relished the private, intimate moments he spent with you, times like these, where his mind could simply slip away from the drag of life and reflect upon the day, were as precious and rare as gold.

Alastor simpered to himself as he fixated upon you being the star-struck little darling you were, mad with elation to finally be able to watch him host his radio show in the studio you both worked at. And he imagined you’d needed such a treat, after your delightful breakfast at that restaurant you’d wanted to try out for so long.

It was too bad. Alastor quite liked that cozy little diner. Oh, well.

Perhaps you could work there yourself, now that a fresh, new spot for a job had opened up at the restaurant, perfect for a lovely little doll like you. You wouldn’t have to deal with your rather overbearing supervisor anymore, who gave Alastor much more leeway than you.

Ha! Who was he kidding? Like he’d ever let you take so much as six steps away from him, from the safety he could provide.

He couldn't have you running around willy-nilly, gaining the attention of unworthy scumbags, after all!

Then again, Alastor didn’t mind the image of you rushing around, serving him ever so politely in one of those form-flattering, tight waitress uniforms that had swept New Orleans recently.

But that was an experience for him, and him alone. Besides, the reverie of having you as a pretty little assistant would do just fine, for now. Perhaps he could bring that idea to fruition, someday.

Oh, one can only dream!

With a last puff of smoke that condensed in the chilly night air, Alastor disposed of the cigarette and ground it into the dirt path with his heel. Maybe he could use an assistant around the studio; being the most charming, captivating voice in all of Louisiana wasn’t easy, after all!

Plus, it meant more alone time with you, and your dazzling, melodic voice, and that divine smile that he could only wish to be blessed with. He drank it all up, your enthusiasm to be in his presence, your witty yet flustered company...

God, he could just eat you up–

Muffled groans and wails broke him from his peaceful midnight musing, and he turned his attention towards the small shack he used. Normally, he’d relish in such helplessness from his latest kill, though his patience was wearing thin, tonight.

But Alastor needed this one to be alive. The Loa didn’t favor cold, dead prey.

Then again, it never complained of the condition its scraps were in. Only that Alastor could provide any.

“Why, hello there!” The radio host’s air of exuberant showmanship rolled off him in waves as he stood above the crumpled form of the waiter who had insulted Alastor’s very being with his rotten presence.

A throbbing pain at the front of his head where he had been knocked out with a bat ached painfully, and he cradled his wound with an anguished groan.

“Ouch! That’s got to hurt, ha-ha!” Polished western-style shoes thumped against the wooden floor of the shack as Alastor made his way over to his victim, before bashing his head against the floor, reveling in his pained groan before he slumped in Alastor’s grip.

“Hm, a bit meatier than I had expected... He’ll have quite a feast, tonight!” A dark chuckle, laced with venom and coated with mirth filled the small room, and Alastor hoisted the body over his head and dragged the unconscious prey out into the forest.

Darkness enveloped the waiter’s mind, like a weighted blanket upon his consciousness as the pain worsened, before fading as his body gave out.

. . .

The sound of shoveling and short, exhausted huffing awakened him as he slowly came to, and the wintry night air brought him from slumber like the bony, thinned hands of Death itself.

Shadows danced around his vision as his eyes fluttered open, and the light of Alastor’s lantern roused him fully awake. The quiet croaking of frogs, and the midnight lullaby of chirping crickets filled the otherwise eerie silence. A large, wilting tree hung over him, where moss and fungus sprouted from each branch as its hanging leaves reached down to him and the scent of dampened swampland baffled his senses.

W-Where... Where the hell am I...?

Alastor watched with an amused smile as the pitiful lad tried to raise a hand to hoist himself up from the dirt, only to struggle for a few moments against his cursed restraints that bound him to the forest floor.

Slim-fit gloves tightened against the handle of his shovel as Alastor leaned against it with a condescending grin, moonlight bouncing off his glasses as he looked down at the pitiful prey.

“Oh, please don’t struggle too much. I did go to all that trouble of tying you up, after all,” Alastor cooed from his standing position above his victim, like he could possibly escape from the rune-encrusted stakes he had been bound to.

“Now, be polite...

And say hello to my old friend, for me.”

A gust of wind howled around the pair, bringing Alastor’s attention towards the crooked trees standing tall against the swamp. The bushes rustled softly beneath its branches, when suddenly, a buck jumped out from behind the bramble, kicking at the dirt and eyeing Alastor’s little summoning circle with curiosity.

It was a shame he hadn’t brought his hunting gun; those magnificent antlers would’ve been a dazzling addition to his collection.

Also, the idea of impressing you with such a display had Alastor catching himself drifting off into his fantasies yet again. He really needed to stop doing that. You were turning the demented radio host into a moony-eyed sap, and in the middle of a sacrifice, no less!

The deer slowly trotted towards Alastor with its head tilted in confusion as it eyed him, regarding the man with caution.

Slowly, the radio host lowered himself into a respectful bow, and the buck reciprocated. It strayed a little closer, and a step too far proved to be its undoing.

Crack.

The busboy jolted with each snap of bone within the animal's body, the grotesque sounds echoing across the forest. The deer grew suddenly limp and collapsed upon the forest floor as the waiter’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“W-What...? What the fuck is that!?” Alastor ignored his victim’s struggle behind him as he kicked at the chilled, marshy dirt with his bare, scabbed feet, hoping to create some distance between himself and the massive, horned beast that was forming rapidly.

A futile effort, really...

An animalistic screech of anguish would be the last sound that the deer ever made, as it finally fell completely under the control of whatever unholy beat had been foolishly summoned into existence. Shadows flooded the inside of the poor animal, hollowing it out at a rapid rate, and the unseen horror took its puppet upon a sleeve to speak to the mortal who summoned it.

Whether it was utterly foolish or terribly sadistic was a true mystery. A gamble that made these little summonses the least bit entertaining, particularly if it was the latter.

The sound of groaning wood echoed across the forest as two large, crooked antlers bent towards the sky. The creature’s hanging ribcage protruded from the gaping hole in its stomach, revealing bloody, mossy innards riddled with mold and buzzing flies that gluttonously fed upon the mangled buck's entrails.

An ominous emerald glow shimmered within the buck’s maw, and two stark-black eyes fell into its open mouth, before sliding down its tongue

The deer's organs were promptly squeezed out of the corpse's slit belly and dropped onto the ground as the carcass thinned dramatically. A puddle of thick, glistening liquid that was much too dark to be considered regular animal blood had gathered beneath it.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Squelch.

Tarred, ashen-gray skin glimmered underneath the moonlight, as a guttural roar shook the forest, leaving the branches trembling with terror. Alastor stood before the beast with his hands crossed behind his back with an unbothered, almost bored expression.

As the Loa stood before him in its complete, beastly form, Alastor brushed off an imaginary speck of dirt from his coat sleeve before opening his arms up to his old friend with a wide grin that nearly split his face in half. It had been a while since he’d borne witness to a proper summoning.

“Quite a good show, my friend! Captivating as always,” Alastor called out cheerfully, clapping once or twice in emphasis.

“Ɱվ ƒօɾʍ էąҟҽʂ էհҽ ìժҽղէìէվ օƒ ҽąçհ ʂօմӀ էհąէ çąӀӀʂ էօ ʍҽ, འօէէҽժ ටղҽ,” the Loa's voice answered his old friend in a deep, gravely rasp from the mutilated buck's unhinged jaw. It stood proudly on its hind legs as it hunched over Alastor with a low rumble, and the stench of rotting flesh overpowered the natural, swampy scent of the forest, to the radio host’s distaste.

“Then I do hope my soul has been quite the treat to replicate!” he clasped his hands together behind his back, folding his arms tightly behind him.

“చհվ հąʂէ էհօմ çąӀӀҽժ ʍҽ հҽɾҽ, մքօղ էհìʂ ղìցհէ?” Its impatience wore thin as it looked upon the setting of the candlelit circle, and the pleasant aroma of fresh blood brought the Loa’s attention to the young man tied up behind Alastor.

“Why, of course! How impolite of me to keep you waiting,” the excited glint in the radio host’s eye evolved into a look of complete madness as he gestured to the poor sap behind him, who gaped up at the Loa’s ghastly form in horror.

“Presenting the main course for tonight, this pitiful little insect that I had the unfortunate displeasure of stumbling upon! Though it seems this chap appears to be faring far worse than I!” A cynical chuckle dripped from his thin-lipped grin as he bowed before the Loa like a true showman.

Alastor hadn’t even noticed he had been rambling like a supervillain, monologuing about his latest victim as if it were a typical evening hosting his radio show.

“įէ ʂҽҽʍʂ էհօմ հąէհ.. φҽɾʂօղąӀ հìʂէօɾվ աìէհ էհìʂ օղҽ,” the Loa rumbled thoughtfully, now circling the panicking prey as he thrashed in his roped constraints.

“Ah, just a little disagreement, is all. Apparently, manners are no longer an important matter of discussion within one’s own household,” Alastor ‘tsked’, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “A shame, truly.”

“įէ ʂʍҽӀӀʂ ƒɾҽʂհ,” the horned creature inhaled deeply, stinking putridly of decay as he bent over the trembling busboy, its skeletal back cracking and snapping as he further hunched over. Its victim blubbered pathetically, shaking his head as hopeless tears spilt from his eyes while he choked out helpless pleads.

“Ꝉìҟҽ… Ͳҽɾɾօɾ…”

In a flurry of shadows, the Loa pounced upon its feast, rumbling with fervor and gluttony as its fangs tore through flesh, ripping its prey apart as it aimed for the meatiest bits of its meal.

The agonized moans of the damned that protruded from the Loa's maw conducted the symphony of terror, and the screams of the disrespectful runt carried the harmony as Alastor stood off to the side, relishing the gory display.

When the Loa had finished, a long, blackened tongue licked its chops as it rumbled in satisfaction. It turned towards Alastor, who bowed before it, as was a respectful custom whenever the God finished its meal.

"Ͳհìʂ աąʂ զմìէҽ ʂąէìʂƒąçէօɾվ. చհąէ çąӀӀʂ մքօղ էհվ ʂքօղէąղҽօմʂ օƒƒҽɾìղց, էօղìցհէ, ȺӀąʂէօɾ…?"

"Oh, I was just taking out some trash. Honestly, you're doing me quite a favor, old friend! Think of it as a celebration for our friendship," Alastor grinned impudently, before bidding the Loa a silent farewell as he turned on his heel.

"Now, I'm afraid that our time together must be cut short. I have a little darling to check up upon, and she is quite the feisty one, I'll have you know!" Oh, how perfectly this night had ended. Ridding himself, and you the trouble of ever dealing with such a pest ever again, and cuddling up to you while discussing your day over dinner, and ending it with a-

"చհօ ìʂ ʂհҽ?"

Alastor stopped in his tracks, his smile beginning to strain and actually make his cheeks ache as he half-turned back to the Loa. Fuck.

It seems that his utter enthusiasm for running his mouth about you has overridden his reasoning.

"Whatever do you mean, my friend? Don't tell me you've taken a liking to my darling?" He pointed a teasing finger at it with a wide, knowing smirk that bordered upon a warning.

The god eyed Alastor with pure contempt, before huffing impatiently and nodding towards Alastor's house in the distance.

"Ƕҽɾ. Ͳհҽ βɾìցհէ ටղҽ. చհҽղ հąʂէ էհօմ ƒąӀӀҽղ ƒօɾ ʂմçհ ƒɾìѵօӀìէìҽʂ?"

Alastor stubbornly clasped his hands together behind his back and stood tall as the ancient god bent down towards his level, empty sockets glowing an emerald green and practically blinding him as it asked again.

"į աìʂհ էօ ҟղօա օƒ էհìʂ… ժìʂէɾąçէìօղ էհąէ հąʂէ էհҽҽ ìղ ą ҍìղժ ʂմçհ ąʂ էհìʂ," for the first time in thousands of years, the god's interest had been caught. Quite a peculiarity, considering that the Loa did not care for petty mortal matters that Alastor would rarely partake in himself, but the mention of a girl brought slight surprise to it.

And judging by the glimpses the ancient being took within Alastor's mind, he could understand why the radio host had taken such a liking to you.

Like the sway of wind, by the bloom of daffodils, you were akin to a wicked, unruly summer wind sweeping up sea salt and touching the hearts of those you met, everywhere you went.

A rare commodity, in a corrupt world such as this.

"Oh, well I suppose I must've slipped the word about her. Well!" Alastor placed his fingertips together as the memory of first meeting you surfaced in his mind.

"I'd be happy to tell you how we met! It all began when I came across the darling little Doll in a charming diner. I'll tell you; the place couldn't have shined as much as it had without her presence, ha-ha!"

The eldritch horror noted the complete adoration that swept the normally deranged man off his feet. Alastor’s animated announcer's voice and occasional jazz hands did all the talking for him as he spoke of you.

The spirit never thought it'd see the day...

"She was certainly efficient at her job, as well! Carried the entire restaurant on her back, in my humble opinion," of course, Alastor was completely biased in his reasoning. He'd take any excuse to sing your praises all night.

"Why, she even gave me a shock when she rolled into the building with a pair of skates, one Thursday afternoon! Quite the compliment to that stunning dress pattern, I must say..."

How curious, that the boy the Loa had met all those years ago, the one who seemed to have no such interest in pursuing relationships, who outwardly expressed disgust at the mere thought of being touched found someone like you to keep him company.

"So, I decided to give the Doe a chance at my radio station, and we immediately hit it off!" The radio host's smile nearly cracked his face in half as he fondly recalled his first meeting with you, and the spirit tilted its head to the side.

How strange, indeed...

Well, now it just had to meet the girl who had captivated Alastor so and sprung upon this new sacrifice earlier than what was expected of him.

Then, the Loa nodded towards the direction of Alastor's house in the twilight, softly hitting its hoof against the ground with an insistent thud.

"į աìʂհ էօ ʍҽҽէ հҽɾ. į աąղէ էօ ҟղօա ահąէ ҟìղժ օƒ ʂօմӀ հąʂ çąքէìѵąէҽժ էհҽҽ ʂօ."

Alastor slowly turned towards the beast, whose antlers seemed to grow even larger in return, sensing the human's challenge.

"And what makes you believe that you have a right to meddle in my life, if it does not offend you to ask? Her soul is not yours, and her heart shall soon lie with me."

The Loa huffed, before bowing its head towards the maddened, lovesick mortal. How foolish, the way such silly human matters have clouded the ever-articulate mind of one of his oldest acquaintances.

Honestly, what did Alastor think it was going to do? Snatch you away from him?

Like it'd ever get the chance.

"βմէ ìէ ժօҽʂղ'է. ហօէ աìէհìղ çմɾɾҽղէ çìɾçմʍʂէąղçҽʂ. į çօմӀժ ƒì× էհąէ, հօաҽѵҽɾ," The Loa rumbled, knowing it was pricking at a soft spot as the young man shot him an unamused glare with a raised eyebrow.

"į ʂհąӀӀ ҍҽ ժìʂçɾҽҽէ, օƒ çօմɾʂҽ. Ⱥ ʍҽɾҽ ìղէҽɾƒҽɾҽղçҽ ƒɾօʍ ąƒąɾ." Alastor scoffed and fully turned to the Loa with a sneer darkening his too-wide smile, his teeth seeming sharpened in the glint of the moonlight.

To the Loa, Alastor appeared merely to be a puppy baring its pint-sized fangs.

"Ha-ha! You seem to misunderstand me, my friend," he stepped boldly towards the beast, his hands folded behind his back with half-lidded eyes that dared it to cross the very clear line he had drawn.

"I believe you have crossed a bit of a line, there, implying that I do not own her heart," the radio host sneered; a threatening grimace hidden behind a thin mask portraying a cheeky, unbothered smile. But the underlying threat was clear. You were not to be touched.

Honestly, Alastor reminded the Loa of another, more ethereal being it had met long ago. Madly in love and willing to do anything, preform any atrocity, to protect his fleeting fancy. Looking back, he was rather short for someone of his status, and impossibly pale, having a sort of 'heavenly' hue to it.

How ironic.

The Loa looked upon the human with slight amusement dancing within its soulless, ominously glowing sockets. The mortal held such determination, such drive to keep you solely within his hold, a kind of devotion it hadn’t seen in centuries.

Such a pitiful display of favor for his new toy had the Loa truly interested, now. It was sure that Alastor would do anything to keep you, anything to win your affections.

Of course, good things came to those who waited. And so, with a soft nod, the Loa dropped the subject.

“Ⱥʂ էհօմ աìʂհҽʂ. Ͳհօմցհ, ʍìղҽ օƒƒҽɾ ʂհąӀӀ ʂէìӀӀ ʂէąղժ."

“Duly noted.” And with that, Alastor’s clipped tone snapped through the air, cutting off the conversation entirely. The distant hum of insects whispered against his ears as he waited for the Loa’s dismissal.

"ƑąɾҽաҽӀӀ, འօէէҽժ ටղҽ. į հąѵҽ ҍմʂìղҽʂʂ ҽӀʂҽահҽɾҽ.” Finally, the Loa turned away from the mortal, its shadows dropping the corpse of the deer and vanishing from the scene. Alastor paid no mind to it, however, as there typically wouldn’t be any human nor animal remains, come sunrise.

The god fed gluttonously, after all.

Alastor swiftly turned on his heel and started back upon the path. “Adieu, my good friend! I do hope we’ll see each other again,” as he strode further away from the ghastly terror, all mirth had evaporated from his voice, leaving a biting cold edging at his words and rivaling the winter chill as he neared the house.

But every step closer to you thawed his heart as he strolled through the bramble, choosing to shove away the thoughts that mulled over the Loa's offer. That would be something for 'Tomorrow Alastor' to deal with.

It wasn't long before he had finally made it back to the house, confidently striding across the forest as if nothing had ever happened, and Alastor slipped through the front door, brief as the wind and quiet as a shadow.

He was quite disappointed to see you had left for a bed, and his heart panged with guilt at the thought of you solemnly retreating to your quarters when you realized Alastor was probably working late tonight.

It was far from the truth, but it'd suffice as a good cover.

I'll make it up to her tomorrow.

Carefully, Alastor crept up the stairs, avoiding each loose board and step that would creak under the pressure of his weight.

Then, after seeming to have climbed a mountain simply to get upstairs, he slowly opened the door to your room, his hands clenching the doorknob to the point where it'd snap in half from his vice grip.

Alastor took steady, silent steps over to your bedframe, standing over your soundly sleeping form with a lovesick simper.

Since when had he grown so infatuated with little ol' you? Was it when you ran up to him with stars in your eyes and that beautiful, kissable smile plastered on your face after you listened to his podcast from start to finish? When you raved about how amazing it was, how captivating he sounded?

Moonlight was cast over your form, painting a pale, sleek canvas of stardust over your skin as Alastor drank in the sight with trembling fervor.

Leaning over, he took a hand and carefully twirled a lock of your hair around a slender finger as he stared down at you adoringly.

"Darling... what are you doing to me~?"

As Alastor bent down to nuzzle your loose hair, your scent hit him almost instantly, and he groaned softly as the room became so hot, so unbearably tight as he became ever aware of the throbbing bulge tightened against the confines of his trousers.

With a heavy, forlorn heart, and an aching erection he'd soon have to tend to, he pulled away from your slumbering form, and brushed a stray lock out of your face.

A warmth crept up to his cheeks as you leaned towards his familiar touch, smiling softly at the mere touch of contact as you mumbled incoherently in your sleep.

"Mmmph... Alastor..."

With a tender, close-lipped simper, Alastor placed a chaste, tender peck to your forehead.

"Sweet dreams, my Doe~."

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: So, I lowkey lied, saying it was gonna be a shorter chapter...

AND THIS ONE ENDED UP BEING EVEN LONGER LMAO 💀💀

I'm sorry, making these longer ones are so much fun, and I can't for the life of me shorten any paragraph or story I'm working on. Even the end notes are an essay long lmao.

Anyway, thanks for reading, as always (～￣▽￣)～

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #yandere alastor x reader #possessive behavior #he's just sacrificing innocent people no biggie #obsessive love #and lowkey watching you while you sleep #but he's a silly 6'1 dapper lil deer man and i love him #banner by cafekitsune #dividers by cafekitsune #yourdoorisunlocked

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rapunzelbro · 3 months

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Imagine Being an Old Friend of Alastor

I know I said I was on hiatus but this came to mind and I had to just write it

Masterlist Taglist

Alastor wasn’t one to consider many people his friend

Except for you

When you two were alive, you were very close as you’d often be at the club he went to, to hear the jazz that New Orleans had to offer

You were working under Mimzy, as one of her show girls performing songs and played piano often which Alastor was rather intrigued about.

You and him often talked after your shows, when he wasn’t busy broadcasting, he would often go to see you

He was one of the few people who he allowed on his radio show to perform music.

He wouldn’t ever say he liked you though, if you know of the man he was under the radio persona he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself

After you died you continued to work under Mimzy soon as you appeared back in hell

She mainly grabbed you so Valentinos ass didn’t. Which in the long run. You were thankful she did because fuck that dude

You didn’t get the chance to see Alastor until he made his return after 7 years, but when he found out where you were, he instantly went to find you

You were shocked to say the least when you were performing and saw him in the audience at the bar, just watching with Mimzy chatting on his side.

But his focus was on you and only you, and yours was on him, in a trance by his signature smile that just melted your heart

When you finished your set, you went over to Alastor almost instantly

“Now now.. how You did you end up down here?”

“Remember those people who wouldn’t stop harassing me? I shot them dead on my last show”

Holy shit that made him love like you more

You two catching up, telling you about what his radio show now was and it surprised you but glad he still had the passion for it

Told you about the Hazbin Hotel and how he was helping run it and invited you over sometime

Totally slipped and mentioned it because he really didn’t want you around those idiots or them prying you for information on how he was back then.

But he was just overall happy to know you were down there in hell with him

Taglist for Alastor: @bumblebeebluebee @brithedemonspawn @katshyperfixations @aphestina @satansmanager @irethepotato @mixplara @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel husk #husk hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin art #hazbin lucifer #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin vox #hazbin spoilers

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therainingkiwi · 5 months

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Train travel in The Lightning Thief/PJO TV season 1

Oh look, I'm overanalyzing fictional train travel because I'm one of Those neurodivergent people. Let's get into it. Warning for VERY minor book spoilers (just mentioning the names of all the cities our trio travels through).

TL; DR our trio's cross country travel route makes no sense at all.

In the first book/season of the Percy Jackson series, our main trio takes a cross-country trip from Long Island, NY, to Los Angeles, CA. In the beginning, it appears as if they've boarded a cross country bus that will drive them the whole way there (a trip that usually takes ~72 hours). However, they get derailed in rural New Jersey (presumably the northwestern part of the state).

After New Jersey, the action immediately skips ahead, and we next see our trio on an LA-bound train that's about to stop in St. Louis (and in the book, has a later stop in Denver).

So, just off the bat: the train route that the trio are taking doesn't exist IRL (assuming they board a train in Trenton, and that train stops in St. Louis, Denver, and Los Angeles). It's also impossible for a single person to travel that route for $200, much less three people. Chiron needs some up to date information about cross country travel prices.

If they were traveling a reasonable IRL amtrak route, they'd probably take the Cardinal from Trenton to Chicago, and then take the Southwest Chief from Chicago to LA. However, if they can get back to Penn Station from Aunty Em's, they could take the Lake Shore Limited from NYC to Chicago, which would be 7-8 hours shorter than getting to Chicago via the Cardinal.

They could also take a bus from north New Jersey to Chicago.

However, the Southwest Chief (most direct amtrak route to LA) stops at neither St. Louis nor Denver. The most notable cities along the route are Kansas City, Albuquerque, and Flagstaff.

If they wanted to take a route to LA that had them pass thru St. Louis, they could take the Texas Eagle from Chicago to St. Louis to San Antonio, and then take the Sunset Limited from San Antonio to LA. There are 3 trains per week that make this two-leg trip without requiring travelers to transfer at San Antonio, so our trio are probably on one of those. Why they didn't take the (shorter, cheaper, and more frequent) Southwest Chief is a mystery, honestly.

Since Chicago is the USA Amtrak hub, most routes will pass thru that city. The only alternative route is taking the Crescent from Trenton to New Orleans and then taking the Sunset Limited from New Orleans to LA. This would take them nowhere near Denver or St Louis, but probably wouldn't have a significant time/price difference from routing the trip thru Chicago (assuming they travel direct from Chicago to LA rather than taking the Texas Eagle thru San Antonio).

Unfortunately, there are no trains in the USA that travel between St. Louis and Denver (or even between St. Louis and Colorado in general), so that leg of their trip would have been made via bus. Greyhound (the USA's main long-distance bus travel company) has buses directly from St. Louis to Denver that end in California (but in San Francisco rather than LA).

In conclusion, I propose a new Amtrak route called "The Lightning Thief" that travels from New York-Penn Station, down the Northeast corridor thru New Jersey, and then turns west, making major stops in St. Louis, Denver, and Las Vegas, before terminating in LA. It doesn't stop in Amtrak's Chicago hub because all hub-and-spoke transit systems should have rim routes, and because Chicago isn't mentioned in The Lightning Thief.

Also, in conclusion, the USA needs better rail infrastructure and I'm a fucking nerd.

Amtrak map below for reference.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson tv series #pjotv spoilers #long post #amtrak #railroad #the lightning thief #i wanna read an AU where the group takes the Southwest Chief train to LA and has fun adventures in Chicago and Albuquerque and Kansas City

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 months

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Dearest Zelda,

First let me say what a joy it was to receive your latest letter! Truly I was so delighted upon seeing it in the mailbox that I ran straight for Isaiah. He is not one to worry, but when our latest contact to the address we had for you in New Orleans once again went unanswered, I fear even he had begun to grow concerned.

I am delighted to read that your silence was not without good reason, and to see the wedding portrait you sent of you and Antoine as well as the photo of your daughter. How she has grown since we last saw her! She is not much younger than our eldest now, who I fear every day is so like your brother there is simply no one thing in this world that can tame her.

It does sound like your Violette is much the same, and how much joy it brings me to think that perhaps it is Florence’s spirit manifesting through them.

Our youngest have also begun to grow like weeds, much to my chagrin. Does it ever seem like sometimes you awaken and it’s as though the grass has grown a foot overnight? That is oft how I feel looking at them, and Rosalie seems to desire all the independence of her namesake.

She wasn’t but a day over six when she began poking into Rosella’s old room, curiously pulling forth toys and books from the gathered dust like a miniature treasure hunter. Truthfully, I could not tell you why your brother and I had yet to bring the room back into the light of day. Once you took the portrait from it it was like a pall had lifted, but I feared that stirring it would upset your brother’s long-standing grief over your mother, so I daren’t say a word.

But as children often do, Rosalie saw little of that other than a space to call her own, and we have now finally found the heart through her to give it a new life. I do hope your sister would love to see her in there, playing dolls and writing grand romantic stories for them aloud to her ever attentive twin. It is a joy to see them rediscover the beauty in the world that pain often hides, is it not?

Have you written to Virginia as well? I fear she may not be quite as conscious of the time that has gone by. With the dissolution of The Women’s Political and Social Union, her work has turned increasingly to involvement with the Women’s Labor League, eventually coming to the attention of the Labor Party themselves.

I will admit that I am not as informed on the goings on of London as I perhaps should be, but even still it came as no surprise when the party nominated her as their candidate for Member of Parliament. As she so painstakingly explained it, the party itself has suffered great losses from their prominence in the 20s, what with the general bias of their associations with the communists and their seeming inability to stop the rampant unemployment that has taken hold even here.

I suppose she is fully aware that this was the cause for her nomination, as she was able to run more on the merit of her charitable associations than the negative reputation the party has recently taken on. Yet if she was surprised that this platform worked, she has never let on; but her work in the House of Commons has all but taken over her life since her election in 1931. How I do miss her and Wally, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing that she keeps her seat in the upcoming election of ‘35, even if it means we will see less of them than ever.

I imagine that what little free time she has is now spent nearby at Oxford, where Wally was accepted upon his graduation from secondary school. While I’m sure being the son of a governing member of parliament was not a mark against him, I have no doubt he was accepted there on the merits of his intelligence alone. Even from the small amount of time he spent here in his teen years, it was clear to me what a bright boy he was.

I am told he is majoring in physics there, a field that even in the briefest explanations Virginia has given me is quite beyond my comprehension. I suppose what else are we to expect with Virginia as his mother? I’m sure he’s had but the most informative, intellectual upbringing, even when it must have been colored by the high expectations that I can only imagine your sister set for him.

Despite her near constant work and best attempts to shield her vulnerability, there are moments when we speak and it seems as though Wally's departure brought forth much of the buried sentimentality within her. I suppose under it all she is but a mother like us all, proud of her child and yet sorrowful as his life grows beyond her own.

Before I sign off your brother has instructed me to ask you to include the most minute of details regarding your predicaments with the soil in your next letter. He has also asked me to attach a veritable field guide of advice, although I have told him that everything you have written points to the fact that you are in waters we could not navigate any better even if we tried.

I must admit that when I hear the word soil I think simply of the ground beneath verdant green grasses or darkened Bramblewood canopies. It makes me realize just how little of the world I have seen, but also how lucky we have been even in the throes of what seem to be such tumultuous times. I can only hope that such good fortune will last in England for many years to come, and that some of our knowledge may bring success to your efforts as well.

I must once again thank you for the photo of you and Antoine on your wedding day. We’ve placed it in our living room next to the photo of your mother and father when they were wed, as seems only right. In return I have also included a photo of all of us when we were last together to visit Wally’s new home in Oxford; although I’ll be the first to admit I do hope we spend the next high holiday together in Henford instead. Anything that close to London makes me long for the forest more than anything else.

Your mother once told me that she sent you every photo we took, and that you have been collecting them over the years. I hope this can make a welcome addition to such a tradition, and do always know that you are welcome here should you ever find need of solace in the place you once called home.

Your sister in marriage,

Summer Darlington

#1933 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #summer darlington #Isaiah darlington #Annabelle darlington #Virginia darlington #Wally Webber #1930s

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madnessr · 10 months

Text

Vagabond

Vagabond — wandering from place to place without any settled home

Poly Lost Boys x GN Reader Synopsis: Forgiveness is a fickle thing. When four souls find each other, the world finds its equilibrium once more; until the absence of another tips the scale forever. What happens when a familiar face shows itself back at the boardwalk after twenty years of absence?

Warnings: slight angst, lots of historical information in the beginning

Word Count: 3k

By issuing the Declaration of Independence, adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4th, 1776, the 13 American colonies severed their political connections to Great Britain.

You had been ten during the conflicts between America and Great Britain, young and impressionable. Your family came with Puritans, who set sail to America back in 1630. Unlike the Pilgrims, who had left ten years earlier, the Puritans did not break with the Church of England but sought to reform it. All that happened before you were born; your ancestors had settled down and spread their roots into American soil.

You recalled little of the American Revolution; after all, you were very young back then, but you remember December 15th, 1791, vividly. Your mother couldn't stop crying that day, and your father had pulled out the oldest whiskey they had that day. America was finally severed from the tyrannical rule of George III.

You came to understand the significance of those dates more as you aged, growing into a strong individual as you helped your family on their farm. You never intended to marry; it wasn't something you had ever desired or looked forward to. The same year you had gotten married was the day you lost your immortality; both events are related but not necessarily connected. You were introduced to the vampiric community in New Orleans, a city that used the day to sleep off the mistakes you made throughout the rambunctious night.

You had lived through the formation of the Constitution of the United States of America in 1787 when the founding fathers sought to implement more structure into the now independent country.

The infamous whiskey rebellion. American drunks apparently were not too keen about Alexander Hamilton implementing a liquor tax to try and raise money for the national debt; asserting the federal government's power back in 1794.

Only nine years later, the Louisiana Purchase happened in 1803. The small land purchase for only $27 million created room for the states of Louisiana, Missouri, Arkansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Oklahoma, along with most of Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and Minnesota.

Throughout the 1810s and 1830s, you had moved on from New Orleans and left for New York, seeking human connections and reconnecting with the younger generations. During that time, the Battle of New Orleans in 1815 and the Monroe Doctrine in 1823 seemed to fly past you.

Then, signed on February 2nd, 1848, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo finally brought closure to the Mexican-American war. At this time, you were no stranger to political conflicts anymore, and the stench of blood and sweat staining battlefields was, unfortunately, no stranger.

Life moved on regardless, no matter the horrid realities life provided. For a short while, life had finally come to a stand-still, guns tucked away as the world in America resumed its development. Until April 12th, 1861, Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina's Charleston Harbor at 4:30 A.M., A day that changed America forever, the beginning of the American Civil War.

The Emancipation Proclamation, The First Conscription Act, The Battle of Chancellorsville, The Vicksburg Campaign, The Gettysburg Campaign, The Battle of Chickamauga, The Battle of Chattanooga, The Siege of Knoxville. The list continued, and the coppery smell of wasted humanity tainted the air, the wind carrying the cries of victims throughout the nation.

The war ended in the Spring of 1865. Robert E. Lee surrendered the last major Confederate army to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse on April 9th, 1865.

The number of soldiers who died throughout those four years eventually got estimated to be around 620,000.

Only 47 years later, on July 28th, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, beginning the cruel trench warfare of World War I. In early April 1917, America aided the effort to join a war to end all wars. You had entered the war effort, like everyone capable at the time; from soldiers to nurses, everyone gave aid.

On November 11th, 1918, the war ended. Although the Allies won, you found no reason to celebrate. Not when mothers sold their homes since there wasn't a reason to have a multiple-bedroom house anymore, when graveyards overflowed with the dead, when people mourned their losses, when mothers' only answer to their missing sons was a notice declaring their child missing in action.

The stock market crashed in 1929, kicking off the Great Depression that would last for more than a decade.

On September 1st, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Kicking off World War II and beginning one of the most brutal warfare's, Blitzkrieg. On May 8th, 1945, Germany surrendered. After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan surrendered on September 2nd, 1945, and the Second World War came to an end.

The war ended, and the surviving soldiers returned with missing limbs and broken spirits. You were a firm believer that humans were not meant to witness so much death; it tainted them; it dulled them. Although you were a vampire, a creature supposedly made for horror, you could not forget what you had witnessed in only the span of 21 years.

You were 201 years old now, relatively young in the grand scheme of time, but you had lived through a few of the greatest horrors the world had ever seen.

189 years of traversing the lands, you watched grow in a desperate search to find one of your own. Since you were turned and left New Orleans, you had not met a single vampire. You watched with sorrowful wisdom in your eyes as the world passed through you, virginity in people's expressions you wish you had. A gaze untainted by warfare, civil unrest, and brutality.

Although you have met the occasional human to brighten your own world, it did not cure you. Your search was desolate—fruitless.

Your feet had carried you to Santa Carla, the year now being 1963, and just as the five stages of grief had settled on acceptance. You bumped into a group of four rambunctious bikers that would change your life forever. That had been the first time you had met, and you had continued to live together, going on to live through the Civil Rights movement and grieving the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

But on August 12th, 1967, you left Santa Carla. Your absence is only justified by a delicately written letter standing in your place. You had grown to love the boys, but you had lived differently compared to them.

Marko and Paul were younger vampires than you, having been turned while The Great Depression was bulldozing America. Dwanye had been older, abandoning his immortality in the 18th century along with David. All of them possessed the innate ability to move on from the past, a talent you, unfortunately, did not possess.

No matter how hard you tried, you could not find peace or excitement in the future. The uncertainty corrupted you, tormented you and your experiences, so you left. Not with the intent to abandon but to sort out whatever you had to sort out. Away from the prying eyes of those you loved, those who you did not want—couldn't disappoint.

Santa Carla, the town you had never been able to forget. It was 1987 now; twenty years had passed since you had seen the four vampires. You had missed them—a melancholic weight having nestled its way into your heart ever since you left. You regretted the way you had left through a simple letter. A cowardly move; you were wise enough to understand that. But at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to say it to them. How could you? Look someone in the eyes, someone like you—your own pack that never did anything but love you—and tell them you were leaving?

You didn't have the heart, and if you were a little more honest, you didn't have it now, either. But you missed them more than your hurt pride by walking what felt like a walk of shame as you wandered around the busy boardwalk. One thing you never could get used to was the constant shift in fashion, it felt like the ins became the outs overnight, and you never were able to keep up with it.

Bright colors were the most fashionable now, with teased hair and loud makeup. You enjoyed it, your knowing eyes watching over the crowd. The smell of hairspray permeated the air, wafting towards you as you passed people. Bulky and oversized clothes were spotted throughout the crowds, some men and women wearing specific member-only jackets. Ah, it seems the surfer nazis still haven't given up on Santa Carla yet.

The amusement park was new; back in 1867, the boardwalk had small shops littered around—like a market. Originally it mostly sold food and groceries, fish caught fresh from the sea, and farmers selling their produce.

How has the pier changed so significantly? If it wasn't for the bold, attention-seeking sign that said Santa Carla Boardwalk; you would've thought you were at the wrong address. But stepping on those old wooden floorboards of the pier that occasionally creaked or sunk under your feet was an all too familiar feeling. The smell of salt, rotting seaweed that had washed onto the shore, and the fresh street food made you feel all too at home.

It felt like you had never really left.

Your appearance had changed quite a bit since you left Santa Carla, so you didn't expect either the boys or Max to really recognize you. But although you were willing to stay under the radar for the boys, Max was another story. He was a head vampire, a coven leader, and therefore needed to be notified of your presence.

Entering Max's video store made you feel nostalgic, the same old grimy bell still hanging atop the doorframe signaling your arrival; you had been the one to put that there to originally annoy Max. You were surprised he kept it. The wooden floorboards and furniture gave off a distinct, homey smell. You had been there when the store was built, and the shiny coating across the floors now had grown mat, occasional wood panels brighter in color than before.

"I never thought I'd meet the day I saw you walk through those doors again."

Turning around, you met the stern gaze of Max. His outfit made you smile, a desperate attempt at blending in with the crowd. Max was always a stickler for blending in; if he had no intention of turning you; you had no business knowing who; or rather what, he was.

"It's good to see you."

"I'm flattered, but I doubt that I am the sole reason you returned." Max always carried that knowing tone, as if he's watched out every move you'd make before you made them. It reminded you that Max had a coven before the boys and you, one he rarely conversed about. Perhaps Max really had seen this turn out before, but analyzing that surprised expression, you could only assume who had left never did come back.

"How right you are," You sighed, shoulders dropping as you hopped onto the cashier counter. It was before opening, meaning you and Max had some time to chat privately.

"Twenty years is a long time," Max hummed, a low and almost chiding tone. "What made you come back?"

"To us, it isn't," You weakly argued back. The cumbersome feeling, or rather an awareness that you were in the wrong, was nearly unbearable. You were smart enough to understand that denial was a fruitless endeavor, and yet you couldn't help but let those desperate attempts escape you.

"For people waiting for you, it's an eternity." Max sighed in a calm but chiding tone. Although Max never did have to scold you the way he did with the boys, from not committing arson to preventing fights. Max instead focused his guidance towards you on a more emotional level, the morality; a bit ironic being taught by a vampire—but he did his best.

You glanced outside, through the glass walls of Max's shop, watching the bustling crowd pass you. Twenty years to a vampire was nothing, but somehow the short span of time felt arduous. Why did you come back?

"I never intended on staying away forever. I knew that when the time was right, I'd return." You explained, stealing a quick glance at Max. The older man had a frown etched onto his face, eyebrows furrowed as his own gaze lingered on the rambunctious humans outside. So unaware of the constant and unrelenting passage of time. It was cruel to be immortal; the passage of time no longer hindered you. But emotions are bendable and are the only aspect of ourselves that remains from who we were. Emotions were mortal.

"Santa Carla has changed, Y/N. It is not what you left behind; they are not the same as they were alongside you." Max recalled, his voice disapproving.

You knew Max was correct; you knew deep in your wrenching and twisting gut. You jumped off the counter, your feet hitting the floor like gravity had shifted around you, sinking your body into the floor. "I know," you knew; perhaps the boys didn't even want to see you; they could curse you out and send your name to hell for all eternity. They deserved to do it too.

But they loved you once, and perhaps you can't help shake the feeling that they might love you again this time too.

Max sighed, walking over to his front door and twisting the closed sign around, and pronouncing the store now open. Each tap of his foot, synced with his steps, was like a thundering echo inside you. It prompted you to get up and to provide closure for the others. You reach the door, opening midway before Max leaves you with some parting advice.

"I hope you find what you came here for, Y/N. But the time might be right for you now, but it might not be for them."

You nodded, not looking back as you walked out of the store. The air was warmer, humid from the ocean breeze mixing into the air, the notorious assassin for any styled and teased hair due.

Laughter was one of your favorite sounds. As cliche as that might sound, it felt rejuvenating to hear. Whether it was a loud cackle mimicking the call of a hyena or a high-pitched wheeze or whistle. There was a beauty in people's expressions, how their noses tended to scrunch up, or how others held their stomachs and nearly doubled over. Laughter was infectious, and you loved observing the dopamine spread to others. Strangers connecting over a similar sense of joy; there was a beauty in it.

The boardwalk was filled with it, people brushing shoulders against shoulders as they walked. Groups cackling and shoving each other as they enjoyed the youngness of the evening. Music booming from different directions, punks blasting the newest rap or metal music, hippies tuning out to a gentle jam, but the loudest seemed to be a distant concert down the boardwalk and closer to the pier. Like a bee sensing some honey, you followed. Dodging the occasional passerby, ducking out of the way from shop owners lugging their merchandise around.

The music got louder, and a small thread of excitement seemed to push you further, faster. Your small stroll transformed into a quickened step, your ears guiding you and your eyes following the crowd. The music was loud; a tight smosh-like pit had formed before the stage where people grind and brushed against each other to the beat of the music.

Looking around, you scanned the faces of teenagers and young adults. There was an eager but dreaded nervousness to your gaze at the thought of seeing a face that looked familiar. But it wasn't your eyes that caught their presence, but rather your sense of smell.

Copper.

Although it was harder to pick up when the wind stills its prancing, the occasional breeze led you further towards the pier. Away from the smosh pit, and where people stood to enjoy the music but not risk getting mulled over by a hormonal teenager.

There they stood, strikingly familiar. Although some of the fashion had changed, most of their originality stayed intact. That tiny red flag tied around Dwayne's waist was something the two of you had stolen from a stingy bar owner back in 1964; Markos jacket still had all too familiar patches sewn into its denim fabric; Paul still wore those bracelets you gave him, and David wore the most prominent reminder of you, his oversized coat.

The wind picked up around you, a cold and mocking breeze flowing through your hair and betraying your presence to the four men you had left behind all those years ago. One by one, heads lifted, smiling ceased, and laughter died. Although you had spent years preparing yourself for this moment, nothing felt so gut-wrenchingly real than standing before them.

How do you look someone in the eyes after you've abandoned them?

How do you move past that moment when the world around you stills and halts. When you lose yourself in the blear of the world when mortality reaches its hand around your heart and squeezes. A vice-like grip, a feeling blooming within your chest so heavy–so unspeakable. When you see those eyes, recognize the sorrow behind them and realize you were the perpetrator. You were the one who put that agony, that sadness there.

The burden of your actions ties itself around your throat like a noose, tight and unyielding, as you realize the cruelty was done by none other than yourself. And there is no way, in any shape or form, you could reverse the damage you've done. Pain is immortal, it might yield to its throbbing, but it never forgets.

A world with your boys back in 1967 exists now only in your memory. The four men, cold as the autumn waters, were your reality now.

"Hello, boys."

475 notes · View notes

mrs-kmikaelson · 10 months

Text

05| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader Summary: As you settle back into the Quarter, you juggle your personal and new professional life—but with the Mikaelsons, it was almost as if there was no difference between the two. Warnings: none Words: 5.6K

Masterlist | Part 6

a/n: i see this series getting long, guys; just letting you know. btw, i'm pretty much unoccupied, so u can expect new posts for this series and possibly other imagines like every 2-3 days. and tysm for all the support! anyway, i'll let you get to reading now.

I walked into the Abattoir with a façade of confidence. I was now completely sober, facing the repercussions of my drunken actions. It'd been about a week since my agreement with Elijah and he'd only just called me in to speak with him yesterday.

I was currently cursing my drunk self, but at least Marcel was now allowed back into the Quarter without any fuss. Of course, he wasn't allowed back into the slaughterhouse, but he did compel himself a nice little townhouse a few minutes of human-walking away from my place.

In New Orleans, it was always better to live in the Quarter than anywhere else. This was the heart of the city's supernatural happenings. You were both safest here and also at most danger. But I guess, if you had enemies, you wanted to be in the Quarter because, if you had a crew to roll with, then nobody would really try you.

That's how it used to be at one point in time, and that's what the factions were trying to achieve now.

I was immediately greeted after making it past the gates. "Y/N," Elijah said, walking towards me, hands held out. He wrapped an arm around me, walking me to the couches in the middle of the courtyard. I tried not to show any discomfort at the physical touch. "It's lovely to see you."

I chuckled a little. "Feeling's mutual," I replied, causing the nobleman to let out a little laugh himself. I sat down on one of the couches while he sat on the other. "So, what have we got today?"

He sighed, "The withes are unhappy because of- all due respect, Marcellus' actions."

Right. Marcel forbade anyone to do magic. While I understand his reasoning, trying to protect a little witch by the name of Davina Claire, it was cruel. To ask a witch to go without magic was like asking a human not to breathe; it was damn near impossible.

Even though I get what he was trying to do, I still didn't agree with it—but that didn't mean that I agreed with what the New Orleans witches were doing either.

"So I've heard. But I'm sure you're aware of why he did what he did." He was; otherwise, I wouldn't have brought it up. I wouldn't do anything to endanger Davina; she'd become like a family to me. I knew that the Mikaelsons knew all about Davina, the harvest, and whatnot.

"Yes, of course. To protect Davina, I understand. She is special, without a doubt." Elijah's voice with filled with nothing other than conviction; I'd expect nothing less when people were speaking about Davina.

I smiled thinking about her. "Yes, she is."

"However, it still hasn't done us any favours on a community-wide scale." Elijah ran a hand through his hair. "The witches' spokesperson, Genevieve, is just about furious with the treatment they've received." A look suddenly appeared on his face. "And considering the... interactions my family has had with her, I wouldn't want to anger her further, especially since Hayley is with child."

This was the first time my heart didn't stop at the mention of Klaus' unborn baby. Instead, I was too focused on the witch Elijah named: Genevieve. Now, this was a name Marcel had somehow neglected to inform me about, but I was well aware of who she was.

From my understanding, Rebekah Mikaelson killed her the same year the Mikaelsons fled New Orleans, sometime in the early 1900s. Marcel spilled the whole story to me one night when he was drunk.

Genevieve died. Yet, according to Elijah (and I know this is not a coincidence) she's alive leading the NOLA coven.

Great.

I responded after a beat, bringing my hands together. "Okayyy, so what are we doing?"

"Making the witches happy, love."

Now my heart stopped.

I turned my head to see Klaus just finishing walking down the stairs. "Elijah tells me you're our new... fixer." He shrugged, making his way to the minibar. "So fix it."

"Niklaus."

"Get a grip, Elijah. I don't think I'm offending the young woman," he said before turning to face me. "Am I offending you, love?"

I skipped the whole processing bit of this situation and dived straight into my persona. "Not at all."

Klaus made a gesture to me with his hand, turning back to his brother. "See, Elijah. Marcel's right hand has tough skin." Elijah responded with a much more exhausted sigh than before, rubbing his hand on his face. Klaus ignored this, turning back to me with a bottle of bourbon in his hand. "Want me to pour you a glass, Y/N?"

"It is ten o'clock in the morning, Niklaus."

"All the more reason," he quipped back. "Y/N?"

I tried to loosen up, but my smile probably came out a little more tense than I originally intended. "I'm good; thank you."

Klaus looked at me for a few seconds before shrugging and pouring his own glass. Elijah took this opportunity to continue, but not before letting out another sigh. "As I was saying before my brother so tersely interrupted us, Genevieve has agreed to meet with us after I told her that you—Marcel's right hand, as Niklaus put it—were going to be representing us."

I tried to focus all my attention on the task at hand instead of my absent father who kept looking over at me periodically. I remembered what this was like when I did it for Cellie; I just had to get back in the game. "So, if you are looking to make an agreement of some sort, what are you willing to negotiate—give up, even?"

Just as Elijah was about to answer, Klaus briskly cut him off. "Oh, that's all on you, love." I narrowed my eyes slightly and he elaborated. "You decide then and there what you think is fair." He shrugged again, and although he looked carefree, he also had a smug look on his face that I doubt he was even trying to hide. "Ball's in your court." This was a test.

I didn't ponder on that for too long, nodding to him. "I can do that."

Klaus nodded back. He looked like he wanted to say something, but a quick look from Elijah seemed to make him want to hold his tongue. Thank God.

While I seemed like I was coming a long way, just the mere idea of holding a conversation with this man was terrifying. There were so many things I was holding my tongue about. It was just lucky that I so happened to be 500 years old. A few, quick conversations with my dad who had no idea I was his illegitimate child would not break me. Maybe it fucked with my head, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

I'm here after all, aren't I?

Elijah cleared his throat. "Well, it seems to me that we've discussed everything we needed to discuss for today." He stood up and I followed suit. "Again, it was lovely seeing you, Y/N."

"Likewise." I shook the hand he held out, once again ignoring the weird original rush I felt. "I'll see myself out." Couldn't get out faster.

I walked toward the exit before Elijah could say something gentlemanly about escorting me out and before Klaus could say something that'd boggle my mind even further. I assumed he'd text me the details about the meeting later.

I took a deep breath immediately once I was far enough from the compound that I was sure they wouldn't hear me. I had no idea how I was going to get used to any of this, but it was too late to go back now.

In the meantime, I decided to take my mind off the Mikaelsons for a bit by visiting someone who I've yet to see.

I walked into the old church with caution. It wasn't like I had a problem with Kieran; I just felt awkward whenever I talked to him, so I'd rather avoid him. I've had enough awkward situations in these past few weeks to last me a lifetime.

To my luck, he was absent and so I just walked straight upstairs, dodging cobwebs as I went until I made it to the attic's ajar door. A girl sat on a stool in front of an easel, painting a landscape. She was so focused she didn't even notice me push the door the rest of the way open.

I smiled, leaning on the door as I looked around the room that'd changed since I last saw it, now more decorated and screaming it'd been touched by a teenage girl. "So Marcel's still got you holed up in here, huh?"

She instantly spun around with her jaw dropped. "Y/N?!" She ran toward me, engulfing me in a tight hug that I'm sure would've broken some bones if I was human.

I chuckled, "Hi, Davina. I've missed you, too."

She pulled back, looking over me with disbelief visible on her face. "Oh, my God- when did you get back?"

"A little while ago. I'm sorry I couldn't come see you sooner, but I've been absolutely swamped. I promise, though—going into the future, I'll make time to see you." Davina smiled, pulling me back in for another hug. Her happiness spread to me and I started smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. I think this might be the first time I've been this happy since I got back to New Orleans.

Davina was an amazing kid. I was supposed to meet up with Marcel the night of the harvest when he saved her, and so I ended up meeting her a few months before I left. She just so happened to be one of the few people who know my secret. She was incredibly gifted and reminded me so much of my younger self. I felt like I owed it to her, to myself, to be there for her. In the short time I've known her, she's become something like a little sister to me, if not a daughter.

When we broke from the hug, we both ended up sitting on the bed. I let her catch me up on what's been happening, even though I already more or less knew it from Marcel's summaries. "Okay, so if the witches aren't trying to hunt you down anymore, why are you still hiding away in this attic?"

"Well, I'm not hiding away anymore," she replied. "Marcel just figured it'd be safer for me to stay here instead of with them. He still doesn't trust them and, honestly, neither do I. They've been acting kind of weird since the witches were resurrected, but I just deal with it and go there everyday to practice."

I hummed. I understood Marcel's reasoning; keeping Davina at the church was actually pretty smart. I wouldn't trust her with a bunch of vengeful witches, either, especially after they tried to kill her once. But this attic was far too small for a little girl to spend her days in.

I looked around the cluttered room, thinking before I said screw it and decided to propose my idea to Davina. "What if you didn't have to stay here?" I asked, looking back at her.

She furrowed her brows. "What do you mean? It's not like there's anywhere else I could go, besides with the witches."

"Not necessarily true." I sat up straighter. "I mean, my townhouse has three rooms, and only one of those rooms isn't empty." I shrugged, gesturing around the room. "It's bigger than this place, so all your stuff would fit."

She sat up too. "Wait, are you being serious?"

"Hell yeah, I am. And the protections on my place are a lot better than this church's, trust me."

"You want me to move in with you?"

"Yeah, Davina, that's what I've been sayi-" I was cut off when she threw her arms around me in the tightest hug she'd given me since I entered the attic, and that was saying something.

"Oh, my gosh! Yes, of course!"

I giggled at her enthusiasm, hugging her back before pulling away to pull my phone out of my back pocket. "Okay, I'll drop you off at the apartment now and I'll text some people to come pick up your stuff and bring it to you." I glanced back up at her for confirmation, looking back at my phone when she giddily nodded. "You can just make yourself at home and get settled in. I'll be home a bit later; I just have a business meeting first."

"Yeah, sure." Davina then stood up, looking around and clapping her hands. "I'll start packing!"

I laughed for what felt like the umpteenth time since I've seen her, standing up too. "Alright, D. I'll see you later," I said, but she was already far too engrossed in packing her things, giving me a distracted goodbye. I shook my head, the corners of my lips going up even higher as I left the room.

Thank God I wouldn't have to come back to this creepy ass church anymore. I really hadn't even thought of asking Davina move in with me; it was such a spur of the moment kind of thing, but I had no doubts then and no doubts now. She'd be safer with me than here, with the witches, or even Marcel.

At the though of my friend, I went to text him about this new development, coming across a message from Elijah along the way.

Elijah M. We'll be meeting the witches at 7:00 PM at the compound.

You OK, I'll be there.

I stuffed my phone back into my pocket after responding to Elijah and texting Marcel about Davina. Seven was two hours away, so I had time to go home and freshen up before the meeting.

I wasn't nervous; I'd already been here before, already done it all, but I did feel a weird pressure to do this well. Something in me said Klaus was counting on me to fail, so it was my job to prove him wrong.

I walked right into the compound later without standing out front for ten minutes like I did this morning. I was gonna have to get used to this all eventually and I'd prefer that'd happen sooner rather than later.

I was apparently earlier than everyone else because there wasn't a Mikaelson or red-haired witch in sight. I checked my watch: 6:30, it read. Earlier than I expected, but that was fine with me. I wiped the imaginary dust off my outfit: slacks and a tight white dress shirt that I'd unbuttoned just enough to not look like a female Elijah. Resemblance to the Mikaelsons was not what I needed right now.

I was just about to pull out my phone to keep myself busy when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, my eyes meeting the mother of Klaus' kid. "Oh, hi," she greeted, a surprised look on her face. "What are you- oh, right, Elijah told me you guys were meeting with the witches tonight."

"Yeah- it, uh, appears that I'm a bit early." I chuckled, making small talk even though I really didn't want to have any unnecessary conversations with anyone that lived in this building.

"No, it's a good quality. Elijah's like that," she told me. I nodded, ignoring my thoughts which were questioning her relationship with Elijah. Something told me it was a lot more complicated than it seemed. "I wanted to thank you, by the way."

My brows furrowed. "Hm? For what?"

"For covering me that day with Elijah- and for saving me from that vampire that day, too," she expressed with an almost bashful look on her face. "I realize I was pretty rude to you, but I was really just having a bad day, and-"

"And I'm a vampire, so you were just being careful." She let a small, embarrassed smile form on her lips which I reciprocated. "It's fine, I get it. I'd do the same if I were in your shoes."

"Thank you for understanding; I really appreciate it." I told her it was no problem, resisting the urge to be nosy and ask why she didn't wanna tell Elijah what happened; I didn't want to risk her growing suspicious of me.

Before Hayley and I could fall into an uncomfortable silence, Klaus and Elijah strolled in through the gates into the courtyard. Klaus' eyes narrowed between me and Hayley, probably in a protective manner, while Elijah greeted me.

"Y/N, sorry to have kept you waiting-"

"Oh, no, it was no biggie." I gestured to Hayley. "I had good company, anyways." Hayley smiled, excusing herself after wishing us luck with the witches, but I doubted I'd need it.

I was good and I knew it. Half a millennium alone in the world taught you how to negotiate, how to get your way when you had no one else on your side. Really, I was less worried about the witches and more worried about being in Klaus' presence.

Speak of the devil.

"The witches should arrive soon," Klaus announced, glancing down at his watch then up at me, a smirk arising on his face. "And then you'll be able to play your hand."

I stopped myself from narrowing my eyes or doing anything that showed I felt the shade he was so obviously throwing my way. Clearly, without even having really spoken to me, dear old dad has decided he doesn't like me, much less trust me. I don't know why that hurt because I don't even want to be talking to him period. I guess there's just a part of me that disagrees with that.

Like this morning, Klaus didn't waste a second before walking over to the bar. "Can I interest you in a drink whilst we wait, love?" He poured himself a glass. "Some... liquid courage, if you will."

He's being a jackass on purpose.

I declined, "No thanks." I shook my head. "I don't need it." And I also don't need to be under the influence around the Originals.

Klaus chuckled in an almost sardonic manner. Like the night I met him, he had a dark air around him that he barely cared to conceal. Klaus wanted people to notice that about him; he wanted people to be scared. And I was, but for entirely different reasons.

However, I'd sooner die before letting him know that. If he wanted to play hard ball, then I'd be the best damn batter he's ever seen.

Klaus turned around, tipping his glass to me. "You're quite confident."

"Well, I can back it up," I quipped back. In response, he sarcastically smiled, taking a sip of the brown liquid in his hand. From the corner of my eye, I saw Elijah glancing in between us watchfully.

"So I've heard- and you know, it got me thinking, what exactly is it about you that makes you so special?" This-

I was given time to pause by Elijah's interjection. "Niklaus."

He held his hands out in the air. "What, Elijah? I'm just curious," he reasoned.

I cut Elijah off before he could say something more in order to respond. "No, it's alright, Elijah; I understand the skepticism." I looked back to Klaus whose eyes just so imperceptibly narrowed. "The reason why people are more inclined to listen to me is because I don't operate with a desire to instill fear in others, just respect." I maintained eye contact with Klaus, hoping he was picking up what I was putting down. I knew he got the message when I saw his jaw clench.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, the gates to the compound opened. All three of us looked toward the entrance to see Genevieve and two other witches walking beside her, like a little entourage.

Elijah seemed to let out a sigh of relief at the intrusion. "Genevieve," he greeted, walking toward them. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Please, take a seat. Can we interest you in any beverages?"

While Elijah was clearly doing his best to mediate, Klaus didn't say a word, only burning a hole into the side of Genevieve's head with a hard glare while he drank his scotch.

The three of them sat down on one couch as Elijah and I sat on the one parallel to it. "No, that'll be alright," she said, crossing her legs. "I know you appreciate verity, Elijah, so I'm gonna be honest: I wouldn't have agreed to this meeting if it weren't for the woman sitting next to you."

Elijah nodded. "Yes, I'm completely aware. Y/N is here to make sure that we both get what we want and to ensure that the future of the Quarter, and everyone in it, is prosperous."

I smiled, holding my hand out. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you. I've heard many good things about you." That was a lie.

Shaking my hand, she responded, "Likewise. The elders of the coven are practically smitten with you. I've never seen witches so eager to deal with a vampire."

"Well, I hope that, after our discussion, you will also be more eager to work with the Mikaelsons."

Genevieve almost scoffed at what I said. In my peripheral, I saw Klaus roll his eyes—at me or her, I'm unsure. "Please, Y/N—I'm sure you're aware of who exactly these people are and what they've done. Even though you're a vampire, you have to admit it's outrageous." Her voice was incredulous.

I really don't understand what she was making a big fuss about. From the way the story was told, Genevieve used to have a huge crush on Klaus back in the day—ew—but I wasn't gonna actually use that against her. I didn't want her to resent me; I actually needed her to like me for this to work.

"I understand where you're coming from," I told her, managing to muster up a sympathetic expression. "But we all want the same thing: peace. That is the final destination; there are so many stops along the way to get there, so if peace is where we truly want to be, then we need to be willing to put aside our differences."

The redhead sighed. "I hear what you're saying, but how can we expect peace while working with these people? How do you expect us to trust them?" Now, Klaus scoffed, causing both Genevieve and Elijah to look over at him, Elijah with a more stern look in his eyes. I, on the other hand, ignored him altogether, focusing completely on the witch in front of me.

I said her name to get her attention back onto me, thus causing Elijah to look away from his brother, too. "I am, in no way, asking you to trust blindly. We're willing to negotiate; just state your terms." I knew this was dangerous, giving her the opportunity to ask for whatever she wanted, but the witches had been recently oppressed; giving them the chance to ask for what they wanted was like an apology of sorts, one that I felt they'd appreciate.

Genevieve looked hesitant, glancing at both of her associates, to Elijah, Klaus, and then back to me. Even without looking at him, I could feel Klaus staring at me, probably questionably. None of them were expecting that move.

See, because I was representing the Mikaelsons, Genevieve expected me to state their terms first then negotiate since they were more powerful. So, of course she was surprised.

After a beat of silence, she finally spoke up. "We want to practice freely."

"Done."

"And we want to celebrate our festivals without a hassle."

"Of course."

"And we want to reclaim witch territory for ourselves and ourselves alone, like the Lafayette cemetery."

"Reasonable," I noted, waiting for her to say something else. When she didn't, I asked, "Is there anything else we can give you? You don't have to answer right now; we'll take some time then I'll get a contract drafted-"

"Esther Mikaelson's grimoire." At her interjection, the room went silent. I didn't even wanna know what Klaus looked like right now, but Genevieve sure as hell seemed to have regained her confidence. "We want Esther Mikaelson's grimoire." That was one ballsy request.

"Are you out of your mind?" For the first time since the witches walked into the compound, Klaus spoke. I looked over at him to see a look of shock adorning his face as if the redhead just tried to kill him—and, I mean, was he that far off?

You don't ask for the Original Witch's spell book without wanting to kill or at least having the ability to kill if you so need it.

Elijah seemed to recover from a shock of his own, trying to calm his brother down. "Niklaus-"

"I am not giving you my mother's grimoire." Klaus had set his drink down, walking toward where we were all sitting. Smoke might as well have been coming out of his ears. I knew that, if I were one of the three witches sitting across from me, I'd be shitting myself. "After what you tried to do to my family, you expect me to hand over-"

"Niklaus." Elijah cut him off, but more firmly and this time Klaus actually listened, turning to look over at Elijah with hard eyes. His eyes flickered to me for a split second before looking back at Genevieve—or glaring, rather.

While Genevieve looked slightly startled, I saw the dead-set expression on her face. It'd be hard to try and convince her that Esther's grimoire wasn't what the witches wanted, but it was possible.

Gears turned in my head as I thought it over until a quick idea popped into my head. At that moment, I began, "I'm sorry, Genevieve. We can do everything else you mentioned, put it in writing, but Esther Mikaelson's grimoire is a no-go." I saw her shaking her head before I even finished.

"Then no deal-"

Elijah cut in, "Genevieve, please-"

"I can give you the next best thing." I caught Genevieve's attention easily, along with everyone else's in the room. In seconds, I had come up with a quick fix; it was a gamble, but if you aren't willing to go big, then go the fuck home. "I currently have a Bennett grimoire in my possession." I paused, gauging her reaction. Clearly, this night was full of surprises.

I suppressed the urge to glance over at my relatives; I had a feeling that I already knew what their faces looked like.

Genevieve struggled to compose herself, so I continued, "It's yours, so long as you accept." I understood what was happening here: the witches or the spirits or whatever were already decided, and they wanted the Mikaelson grimoire, but how could they be upset with what I was offering? A Bennett spell book was a damn good replacement if I ever saw one, and if anyone knew that, it was Esther's children themselves.

I knew the history—I've spent my life learning it. Ayana taught Esther everything she knew; the Bennett bloodline was one of the strongest, maybe even stronger than the Mikaelsons. And although I doubt Genevieve knew the lengthy Bennett history, she quickly got her bearings and responded, "I- we accept-"

I cut her off, smiling, "Great. Now our turn." I clasped my hands together. "You guys can keep your sanctuaries, the cemetery and whatnot, but in shared areas like the rest of the Quarter, we ask that you remain peaceful and avoid altercations with other factions. We're asking the same of the other factions, as well. Similarly, the Mikaelsons don't want conflicts, so we'd also like to avoid altercations in that area."

It seemed pretty simple because it was. It was like what Elijah said to me that night in Rousseau's: everybody wants power, and the witches were no different. They didn't agree to this meeting for peace; they agreed because they wanted power, and the Mikaelsons struck this deal for the same exact reason, even if that's not how the nobleman would've phrased it.

While I didn't provide the witches with the same prepared list of terms, what I was asking for would have the same effect. The Originals were already on top, so what more did they really need to ask for?

Genevieve, once again, looked over at the two girls sitting next to her who both nodded at the silent question she was asking. When she turned back to me, the smallest of smiles was on her lips. "You have yourself a deal."

I reciprocated her expression as we both stood up. I shook her hand. "Pleasure doing business with you. I'll work on getting that contract drafted in more detail, so please, come to us with any other requests you may have."

Genevieve nodded, letting go of my hand, and Elijah took the pleasantries from there, walking them out of the compound. This left Klaus and I alone momentarily.

I looked over at him to see that he was already staring at me. I felt a chill go down my spine from how intently he was looking at me, my mini adrenaline rush dying down. It looked almost like he was picking me apart with his gaze.

I didn't want him to think I had something to hide, so I held his stare. We were both silent until Elijah walked back. This time, he didn't seem to sense the tension in the room—that, or he just chose to ignore it.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said. I looked away from Klaus to smile in response, but the second I did, he broke his vow of silence.

"How do you have a Bennett grimoire in your possession?" Klaus' voice was cold and accusatory, just as his eyes were. Elijah just might have frozen had he not been a thousand-years-old; hell, I probably would have, too, but I'd already been crafting an explanation as soon as the idea popped into my head.

Not the real explanation, but one that made more sense.

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I met one a few hundred years ago. She died after she was in the wrong place, wrong time, but she left that book to me."

Klaus didn't look sold. "A Bennett witch left her grimoire with you, a vampire? Not with her family?"

"Well, to be fair, she wasn't in touch with her family at that time," I retorted. "And I was human at the time so, yes, she left it to me because she knew it could come of use one day."

Klaus didn't reply to me, instead choosing to continue staring me down. However, his glare was now lessened, so I knew he sort of believed me, even though he had doubts.

In the time that Klaus wasn't saying anything, Elijah cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him. When I looked over, he smiled and tried to further de-escalate the situation. "Thank you, again, Y/N."

That was my cue to leave. "No problem. Are you okay with meeting up tomorrow to discuss the contract?"

He nodded. "Of course. Lunch?"

"Sounds great," I said, grabbing my bag that I'd left on the armchair next to me. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Elijah bid me farewell while Klaus remained mute, but I still felt him staring at me, even as I was walking out; only when I'd walked two minutes away from the compound did I finally let go of that feeling

I didn't speed all the way home this time like I had been doing recently after exiting the Abattoir. Instead, I decided to take this time to think since I really haven't gotten a moment alone all day.

The excuse I gave Klaus wasn't too far from the truth—I only warped it slightly. I didn't know who he knew or how well he knew my mother before he slept with her, but I knew that if I gave him the real story, there was a possibility that he'd find out who I was.

The real story was that my mother was best friends with a Bennett. Almost like history repeating itself if you thought about it; Amelia Bennett was to my family what Ayana was to the Mikaelsons. She was both a mentor to my mother and me.

In reality, we were a lot closer than I made it sound. She was a lot closer to my mother than she was with the rest of her family. We were in Salem; the witch trials were just beginning, so any witch in the area was either preparing to leave or to die. She was anticipating the latter, so before she died, she made sure to leave the assets she had to my mother.

The other Bennetts didn't dispute this, fleeing west. The rest of the story, I try not to think about. I needed to be strong, for Davina, for Marcel, for Amelia, for my mother, and for myself; otherwise, everything I've sacrificed would've been for nothing.

With that thought, I had a new resolution.

This, what I was doing here in New Orleans, could not fail. I have not lived the life I've lived just to fail. So from this moment forward, I decided to be better, to be stronger. No more quivering at the mention of my father or his baby, no more getting shaken up by conversations with the Mikaelsons.

Walking toward my apartment, I made myself a promise.

This city will not break me, no matter what.

#klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus x daughter!reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #tvd #tvd fanfiction #tvdu #the originals #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #tvd fandom #tvd fanfic #fan fiction #klaus mikaelson imagine #the mikaelsons #hayley marshall #davina claire #bonnie bennett

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blackypanther9 · 3 months

Text

How M/n met Mimzy

WARNING!: Cursing, insulting words, threatening, Racist behavior (in memories), angst, Reader is supportive of Alastor, mention of drugging, poisoning, abuse AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!!

A/N: Remember it is only a fanfic and I just built in background ! Nothing is REAL nor intented to hurt anyone ! Picture belongs to rightful owner ! zeotropes0 The sick part is after the Mimzy part it starts at "M/n felt like utter shit."

TAGLIST!: @zoetropes0, @l0liamk @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved

Words: 7 365

It had been almost 3 years since M/n was living with Alastor. They formed a strong and very close bond too, in that short time. The Radio Host found it high time, that M/n met one of his close friends, Mimzy.

The boy was excited and nervous since Alastor informed him about that. That day was a Friday and the second week of the month in October. Alastor got Saturday and Sunday off from work and decided to meet up with Mimzy again.

“So...what are they like ?”, M/n asked his Father.

Alastor didn’t tell M/n that it was a girl. All he said was “a friend”.

“Oh, you’ll LOVE her, mon petit (My little one) ! She’s a real Sweetheart !”, Alastor replied happily.

M/n stopped dead in his tracks, of cleaning up his Dad’s office. He turned to him, stiffly.

“HER ?”, the boy repeated and stared at his Father, who just threw away packages of their lunches from the day.

“Yes indeedy ! You’ll love her ! And I’m sure she’ll love you as well !”

M/n suddenly didn’t feel too sure about that anymore. With his Dad’s new Boss, after Mr. Floyd was found dead in the park not far from here, he started to get very possessive and protective of his Father.

Miss Revonna Ducasse was her name. She constantly tried to get into his pants. M/n couldn’t really blame all the women that threw longing eyes at his Father. He looked handsome and well groomed, he was an absolute Goofball, he never complained about anything, he had manners, he had high morals, he was well raised despite his bad Childhood and he was an absolute charming Gentleman. There was nothing to hate about him. At least in M/n’s opinion.

Of course there were haters. The racists mostly. Because his Dad had a mixed skin color. What M/n loved most about his Dad was that he was a Creole. He spoke English and French. It gave him a slight accent in his voice, but Alastor always tried to suppress it, no one ever really heard his accent, not even M/n did. Why was Alastor hiding his New Orleans accent ?

Because he is ashamed to have it. His Father and a few kids in his school made fun out of him for a long time. His Father later on forced him to speak, what he considered, normally. His Mother was the only one that was still allowed to hear it, as she was still alive. After she died, he always suppressed it.

How did M/n know about his Father’s accent ? Well...let’s just say a lot of people have it around and it confused the boy greatly, until Alastor explained it to him. He knew that his Father was born and raised here, so M/n came to the simple conclusion that he suppressed his accent, for whatever reason. M/n pestered him about it once and Alastor spilled the tea.

Why did M/n not have that accent ? His birth parents and Sister didn’t have that accent. He supposed they came from a different state and then just moved here. After all...Alastor had to teach M/n French, to understand his Dad and to communicate with him, when he doesn’t want anyone else to know, what they are discussing.

M/n was not as thrilled anymore, to meet his Dad’s friend. It was a girl. YUCK !

“Are you sure you can trust her, Papa ?”, M/n asked gently.

He turned to his Son.

“Of course I am sure, Cher !”, he said, surprised that his Son seemed to not like the idea as much anymore.

M/n bit his lip and only nodded gently.

“Parle-t-elle français ? (Does she speak French ?)”, M/n asked.

“Elle le fait un peu. (She does a bit.)”

So M/n can’t converse with his Dad in French...great...

“Applesauce.”, M/n cursed in a huff.

Alastor looked at his Son in slight concern. Why was he so annoyed suddenly ?

“What seems to be the Problem, Son ?”, he asked gently.

“I don’t like that she can partly understand and speak French. I hate it when people understand what we converse. What if there is something I want to tell you and she is not supposed to hear it ? I will have to wait until we are home and who knows what could have happened until then !”, the boy stressed.

Alastor gave him a confused look.

“What are you implying, mon petit ?”

M/n looked at his Father, as if he was the most stupid man on earth.

“With all due respect, Papa...HAVE YOU LOOKED AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR ?!”, M/n yelled and wildly pointed all over Alastor’s figure.

The Radio Host grew insecure about his form. What was his Son trying to get across ?

M/n saw insecurity creeping into his Father and he huffed. He approached his Father, snatched his hand in a tight grip and dragged him away, to the men bathroom. He locked the door behind himself and then pushed Alastor in front of the full body mirror.

The Radio Host could see his Son’s glare, arms crossed over his chest. Even though he was soon a 9 year old boy, he seemed very wise.

“What do you see, and do not DARE to lie to me.”, M/n said.

Alastor looked into the mirror, nervously.

“Uhm...What...am I supposed to see, Cher ?”

M/n face palmed.

“Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what you see, when you look at yourself. Applesauce, Father !”, M/n cursed with a slight glare.

Alastor did and memories came crashing back down on him. His smile wavered.

“Look at you ! Disgusting ! Look how brown you are !”

“Eww ! Why is he so dark ?!”

“Freak !”

“Just as disgusting as your Mother ! I knew it was a stupid idea to marry that Bitch and have a brat like you with her !”

“He needs a bath to wash the color off of his skin !”

_________________

Children pushed him into the mud and “Bathed” him to be browner.

“Let’s bathe him in mud, so he will get darker ! Hahahaha !”

“Stop it ! Please, stop it !”, his younger self sobbed out.

He couldn’t control how he came out. Why was he punished for this ? Why did color of skin matter ?!

_________________

His Father threw him onto the ground outside, onto small stones. His grin was sinister.

“Come on, Brat. You need a bath.”

His child self sobbed, staring at his Father in fear. His own Father...

The man grabbed small stones in his hands, snatched his younger self’s left arm and started to roughly rub the stones on his skin. Causing the boy to cry and his skin to split open. He tried to pull it away.

“Maybe you are lighter underneath once this disgusting layer is off !”, the man mocked the boy.

“Dad ?”

“Rub it off !”

The boy tried to fight his Father off.

“Papa ?!”

“RuB iT oFf !”

He continued to fight him, yelling and screaming in pain, but the man didn’t stop.

“Papa !”

“RUB IT OFF !”

There was so much pain and blood-

“PAPA !!!”

Alastor jolted out of his memories with a flinch. He looked at M/n from the mirror, who had wide eyes of worry and fear. Unshed tears stood in the boy’s eyes, which confused Alastor, until he looked at himself in the mirror.

His smile was gone, his fingers were digging into his arms, which were in front of his chest and tears were running down his cheeks. He was in every aspect...NOT alright. He jolted in surprise as something collided with his legs and waist. He looked down and saw his Son, hugging him tightly.

He released his hold on his arms and ran his right hand through his Son’s hair, gently.

“I see a dark skin colored man, with a weak figure and he has silly little tantrums over nothing.”, Alastor answered softly.

That’s how he really felt, since his own Father hated him. He was the hated child since he was born. The only one who loved him...was his Mother.

M/n squeezed his Father’s legs, before he let go.

“That is not true at all, Papa.”

“You wanted me to tell you what I see. I see just that when I see...myself.”

Alastor yelped in surprise as he felt a smack on his ass, a harsh one. He looked at his Son in the mirror, M/n’s eyes gave him a harsh stare back.

“Well then, here is what me and many others see, you absolute Dumbo !”

Alastor felt slightly insulted, but kept it in for now.

“I see a very charismatic man, he is charming, sweet, gentle, understanding, has a big heart, loves to do his job, loves to help, hates people with bad manners and he is so much more showing into the open world. The man, me and many others see, is handsome, a Gentleman, looks always well groomed, he is an absolute Goofball, he never complains about anything, he has manners, he has high morals, he was well raised despite his bad Childhood and he is an absolute Sweetheart.”, M/n listed off.

Alastor’s eyes were wide in shock and awe. That’s how his Son saw him ?

“You always dress properly, you always talk politely, you never show your annoyance, whatever you do, you do it politely. You barely lie, you take care of the people you care about and it is easy to make friends with you. You are easy to approach and talk to. You can make someone feel very welcomed and listened to. Not many have these traits, Papa. All in all...you are true Husband material. You scream ravishing and sexy no matter where you are.”, M/n continued.

The Radio Host looked at M/n from the mirror, while he eyed himself too. He never saw the appeals. If M/n points all that out though...he had a point.

“Where are you going with this, Cher ?”, Alastor asked gently.

“What I am getting at is that a lot of women are attracted to you and would do anything to get into your bed ! You scream sexy ! I don’t want you to think that girl pals will suddenly be happy, with you just being their friend ! Stay alerted ! Friends like that could easily use you ! I want what is best for you and I saw many women and even a few men eye you like candy in a store !”, M/n yelled at him frustrated.

At that Alastor turned around and actually looked at his Son. Was that all ? M/n was worried about him ? Overprotective ? He gave his Son a small smile.

“Are you worried about me or jealous that you could lose all my attention ?”, he asked his Son.

“I am concerned for you, Dad. Miss Ducasse already tried multiple times to get into your pants, claiming that she was your Boss and you have to listen to her. Do you really think I would not hear that Blueberry juice ?”, he asked him stressed out.

Alastor’s smile wavered. Ah yes...Ducasse tried to force him into sexual activity with herself, by threatening to fire him. Since then M/n was most of the times with him and if he wasn’t one of his coworkers waited for him to arrive and be by his side at all times. He still had no idea how they knew.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and gave his Son a big smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cher ! Nothing bad will happen !”, he assured him.

Then he looked at his watch and tutted.

“We have to hurry, otherwise we will be late to meet up with her !”

With that he unlocked and opened the door. M/n followed behind his Father. He had a BAD gut feeling about this...

And his gut was NEVER wrong before.

-Time skip-

They finally arrived at their destination, which was a bar. M/n looked around in nerves and Alastor led him to a table. It was close to a small stage in the bar and M/n felt even worse in his gut. He looked around, nervously.

“Relax, Cher ! Nothing bad will happen here.”, the Radio Host assured the boy with a smile.

Then a waitress came and asked for their orders. Alastor ordered himself a New Orleans Sazerac and for M/n a nonalcoholic orange juice. She noted it all down and then left to get them their drinks.

Suddenly music started and the stage lit up. Alastor had a big smile on his face and looked at the stage. M/n turned and looked too, soon enough there was a woman. She was a bit on the shorter size, she started to sing. M/n didn’t like her voice all that much...

It was a good song, but the woman’s voice just didn’t really fit for it. But as he looked at his Father, he only saw him smile and enjoy the show.

‘How can he like the song with this voice ?’

Soon enough their drinks arrived and Alastor was casually sipping his New Orleans Sazerac. M/n didn’t touch his juice and looked at the female, singing. He scoffed in his mind, knowing he could do better with his kid voice. He can sing his Father’s favorite song without any help and would sing better than her.

‘This is gonna be a loooong night...’, M/n groaned annoyed in his mind.

He looked at his happy Father again. He didn’t glare at him, but he would so love to at the moment.

‘The things I do for him...He better be happy for the rest of this week, otherwise I will NEVER come here with him again. This is pushing my patience...This woman is NOT my cup of tea...’

-An hour later-

The show was over, finally.

‘Finally ! I thought I will die soon enough !’

Some songs were alright, with that voice of the woman, but most of them didn’t really...get the glory and appreciation with that voice. In his eyes it sounded like a woman’s voice trying too hard to fit with every song. In some it just...didn’t sound good. That so many clapped at that, his own adoptive Father included, is beyond him.

What M/n couldn’t help with though...was questioning himself with where his Father’s girl buddy was. She is an hour late. Did his Dad lie to him, to go drinking ? He had his second New Orleans Sazerac and M/n had his fifth orange juice.

Ten minutes passed as suddenly the same voice, from the woman on the stage from before, called out Alastor’s name. M/n snapped his head around and stared at the woman, that approached their table with a smile. He looked at his Father and his eyes almost bulged out of his skull, his old man was smiling at her and waved her over.

‘Oh HELL NO.’

M/n slumped his shoulders for three seconds then sat back up properly and looked at her.

“Hello, dear Mimzy !”, Alastor greeted happily.

Alastor waited for her to approach and then she sat down on the chair next to Alastor, practically in front of M/n. He fought very hard the glare he wanted to send her and looked at his Dad instead. He looked at his Son in return, with a bright smile.

“M/n, this lovely woman is Mimzy. Mimzy, this is my Son, M/n.”, he introduced the two of them.

She gave the boy a smile and waved at him.

“Hello there, little one. Nice to meet you.”, she greeted warmly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Mimzy.”, M/n politely greeted back, a smile on his face.

He knew women like Mimzy. She was just putting up a show right now. She was NOT friendly. Alastor chuckled and emptied his glass again, then stood up, looking at them both.

“I need to use the restroom. Please do get acquainted, you two.”, Alastor encouraged them, then left.

“Be careful, Papa !”, M/n called after him.

“I will be, Cher !”, Alastor replied and then was gone.

M/n turned to Mimzy and as expected...she glared at him.

“So you are the little runt, Al took in out of pity.”, she snarled.

M/n glared back at her.

“Excuse you ? What did you fucking call me, bitch ?”, the soon to be nine year old asked darkly.

“Oh and such bad manners towards a Lady too. How disgusting.”, she said with an insulted voice.

“I’m not a mirror, woman. You called me a fucking runt. Do you really expect me to still be polite, when you can’t be polite towards me ? You want my respect ? Fucking earn it.”, M/n growled out with a death glare.

“Respect your elders, you rude brat.”, she scoffed.

“Respect your next generation, if you still want the world to turn, after your departure, disgusting, foul, bitch. Your future is in OUR hands. The next generation’s hands.”, M/n spat.

She glared harshly at him, which didn’t intimidate M/n. He stayed strong and didn’t look away at all. Staring contest ? You are on, Mimzy.

“I will tell you how this will go now, brat. I want you gone, away from MY Alastor, in a week. You aren’t until then, I will make him get rid of you.”, she threatened M/n.

The boy scoffed.

“For what do you take me for ? A stupid child ? Listen here whore, my Father doesn’t belong to you, he doesn’t even belong to me. I belong to HIM. Big difference, sugar cube. Alastor OWNS me. You want to own him and I won’t let that happen. Curl up and die, bitch.”, M/n told her darkly and gave her the finger.

“What would Alastor just think, if he hears about this, hmm ?”, she asked with a grin, thinking she had the upper hand.

M/n smirked back.

“What would Papa think, if he finds out what kind of bitch his friend is, hmm ? He believes me everything, because I never lie. He KNOWS he can trust my words more than anyone’s.”, he countered.

Her eyes grew wide at that. Her face turned red and the soon to be 9 year old could see how angered she was at that. Then M/n saw his Father return and pretended like nothing happened. He gave Mimzy a subtle smirk, only she could see and then a wink. She scowled.

“So, what have I missed, you two ?”, Alastor asked happily as he sat back down.

M/n looked at his Father with a big smile.

“Not much. Can I have another glass of Orange juice, please, Papa ?”, M/n asked with a smile.

Alastor smiled warmly at his Son, thinking he warmed up to Mimzy, and nodded. He called over a waitress and asked for a glass of whiskey and a glass of orange juice. After the waitress left, Alastor suggested that Mimzy would talk about her life a bit, before she came here as performer.

With that they stayed for at least another hour, listening to Mimzy’s life story, which didn’t interest M/n at all, after the stunt she pulled. He just wanted to get out and never come back, with his Father in tow.

M/n gave Mimzy very little information about himself, which Alastor respected. It took M/n a bit, to warm up to him too. After it was starting to get really late for M/n, in Alastor’s opinion, he decided to pay for the drinks he and his Son had, to say Goodbye and then he went home with M/n.

“So, how was she, Cher ?”

‘An absolute self centered, needy, bratty Bitch...’

“She was alright, I guess. I still need time to connect to her, but I think we will get there, Papa.”, M/n lied easily.

For Alastor, the boy didn’t speak his mind. He wants to keep his Father safe and sheltered, but he doesn’t want to see him sad either, so he will not tell him that they both hate each other and they insulted one another.

“That’s good news, mon petit !”, the Radio Host replied happily, unaware of what really happened.

As they arrived home, Alastor quickly got to cooking a warm meal and M/n went to his room and started to get dressed into his Pyjamas. He washed his hands and growled. The last glass of Orange juice tasted weird. Mimzy brought it. Did she spike it ?

“I swear if this hoe spiked my drink...I will go fucking wild...”, he growled under his breath.

After a few minutes, Alastor called M/n down for Dinner, which he quickly sat down for. Together they ate their meal and then went to bed. M/n promised to wash the dishes tomorrow morning for him.

-The next day-

M/n felt like utter shit. He twisted in bed, didn’t want to get up either. His stomach was doing flips and it was hurting. Mimzy did put something in his drink then...

The door opened to his room.

“Mon petit~! Wake up, rise and shine !”, Alastor cheerily called.

He had a bright smile on his face, but it weakened as he heard his Son groan weakly. M/n never did that, he always got up and greeted him with a yawn. He opened the curtains for the windows and then approached the bed, with M/n inside it. He knelt down and looked at the boy’s face, which was hidden in the blanket.

“Cher ? What’s wrong ?”, he asked worried.

M/n couldn’t speak. He was afraid to throw up if he did. He waved his hands slowly around and tried to communicate with his Dad like that, but Alastor didn’t understand anything. Why was he waving his hands slowly, instead of talking ?

The boy got tears in his eyes. He wanted to speak, but he felt too on edge of throwing up, to do so. He pointed to his desk. It took Alastor a bit to understand what he wanted him to do, but he turned to the desk.

“You want me at your desk ?”, he asked his Son and looked at him.

A thumbs up.

Alastor got up and went to it.

“What now, Cher ?”

M/n made a motion for his note book and a pen, then motioned a writing motion carefully.

“You want me to get your note book and a pen ?”

Thumbs up.

Alastor grabbed the items and then returned to his Son’s side. M/n VERY carefully sat up and took the items, his teeth clenched shut and Alastor saw how pale his Son was. He slowly wrote into the note book. As he finished he gave his Father the book to read.

I don’t feel good. Feel like vomiting and my stomach is all over the place.

He looked at his Son and gave the book back to him.

“Do you know what caused it ?”, he asked.

Again M/n wrote then gave it back to Alastor.

I think it was the last glass of orange juice. Tasted different than the other glasses I had.

His eyes widened at that and he rushed down the stairs as fast as possible, almost falling over his own feet twice. He ripped up his phone and quickly called his house Doctor. He picked up quickly and answered.

“Mr. Hugo, I think my nine year old Son got drugged yesterday ! What shall I do ?!”, Alastor panicked.

On the other line the man replied and asked questions.

“I don’t know ! He said the last orange juice he had yesterday evening tasted funny ! All he had after that was Dinner, but he didn’t complain ! His face was only scrunched up with the last glass of orange juice ! He feels like throwing up and his stomach is all over the place !”

He was silent again, worried sick. What if his Son will die ?! No, no, no ! He can’t think like that !

“Alright ! I will do that ! Thank you ! I will see you there !”

He hung up and hurried to get ready to leave the house, then he rushed to his Son’s room, who laid back down and was confused. Alastor picked him up, bridal style and still wrapped up in his blanket, then he went out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house and put M/n into his car, in the back.

Then he closed the car door and rushed back into the house. He got a bucket for his Son and then he got a few clothes for M/n packed, then he rushed back out, locked the house door, jumped into his car, started the engine and drove off.

“We are driving to the hospital, M/n. Hold on and try to not puke.”, Alastor said with a frightened voice.

The boy felt bad for worrying his Dad and slowly lifted his arm, showing a thumb up. Alastor hurried over to the hospital quickly and there his house doctor already stood. Dr. Hugo. The Radio Host stopped the car, turned off the engine, unlocked the car and then jumped out, while the doctor also rushed to the car.

Alastor carefully got out his Son from the back and then turned to Dr. Hugo. He looked at M/n’s pale face and took a sharp inhale.

“This pale skin is NOT normal, not even for sick kids. Follow me, Mr. Hazbin.”, Dr. Hugo said and rushed into the hospital.

Alastor locked up his car and ran after his doctor, with M/n in his arms.

“I need an empty room ! We need to pump out a little boy’s stomach ASAP !”, Mr. Hugo yelled.

Nurses and other doctors rushed around at that and the three were led into an empty patient room. Alastor put him down on the table and Dr. Hugo was about to shoo him out, but he saw how tightly M/n held his Father.

M/n was scared shitless. He had no idea what was going on and Alastor was the only one, he could trust and he knew him best. Everything went too fast, too much stress at once, he was so scared. He didn’t want his Father to leave.

Alastor looked down at his Son and saw that M/n was so scared that he even let tears fall. His plea was obvious.

He wanted him to stay by his side.

He turned to Mr. Hugo, who sighed and pulled up a chair, for the Radio Host to sit down on. He sat down and held his Son’s hand the whole time, while the nurses and Dr. Hugo worked on M/n.

Alastor himself had a few tears in his eyes. How could he let this happen to his Son ?! Whoever drugged M/n...will PAY. Not his child. No one hurts HIS child and gets away with it !

-Time skip-

M/n was passed out on the bed, he was moved onto, after they pumped out his stomach. Right now, the remains, which were in M/n’s stomach, were in the lab. Alastor sat next to his Son on the bed, watching over him. Some color returned to his Son’s face at least. That was a positive thing. At least that was what Dr. Hugo said.

The door opened again and Alastor’s head snapped up, spotting his house doctor.

“What did you find ?”, the Radio Host asked softly.

The doctor sighed and leaned against the closed door.

“You are lucky that you have such a fighter, for a Son, Mr. Hazbin. M/n should be dead already.”, the man informed.

The Radio Host’s eyes widened, in horror.

“Wh-what ?”

“It was a very high overdose on painkillers. It should have killed him overnight, but he made it through until now. And color seems to return to his face just fine now, so he survived it closely. Just throwing up...wouldn’t have solved it. The stomach pumping was his salvation. Good quick thinking.”

He looked at his Son in horror. Someone wanted to KILL him !

“W-was it...in the orange juice ?”, Alastor shakily asked.

“It was, I’m afraid.”, Dr. Hugo confirmed with a sigh.

That solved it then. No more going to the bar for a while. If Mimzy wants to meet up with him again, she will have to come and visit him, no more bars for a while.

“As soon as he wakes up we will run a few tests and determine if he can go back home. He will be very weak and have a weakened Immune System for a few days. He needs a lot of bed rest and he will need a lot of help, moving to the bathroom and such.”

“I can take care of that, if he is allowed back home. I just need a sick leave for my Job and then I can take full care of my Son.”, Alastor replied.

He will always be there for M/n, no matter what.

The doctor nodded and left.

-Time skip-

M/n woke up a while ago, had all the tests run on him and was allowed to return home. Dr. Hugo himself said that he will send the sick leave, for the Radio Host, to his workplace, himself.

Alastor brought him to bed and covered him in the blanket properly, then opened the boy’s bedroom window, to let fresh air inside.

“Papa...?”, M/n called out weakly.

Alastor turned around, looking at M/n with a small smile.

“Yes, mon petit ?”

“Are...are you mad at me...?”

It shocked the man. Why would his Son think that ?

“Why would you think that, Son ? No, I’m not mad at you. Why would I be ? You should be mad at me, for letting this happen to you, in the first place.”

M/n gave him a soft smile.

“You couldn’t have known. I never blamed you in the first place. I should have told you the juice tasted off as soon as I tasted it...”, the boy said, fumbling with his fingers.

“It’s alright, Cher. Now we need to focus on getting you back to health. A lot of chicken soup, vitamin juices and herbal teas will do the trick in no time.”

M/n gave his Father a smile. It was weak, but he tried and Alastor appreciated the effort. He ran his hand through his Son’s hair with a soft smile.

“Now get some more rest. I will wake you up, when the food is done cooking. Deal ?”

M/n gave the adult a big smile.

“Deal. Don’t hurt yourself on accident, Papa. I love you.”

Alastor’s smile became brighter. His Son really cared about him.

“I’ll be careful, Cher. I love you too. Now get some rest.”

With that Alastor left the room and went into the kitchen. He left M/n’s bedroom door ajar, in case M/n needed something. Then he got, quickly, to cooking his Mother’s infamous chicken soup.

As the soup was done, Alastor prepared two bowls with it and then carried them up the stairs. He almost dropped the bowls, as he saw his Son standing on badly shaking legs. He rushed to M/n’s desk, put the two bowls down and then returned to his child’s side, quickly.

“What were you thinking ? Mon petit, you are far too weakened to move on your own.”, Alastor scolded softly.

“S-sorry, Papa. I just wanted to go to the Bathroom and I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I will be able to make it alone...”, M/n replied softly.

The Radio Host sighed softly. He forgot that M/n was very selfless and never wants to bother him with small things the boy can deal with alone. He lend the small boy his arm, which the child took as support.

“Now then, let’s get you to the Bathroom, Cher.”

“O-okay, Papa.”

With Alastor’s help, M/n was guided to the Bathroom, that was connected with his Bedroom. He let the boy support himself from the sink to the toilet, then he closed the door.

“Tell me when you are done, Cher. Then we can eat.”

“I will, Papa. Thank you.”

“No problem, mon petit.”

Alastor waited at the door. He heard his Son flush the toilet and not long later the water running in the sink. He washed his hands then.

“I’m done, Dad.”, M/n said softly as the water was off again.

Alastor opened the door and then reached out his arm again. M/n grabbed it tightly and then he was led back to bed. The Father helped to cover the boy in his blankets again and then he went to fetch the bowls. M/n sat up comfortably, while Alastor sat next to him, on his bed, to the right side.

“Bon apetit, Cher.”, the man said.

“Bon apetit, Papa.”, the boy repeated.

Together they dug into their soup and the boy hummed, loving the taste.

“This tastes awesome, Dad ! How did you make it ?”, M/n asked in wonder, eating another spoonful after he asked.

Alastor chuckled lightly, a fond smile on his face.

“My Mother made a recipe for a good chicken soup. Sadly...it doesn’t taste as good as when she made it. I...always seem to miss something to add into it.”

M/n looked at his Father. He rarely heard about his Grandma.

“How was Grandma ? What was she like ?”, the boy asked.

Alastor looked at him, contemplating if the boy was ready to hear of her. He shook his head.

“Another time, Cher.”

“Dad, come on ! You told me a bit about her already. Why not more ? You clearly loved her a lot ! Was she really THAT bad ?”, M/n asked.

His head whipped around quickly, to look at his Son.

“She was NOT bad !”, Alastor yelled, slightly angered.

The boy flinched, but didn’t back down.

“Then why do you not want to share with me anything about her ?! I am YOUR SON, Dad ! She would be basically my Grandma !”

Alastor looked away after a while of seeing his Son frustrated with his closed off behavior.

“It...is hard to talk about her with others, Cher. I don’t tell everyone how my Family used to be.”, Alastor replied.

“I understand that, Papa. I really do, but I am Family too, aren’t I ? I am your child. Do I not deserve to know how my Grandparents used to be ? I already missed the opportunity to meet them in person. I can only hope for stories from you now.”

His Son had a point and the Radio Host knew that. He sighed and had a soft smile on his face. He knew it might fade soon, but...M/n was Family. He can let his charade drop around him.

“My Mother...Your Mummo (Grandma), was a very kind and caring soul. She loved to cook, she always knew how to cheer me up and she taught me everything I know, to be a Gentleman.”

M/n just looked at him, as his Father opened up about his Mother, eating his soup slowly. VERY slowly.

“She never had much problems with what I did. There were simple, loose rules in the house. Don’t curse, don’t yell in the house, arms off of the table when you eat, sit straight, respect your elders, no running in the house, don’t lie to Momma and no pets. I always kept to the rules, my Mom put up. I never yelled at her, I never hurt her on purpose and I always listened.”

M/n grew concerned. It seemed like his Father was out of the picture...

“What about your...Father ?”

Alastor tensed, but sighed and tried to relax.

“You are too young to hear everything about that man yet, but...he was NOT a good man, mon petit.”

At that M/n grew worried.

“What...what did he do to you two ?”, he asked worried.

Alastor looked at his Son, smile gone and a certain darkness in his eyes, dancing around like a wild fire.

“Whenever he came home...he usually had bad, stressful days and couldn’t get drunk and cheat on my Mother.”

‘So a drinking, cheating Bastard...’

“When he came home in such moods...there were more rules.”

“Like ?”

“Do not speak unless spoken to, you eat what was on the table, do not engage with him unless he starts to engage with you, you are not allowed to leave the table until he said you can or left himself first, you are not allowed to give him any attitude either and you are not allowed to say no to him. He wants you to get him a beer, you will get it, otherwise...”, Alastor cut himself off.

M/n stared at his Father in horror.

“You are NOT telling me that he was abusive, are you ?”

Alastor looked into his soup, head hanging low.

“That is exactly what I am telling you, Cher.”, he weakly replied.

‘Holy shit... we actually have something in common, just that he had a loving Mom by his side and I only had my Sister.’

The Radio Host took a deep breath. M/n gave him his full attention.

“He wanted me to act like him. Abusive, towards women and lesser people. He said if someone comes at me with attitude, I give it back to them, while my Mother said that is NOT how I should behave. When my Father was out of the house, my Mother taught me how to be a Gentleman. When he noticed what she was doing, that she taught me everything I needed to know and do one day, for myself, he forced me into other activities with him. I made a small mistake...well, I think you can guess the outcome.”, Alastor told him dully.

M/n stared at him, mouth agape. He always thought that at least his Family was great, when he was a child.

“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO BEG YOUR OWN PARENTS TO NOT STOP BEING YOUR PARENTS ! YOU WEREN’T BLAMED FOR YOUR SISTER’S DEATH ! YOU WEREN’T BEATEN AND ABUSED BY YOUR OWN PARENTS ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HAVE A FEELING TO ALWAYS TRY TO BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR THEM SO THEY WILL ACCEPT YOU ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SLEEP OUTSIDE AND STARVE ! YOU WEREN’T ABANDONED BY YOUR OWN PARENTS ! YOU DIDN’T HAD TO SEE YOUR OWN SISTER’S CONDITIONS WHEN SHE CAME HOME WOUNDED BADLY AND YOU HAD TO TAKE CARE OF HER AND LISTEN TO HER TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED ! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE HOW THEY BEAT YOUR SISTER IN SCHOOL AND NO ONE CARED! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE HER GETTING TAKEN BY SOME PERVERTED FREAKS ! YOU DIDN’T HAD TO FIND HER LIKE THIS THE NEXT DAY AND FIND OUT THAT THESE SICK FUCKS ARE STILL OUT THERE ! I DID ! I HAD TO ! WHILE NO ONE ELSE NEEDED TO BE PERFECT FOR THEIR PARENTS, I HAD TO BE THAT AND SO MUCH MORE !”

M/n looked down in shame as he remembered that day. He judged his Father way too quickly. Just because he seemed happy all the time, didn’t that mean that he really was. His childhood wasn’t rainbows and sunshine either.

He might not have been forced to beg both parents to not stop loving him, but he had to practically endure his Father’s torture. He didn’t have to see a sibling getting hurt all the time, but he probably was forced to see his Mother getting hurt a lot. He was beaten and bruised as a child, just as his Mother was probably. The worst was...it happened at home, a place you were supposed to be safest. His Mother might have confided in him and he probably saw her crumbling a lot. Just as M/n had to see Linda crumble apart all the time and it was up to him, to get her back up. Alastor and M/n had something in common. Shit parents. At least...shit Fathers, in Alastor’s case.

The boy put the empty bowl on the nightstand and then hugged his Father tightly, who took a deep inhale.

“I’m sorry I asked. But, if it helps, he is gone now. No more pain and torture.”, the child said softly.

Alastor chuckled weakly and put his hand on top of M/n’s smaller ones, that were on his stomach, wrapped around.

“Yes, he is gone now. Anyways !”

And the switch flipped again. M/n found it amusing nowadays. Alastor can change the mood so quickly...

“My Mother she cooked the best foods ever ! Jambalaya was one of the best ! I always helped her in the kitchen and cooked with her, when I could ! She was such a loving person, you would have LOVED her ! There were a few times she scolded me, but it wasn’t often. Without her...I would never be the person I am today, mon petit.”

M/n smiled at that and hugged his Father tighter, while Alastor finally ate the rest of his own soup. After he made sure that they both were full, he collected the bowls and brought them into the kitchen. He entered his Son’s room again, with a bright smile on his face.

“Now, you better take a nap, Cher. The more you sleep and drink, the faster you will be better !”, the Father said happily.

“Papa ?”, M/n called softly.

Alastor stopped dead in his tracks, as he was about to leave. He turned back around, looking at the boy.

“Yes, mon petit ?”

“Can you...tell me a Story to fall asleep to ? I don’t care which.”

Alastor put his finger on his chin, pretending to think about it.

“Hmmm....Oh, alright then. But only one.”, the adult replied.

M/n smiled and nodded. Only one.

Alastor sat down next to his Son, on his bed, and started to tell the story about the wolf and the seven little goats.

As he finished, his Son was fast asleep and Alastor left, smiling softly. It felt good to confide in his child about his past. He thought it would feel...bad. Like a forbidden thing to do. Maybe...he will take M/n to his Mother’s grave soon. He deserved that kind of closure. But for now...Alastor has to help his child back on his little feet.

He will kill whoever poisoned his Son, as soon as he finds them.

Over the days, M/n quickly regained his strength. But while he was sick, he gave Alastor a hard time keeping up. At some nights, M/n woke up and needed the Bathroom. The Radio Host was a light sleeper, so imagine his fright when he jumped out of sleep, due to a loud thump, coming from his Son’s room, only to find him hissing in pain on the floor.

He quickly noticed that his Son hated to bother him with such small things. He wanted to move on his own and didn’t want his Father to feel forced to care for M/n, like he was a newborn fawn, that still needs to learn how to walk.

Most food M/n consumed, but some of the dishes, Alastor cooked, made M/n feel sick, so the adult was mindful of what he cooked. It wasn’t his Son’s fault, that his body recovered like that. He will be back to normal soon enough, was all they both always thought. And in less than a week, he was completely fine again.

Alastor had to scold him a lot for trying to walk on his own, after he continuously fell on his face anyways, but otherwise, M/n didn’t put up much of a fight.

What the man didn’t know, was that M/n knew who poisoned him and he was giving that person a lesson to learn from one day.

The audacity of that bitch...

Masterlist HERE !

#Read the warnings above #male!reader #fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #Father!Alastor x Son!Reader #How M/n met Mimzy – Father!Human!Alastor x Son!Reader

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