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ginnsbaker · 10 months

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prophylaxis

Summary: The most powerful Avenger is afraid of one thing: dental appointments, or the one where you're a dentist and Wanda is a baby about seeing one

Word count: 2.6k | Warnings: None. This is just good ol' fluff

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Author's note: This has been sitting in my drafts for some time, and while this is a one shot, I might follow up with more :)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Next part: the follow up

Steve and Natasha are barely done with their own routine dental check-ups when the notification of an emergency mission comes through. The Avengers' annual dental visit is typically swift and uncomplicated, but the arrival of their urgent mission turns the day into something far more chaotic.

��Where is Wanda?” Steve asks, scrolling through the mission details on his phone.

Natasha shrugs, sipping on her post-check-up glass of scotch. “I haven't seen her since breakfast.”

Vision appears in the room at that moment, his face expressing the closest thing to exasperation an android can manage. “She’s only now on the chair,” he says, glancing at Steve, whose eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Now? But everyone else is done!”

“I had to convince her to come,” Vision sighs. “I found her hiding in the back library. It took me the better part of an hour to persuade her to face the dentist.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at the revelation, trying to suppress her chuckle. The most powerful Avenger, avoiding a simple dental prophylaxis. “We don't have all day, Steve. The mission is critical.”

Steve nods, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We'll leave a note for her. She should meet us ASAP once she's done.”

Natasha gets up from her chair, glancing one last time at Vision, as she quips, “Good luck to whoever is the dentist working on her this year.”

As you approach the dental chair, you take note of the apprehensive figure occupying it. You've already seen a dozen Avengers today, each with their unique quirks and idiosyncrasies.

But Wanda Maximoff, her gaze filled with clear distaste for the situation, seems to take the cake. She's curled in on herself, making her seem smaller than she actually is. The sight of her alone would have been enough to unnerve you, but the intermittent quivers of your dental tools due to an unseen force send a cold shiver down your spine. You can't help but wonder if you've drawn the short straw when they assigned you the patients for today.

You try your best to project an air of calm. Inside, though, your nerves are jangling like alarm bells.

“Wanda, right?” you confirm, trying to keep your voice steady.

She nods, her eyes wide as saucers.

“I promise this won't hurt,” you reassure her, even as your tools continue to rattle on the tray. “It's just a routine check-up.”

A skeptical glance is thrown your way but it's at least some reaction. Her gaze is piercing, and it takes every bit of your collected facade to keep from faltering. An absurd thought flashes across your mind: if you were to meet an untimely demise in your line of duty today, who on earth would inherit the numerous houseplants that have taken over your apartment over the years?

With a nervous smile that Wanda can barely make out behind the surgical mask you wear, you gently ask, "Shall we begin?" Your tone is soothing, carefully modulated to put her at ease.

The poor Avenger takes a deep, long breath before giving you the go-ahead to proceed with the checkup.

For her part, Wanda begins to concentrate on anything other than the feeling of your gloved fingers in her mouth. Her gaze settles on your oversized prescription glasses that lend an air of professional yet friendly vibe. And there’s something about the clean, familiar scent wafting off your white coat that comforts her more than she's willing to admit.

She can’t help it when her mind starts drawing comparisons with last year's dentist—a gruff, no-nonsense man whose hands always seemed cold and who lacked any bedside manner whatsoever. You, on the other hand, are like a breath of fresh air with your calming demeanor and reassuring approach. Wanda blushes at the thought that, admittedly, you’re kind of a nice upgrade.

You begin the examination with meticulous care, your movements deliberately gentle to assure Wanda of your sensitivity to her obvious anxiety. As you carefully check her teeth and gums, you're acutely aware of how much trust she's placing in you, despite her apparent discomfort.

Glancing into her eyes as you angle your dental mirror to inspect her molars, you're suddenly struck by the piercing green of her irises. Even under the harsh clinic lights, they appear incredibly vibrant. Framed by the dark eyeliner she wears, her eyes are sharp and arresting. They follow your every move, staring up at you with an intensity that causes your skin to perspire under your uniform.

You've dealt with many patients over the years, some with eyes equally as fascinating, but something about Wanda's gaze is different. It's as if she's not just watching you but reading you, understanding you in a way that makes you feel exposed.

Your focus starts to waver under her scrutiny, and that's when you notice something strange. The dental tools on the tray beside you begin to quiver more violently, vibrating with an unseen force. Your heart skips a beat, realization dawning on you that Wanda's powers are reacting to her nervousness.

But it's not just her nervousness; Wanda's face takes on a look of surprise, her eyes widening momentarily. You can almost feel her presence in your mind, a subtle brushing against your consciousness.

She's read your thoughts, albeit accidentally.

She knows how captivated you are by her eyes.

Catching yourself, you quickly shift your thoughts to a safer topic–your plants. The vibrant green of Wanda's eyes morphs into the various shades of green gracing the leaves of your beloved indoor jungle. Your Monstera, your string of pearls, your peace lily–

And yet, none of them are a match for the pair of green orbs that your mind keeps going back to. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you meet her gaze, the unspoken understanding between you making the air in the room feel charged. Wanda's cheeks take on a hint of color, and her control over her powers seems to falter, your tools–and a chair behind Wanda–now levitating a couple of inches from where they originally sat.

“I'm sorry,” she stammers, wide-eyed and apologetic. You barely make out what she’s saying with her mouth still wide open. “I didn't mean to…”

“It's okay,” you reply in a comforting murmur, pausing your examination. The room fills with the soft humming of the overhead light and the subtle scent of sterilized equipment. “I'm here with you. We'll go at your pace. Just breathe.”

Giving Wanda a few moments to calm herself, you pull back, placing the dental tools on the tray beside you. You keep your eyes on Wanda, a soothing smile hidden behind your mask. Her chest rises and falls steadily as she follows your instructions, taking deep, calming breaths.

However, you can't help but glance at the floating items around you, fearing that one of them might go straight for your heart that’s thudding loudly in your ears now. They seem to be suspended in mid-air, almost like a magic trick. Wanda catches your gaze, following it to the levitating objects. The already present color on her cheeks darken, and with a flicker of her gaze, your tools reintroduce themselves to gravity once again.

You don't comment on it. Instead, you simply offer another encouraging smile, masked by your surgical mask, but visible in your eyes. You extend your gloved hand towards the once again earthbound dental tools, feeling the cool metal against your palm.

“Are we good to proceed?” you ask in a soft voice, patiently waiting for her agreement before picking up where you left off.

Wanda doesn’t move, seemingly hesitant to say yes or no.

“Will it help if I talk to you?”

She gives you a small nod in response this time.

“Alright,” you say with a hint of a chuckle. “Don't judge me if I start to sound silly, okay?”

And so you start to speak as you get back to work, recounting random memories and thoughts as you continue with the examination. You talk about funny incidents at work, share stories about your beloved plants, and even admit to that time you almost killed your favorite fern with coffee instead of water. At first, you feel slightly ridiculous, babbling about the care of succulents to an Avenger, one of the most powerful beings on the planet. But as the minutes tick by, you see a change in her. The initial terror in her eyes fades into curiosity, her body relaxes, and she even smiles at some of your sillier anecdotes.

You get lost in talking to Wanda, feeling both delighted and somewhat ridiculous that you're enjoying this one-sided conversation. You're fully aware that she can't respond with an excavator in her mouth, but it doesn't feel like she's just tolerating your chatter. Her eyes are attentive, following your movements, reacting every now and then. Her body language is open, receptive, almost as if she's hanging onto every word.

As for Wanda, something unexpected is happening. She finds herself liking your voice more and more, feeling an unfamiliar pull towards it. It's warm, comforting, and filled with a sincerity that she didn't expect. She even finds herself slightly attracted to it. But it's a foreign feeling, one she doesn't quite understand, especially in this setting.

As you conclude your examination, you realize that one of Wanda's molars needs a filling. It isn't urgent, a situation that could be deferred to another appointment if she wishes.

“Looks like you have a small cavity,” you inform her, meeting her eyes. “It's not of immediate concern, but we should schedule another appointment if you'd like to have it filled.”

To your surprise, Wanda agrees, not just with a polite nod, but with a subtle hint of anticipation lighting up her eyes. She agrees to another date, another round of you poking around her mouth with your scary dental tools. And yet, there's a hint of eagerness that surprises even her.

As you finish your work, you lean back, pulling off your surgical mask and gloves. For the first time, Wanda gets a full view of your face. It's like a silent reveal, one she hadn't been expecting, and it takes her aback.

She finds herself caught in a subtle admiration, a feeling that quickly intensifies as she takes in your features. There's something about your face that she finds herself drawn to, the warmth of your eyes, the curve of your lips, the soft contours of your cheekbones.

And when you smile, her breath hitches slightly. It's a simple gesture, but one that lights up your face, reaching your eyes and causing them to crinkle at the corners. It's genuine, open, and a little bit contagious.

“Thanks for your patience, Doctor...?” Wanda voices, feeling a tad awkward. It occurs to her belatedly that she didn't have the foresight to ask for your name before you started the check-up.

“Just call me Y/N. It's my pleasure,” you reply, your smile deepening, unaware of the effect it's having on the Avenger before you. “I'll see you for that follow-up appointment, then?”

As soon as Wanda is escorted outside by Vision, you release a breath you didn't know you've been holding. Leaning against the counter, you try to calm the racing of your heart, which beats as if you've just run a marathon.

Wanda Maximoff is... quite a surprise. Her beauty, her vulnerability, the way she seemed to really listen to your inane chatter–it's all unexpected, disarming even. You find your mind drifting back to the way her eyes softened, the almost shy smile that graced her lips.

You quickly shake your head, trying to dispel these thoughts. This is unprofessional, you think. She's your patient. A patient who just happens to be one of the world's most powerful individuals. It's nothing more than that.

You glance at the clock on the wall, realizing you've spent more time with Wanda than any other patient today. You should be moving on to your paperwork, getting ready to call it a day.

But as you sit down at your desk, the fluttering feeling in your stomach doesn't subside, and Wanda Maximoff's haunting green eyes remain etched in your mind.

Walking down the corridors of the Avengers compound, Wanda finds herself in step with Vision. As they pass various agents and fellow Avengers, Vision turns to look at her.

“Wanda,” he starts, his voice taking on that concerned lilt that she's grown accustomed to. “I'm detecting unusual signs in your vitals. Your heart rate is elevated, your body temperature has slightly increased, and your pupils are dilated.”

Wanda blinks, feeling an unexpected heat crawl up her neck. Her palms are also feeling slightly clammy, and she has this weird fluttering sensation in her stomach. She tries to brush it off. It must have been the anxiety, right?

“Are you not feeling well?” Vision probes further, halting in his tracks to face her. His eyes scan her face, looking for any visible signs of discomfort. Wanda's mind races, trying to figure out how to downplay her seemingly irrational reaction to a denti–a dental appointment.

“No, Vision. I'm... I'm just fine.” Her voice sounds surprisingly steady to her own ears. She forces a smile onto her face, aiming to reassure her friend.

Vision doesn't seem fully convinced but doesn't push further. They resume their walk, but Wanda can't shake off the feeling that something has changed, something she doesn't quite understand yet. And for some reason, her thoughts keep drifting back to a certain dentist with a soothing voice, warm eyes, and a love for plants.

How did it happen that a dental appointment, of all things, has turned into the highlight of her day?

The kitchen is dimly lit when Vision enters, the only illumination coming from the withdrawn overhead lights. Natasha is there, assembling her favorite late-night snack, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She looks up as Vision approaches, her eyes curious.

“I trust the mission went well?” Vision inquires, noting the subtle signs of fatigue in Natasha's posture.

She offers a half-smile, nodding. “It did. It's all sorted now. How's Wanda after the check-up?”

Vision's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates for a moment before responding, “She is... well. The new dentist was quite effective in putting her at ease.”

Natasha smirks, spreading the jelly onto the bread with precision. “Told you a change would do the trick. I still can't believe you managed to convince Tony to switch dentists.”

“And find the perfect replacement,” Natasha adds after some thought, licking the jelly from the knife.

“It was a logical choice. The previous dentist was less than satisfactory, particularly with Wanda.” He pauses, considering something. “But this one... she seemed to have a rather profound effect on her.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking up from her sandwich. “Profound effect?”

“Yes,” Vision says thoughtfully. “I detected unusual signs in her vitals afterward. Increased heart rate, heightened body temperature, a certain... excitement in her demeanor. It was quite unexpected.”

Natasha's eyes widen slightly, and a mischievous smile begins to form on her lips. “You don't say?”

Vision gazes at the digital interface on his palm, a soft hum of approval in his voice. “Indeed, she has also filed for a leave of absence a week from now. She has another dental appointment, but this time at the doctor’s private clinic.”

Natasha pauses, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

Vision meets her gaze, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Do you think it could mean something?"

Natasha shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Who knows, Vis?” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. “Maybe it's just a good dentist.” And then with a wink and a knowing smile, she adds, “Or maybe…”

She leaves the thought hanging, deliberately ambiguous, and exits the room, her satisfied crunching echoing down the hallway.

Vision is left standing in the kitchen, confusion etched across his synthetic features. He considers the day's events, attempting to analyze how Wanda suddenly managed to conquer her most irrational fear.

Humans really are something.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #vision #steve rogers

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safination · 3 months

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Partners in Death... and Life

Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted

| Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Part 4: The Radio Star’s Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes||Masterlist| ao3| Tag-list| Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Please take note of the following warnings: Body horror. Graphic descriptions of injuries, glass piercing skin, cutting of skin, cutting of chest. Dissection of Human muscles. Misogyny Just…be careful out there

Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.

Hello. I usually aim to post on Wednesdays, and I knoooow it's not a Wednesday. But, in my defense, this chapter is longer than chapters 1 and 2 combined. Also, I tried to keep the body horror to a medium level. I tried to find a perfect balance of horrifying but also still readable. Would you guys want more body horror, or less, or is this a good amount? Updated: 5/01/2024 *just realized that I forgot to add the part I was supposed to add*

The heart monitor beeps with a steady rhythm. The model’s ECG reading dip, but that’s normal for her species. You study the model asleep on your table, and take your place.

Turning to your interns, you adjust the fit of your gloves as say, “Are you ready?

From the other side of the table, Lys nods her head with such vigor that you’re afraid it would fall off. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!”

Heme takes their place next to you, wheeling the cart within your reach. “Aren’t there supposed to be more people here?” they ask, adjusting the fit of their mask with their shoulder. “We don’t even have an anesthesiologist present, and the technician dumped the tools and left without a word!”

Sighing, you take another look at the screen, and monitor the patient’s ECG readings. Just a couple of decades ago, you wouldn’t even be allowed to take five steps into a surgical suite, but in your death, you stare at the state-of-the-art Vox technology heart monitor.

“This was dumped at the last minute. And the Vees paid a hefty amount for the best,” you say, smiling to yourself. “I guess it doesn’t help that most of the staff have clocked-off for the night already.”

“It really doesn’t,” Heme says. You think they frown, you’re not actually sure. It’s hard to tell with masks on, but Heme sounds like they’re frowning.

“On the bright side, this is a special case, and special cases require special means,” you say. “Stick around, and I’ll make sure to show you something amazing.”

Lys squeals, jumping a bit, “I can’t wait to see your work.”

You turn to Heme. “Tell how you were guided into stopping the bleeding by Doctor Neisseria.”

Heme straightens, round their shoulders. “Hemostatic dressing for the capillaries,” they recite. “Then Lys clipped the bigger vessels, and Doctor Neisseria used an electrocautery for any that we missed.”

“Good,” you say. “Lys, is this your first time using a clip?”

“…Yes,” Lys tells you. Even with a mask on, you could tell she was sulking.

You eye the cart between you and Heme, double checking that the technician brought everything you requested for. “It shows,” you say. “Practice every chance you get. Make a deal with some poor and down on their luck Sinner who wouldn’t mind making a deal for permission to poke around whenever you want. They’ll heal on their own if it’s not too severe…or don’t—I mean, that’s how I did mine.”

Lys blinks at you. “I’ll…keep that in mind.”

Your shoulder slumps. “…Shall we just begin?”

Heme hands you a needle driver, the needle already clipped to it. A bunch of suture forms around your palm. It’s study, and made of pure Sinner Magical Energy, or just magic or whatever. It comes out of your and you have full control, that’s all you need to know.

Heme and Lys lean closer to observe the threads you make.

I don’t get to do this often.” You turn your head, motioning to the detached arm placed on the side. The skin has been stretched and the jagged and stringy muscle fibers sticking out tell you it’s been ripped off rather than slice. The radius protrudes out into the air, jagged and sharp. It would have hurt this model quite a lot. “Steady her arm please.”

Lys snatches the arm, holding it with confidence as she steadies it. “This is so cool.”

Heme hums. “Cool in a gross way.”

“Whether your patient is awake or not, a steady hand is key,” you say. “When you pierce your needle, be sure to do it right at the epidermis when dealing with the skin. Too deep and you’ll puncture the arteries or nerves.”

Lys brings the arm closer, and you do the first suture that will connect the limb of Velvette’s model. Valen-something apparently tore her up, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. So, they rushed her into the Emergency Room three days before this poor girl’s debut, and dropped her into your care with her arm and leg in an ice box.

You sew the model’s arm. The threads around your fingers are light, but sturdy. You entwine some around your fingers like some puppet master for better grip. Blood vessels, bones, nerves, and muscles. Not a single cell escapes your control.

You quiz your interns from time to time or tell them to take a closer look at where the vessels stick out the muscles, making sure they’re able to observe how a proper reattachment is conducted.

You study the threads connecting the arm to its body There are thousands of loose sutures. One single pull, and it will be completely reattached.

You shift your shoulders and crack your neck, giving it a slight stretch. “How long has it been?”

Lys glances at the clock behind you. “Five hours. I think it’s almost sunrise.”

“Be ready to be here for a while,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “The leg will be more complicated.”

Heme groans and their shoulder slump. “I guess I should just be thankful the model is mostly humanistic.”

You pull on the singular thread, and the stitches shorten until the arm is fully connected to its base. A thing line is the only indication that any limbs have been detached.

The door swings open and you snap your head at the sound.

“Hey doc!” The little Egg Boi saunters into the room, an envelope in his tiny hands. “I got something for you.”

Your feathers crack and sharpen. “If you wish to keep your shell,” you hiss at him, “you will leave this room before you contaminate it further.”

Egg Boi #04 wobbles a bit. “I was told to give you a message.”

A headache forms on your temples. You want to massage it, but that would contaminate your gloves. “Lys, show the egg to the observation room. Show him the microphone.”

Lys pouts a bit but exits the surgical suite.

Heme grabs the leg, and you begin again. You pause to take a deep breath. The threads don’t just appear out of thin air—they’re created because you will them to take shape. It gives as much as it needs to take from you.

Egg Boi# 04’s voice echoes on the speaker. “I have a note for you.”

“Read it then leave.” You pierce the tibia bone with your needle (special hell needle, you guess. Normal needles definitely cannot pierce bones) and connect it to the model’s leg.

Your concentration does not waver, even as Lys enters back into the room.

“My dearest good doctor,” Egg Boi #04 reads. “What a helltastic day for –"

“Stop!” you exclaim, and the threads you’re producing fizzle a bit, “Is that from Alastor?”

“Uhhh…yes?”

“Give me 10 minutes.” You sew the model’s leg just like before, starting from bones, then vessels, the muscles, and finally skin, but this time at a much faster pace.

Thousands of strings connect the detached leg to its place.

Heme gawks at you. “I thought the leg was more complicated?”

“It is.”

“It took you five minutes to sew everything,” they say. “Why did it take the arm until sunrise?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to learn anything if I went too fast.” You hand the needle driver to Heme, who takes it with eager hands “I trust you will be able to close for me?”

“Yes!”

“Go around the skin—remember not too deep,” you say. “Once it’s all connected, just one strong pull and the threads should work their magic. Lys, once she closes, you can practice your knots.”

The door closes with a swing. You discard your gloves then peel off your protective layers, but you keep the scrub cap on your head.

The Egg Boi waddles into the room, threatening to tip any moment. He holds up Alastor’s note and you’re forced to bend when you reach for it.

You open the envelope and sigh. “This is a letter, and definitely not a note,” you say counting all the pages jammed into the envelope. “Notes are small pieces of paper, and not fifteen pages of paper scribbled back-to-back.”

You take one deep breath, flaring your nostrils as you contemplate your marriage choices, and begin reading.

Heme enters the holding room as you’re reading through the last page.

They take a look at the pages you’ve read. “Ohhhhh a letter?” they say, discarding their mask into the trash. Their gloves are next. “Who is it from?”

“My husband.”

“Why a letter?” Heme asks you “Why not just shoot you a text or a phone call?”

“He mumbles to himself when he writes, and he just loves hearing his own voice.” You turn to the Egg Boi once you’ve read the last word. “Tell Alastor I’m busy—I can’t leave work to go to the hotel on such short notice!”

“Right….” Heme leans against the sink. “Management will be dropping by this afternoon.”

Your eyes squint. “This afternoon? I was told there'd be visiting tomorrow!”

“Yes, they informed you last night,” Heme says. “It’s tomorrow now—morning, actually.”

Your eyes twitch as your turn to Egg Boi #4. “Tell him I will be early. Now go, run along now, least you get scrambled.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Bustling sounds from the other side of the circus themed doors. You knock then take a step backwards, least Vaggie greets you with a fist to the face.

A crash sounds from the inside. The door slams open, and Charlie pops out, hair disheveled and sticking out in odd places. You see the relief oozing into her. Charlie’s smile relaxes and her eyes stop bulging at the sight of you.

She says your name with enthusiasm. “It’s just you! I am so glad to see you.”

You wave at her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s good to see you as well.”

“Would you like to come inside?” she says at the same time another crash sounds. Charlie’s smile turns sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“It’s quite alright,” you say with a polite smile. “Who am I to judge another person’s mess? It can be quite entertaining sometimes.”

Charlies smoothens the stray hairs sticking out. It does little to actually fix it. “Sooooo what brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome here! Everyone is welcome here! We don’t discriminate at –”

The door swings wider and Alastor pops out with that permanent smile of his. “I called her here.”

Alastor helps you out of your coat as you enter through the doors, and drapes it over his arm. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the crudely attached banners. Strobe lights are being taped to the railings. Its brightness makes you blink. “Are you throwing a party? Is that why you called me here?”

Alastor hangs your coat on the rack. “We’re preparing for a sudden guest,” he says. “It seems we’ll have to delay our plans, only if you’re happy with waiting for me.”

Charlie shrinks and her eyes water a bit. “Alastor…,” she says with a frown. “If you have plans, that’s alright—go. We can manage without you here!”

“Not at all, this is where he needs to be right now,” you tell Charlie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her smile brightens immediately. “Who will be the special guest today?”

Charlie fiddles with her fingers. “We…invite my…dad.”

Alastor twirls his microphone. “The King of Hell himself.”

“Oh,” you start, “the demon is coming here?”

“That’s actually Satan,” Charlie says with a smile. “Dad often gents confused with Satan but they’re not the same

“Oh…So, Lucifer is coming here.”

“Pretty much.”

You laugh a bit—you’re not even sure why. Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed. It sounded so awkward, even to you. “Well, how can I help? If it’s alright with you, of course.”

Charlie’s eyes brighten, and she shakes your shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Alastor grabs Charlie’s fingers with the tip of his own and pry them off you. “I’ve already come all this way,” you say, and turn to your husband. “I’m sure we can make the most out of this situation.”

Charlie leaves to change her clothes, and hopefully brush her hair while she’s at it.

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his, even when you know it’s unnecessary to escort you to a living area that’s five-feet away.

He leaves you, walking to the kitchen with a wave of his microphone.

The hotel looks the same, just more diverse colors hanging around. Niffty stalks past you without a word, engrossed in her task of sweeping the floor. Angel Dust or Vaggie don’t seem to be around, nor is Husk at his usual post. Only a one-eyed cat keeps you company.

On the table, deflated balloons are left forgotten with two pumps resting next to it. You take your seat, and complete the unfinished task.

You’re on the third balloon when Alastor presents a mug to you.

He leans over the chair, reaching his arms to place that ‘Oh Deer’ mug on the table. It’s difficult to meet his eyes when he leans so far in front that his whole face is upside down.

His hair hangs in the air, and your husband looks goofy in such an awkward position that you can’t help but laugh. “You look awful this hellish morning!” he says, and his grin widens until his teeth show. “I thought you could use a bit of brightening up. You’re practically dozing off in the chair.”

“Thank you,” you say, a small smile on your face. “The coffee smells good.”

Alastor swings back, and lands next to you. “I know we agreed to leave such tasks to you,” he says and he waves his arms as he talks. “But you look ready to drop dead any second. Poor Niffty had swept about a hundred feathers on your short walk from the door to this chair—Long day?”

“Longer day, actually. Yesterday’s long day turned into a late night that bleeds into today’s early morning.” You take a sip, and revel in its taste. Even after all these years…his coffee still tastes like acidic bean water. (If you smile, then that’s your business.) “The coffee tastes good.”

Alastor crosses his leg, cracking a laugh hard enough for his eyes to bulge. “You didn’t even try to check if it’s been tampered,” he says with that same wild smile. “Are you that tired, my love?”

You smile at him, lips curving bright and wide. “My deerest, did you place something into my coffee?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s disappointing,” you say, taking another sip. “That suit of yours could use some brightening up! A splash of this bean water would add such an interesting texture to it.”

“We’ll it good to see you’re not tired enough to lose your way with words,” Alastor says, smiling at you. “But if you’ve had a ‘longer’ day, you could have sent the Egg Boy—"

“It’s Egg Boi, my deerest.”

Alastor squints, his brow furrowing as he does. “That’s what I said.”

“You said Egg Boy, deerest,” you tell him, taking a longer sip than usual to drown your laughter. “Those eggs are called Egg Bois. They have different numbers—except Frank.”

On the corner of his cheek—just where it’s always been—Alastor’s smile strains. “You said the same thing as I did.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

You chuckle a bit, and take another long slip. “If you say so.”

Alastor rolls his eyes and he makes it a point to show you he’s doing so. “You could have mentioned to that egg creature that you’d had a long day.”

“Management was dropping by my floor today.” You grab another balloon to pump it.

Alastor’s head tilts, and you hear the small crack of his neck. Static fills the air. “Well, I’m always glad to be used in such a way.”

You roll your eyes, making it a point to show Alastor that you’re doing so. The sharpened feathers and the glow of your eyes were just for the fun of it. “There is another reason why I dropped by the hotel.”

“Do tell!”

You knot the end of the balloon and throw it to the side. “Who am I to refuse the summon of the Radio Demon?”

“His wife.”

You snort, and toss a balloon at him. One balloon becomes two and now you’re just tossing whatever balloon you could get your hands on.

Alastor pops a balloon and static emits from his microphone.

You cross your arms, staring down at him. “I was going to use that.”

Alastor grabs the second pump.

An hour passes too soon. They always seem to do around your husband. The balloons are stringed and weighted. Razzle and Dazzle—the two lambs Charlie made a point to introduce you too—put up a…er… interesting banner on the railings.

Sir Pentious slithers out the kitchen, a tray of cookies in his hold. The Hazbin Hotel looks lively. The space looks decent—live in — as if Sinners actually gathered and used the space. (Those are your favorite kind.)

Sir Pentious offers a cookie to you, and you munch on it. You give him a compliment for its taste.

By the entrance, with Vaggie to her side and Alastor at the other, Charlie takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she does.

Vaggie gives her a smile, and Charlie opens the door.

The bringer of sin rushes to his daughter, drowning her in a hug.“Chaaaaarlie!”

Charlie squirms in his hold. “Heeeyy, Dad!”

Egg Boi #13 and Egg Boi #08 twist their poppers and confetti pops into the air. Niffty grabs her broom, sweeping the floor.

You watch Lucifer, and try to hide your smile. The King of Hell looks different from any paintings or drawings humans make. They can’t seem to capture how shy he looks. How awkward. No painting has been able to capture his search for a place to belong.

This Fallen Angel has blond hair. He’s not the brunette you thought he’d be, which was a shame for you rather liked brunets. It makes sense he’d be blond. Afterall, Charlie has blonde hair as well, and she is the spitting image of her father.

If someone told you it was Lucifer who birthed her, you wouldn’t be able to deny it.

“It’s finally nice to put a name to the face.” Alastor shakes Lucifer’s hand with his microphone, wiping his own right after. “You are much shorter in real life.”

You turn aways, coughing to hide your laughter as Alastor banters with Lucifer.

Husk rolls his eyes at you and grumbles. “Of course, you’d find that hilarious,” he says. “Everyone knows it's smart to insult Lucifer.”

You place a hand on your cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

Charlie brings Lucifer to meet your group. He calls Vaggie, Maggie. Smiles awkwardly when Angel Dust calls him a ‘short king’. Lucifer waves back when Husk waves at him, and shrinks when Niffty jumps and pulls him by the collar. One by one, you’re introduced.

You extend your arm for a handshake.

Lucifer smiles awkwardly, shrinking a bit, but reaches out to shake your ha—

The chandelier crashes to the floor.

And oh God…

Lucifer begins to sing.

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Your hair sticks to your face.

Water droplets splash on your clothes. You accept your fate, and trudge through the rain, even as your fingers freeze. The breeze blows your hair, making you nuzzle into your damp coat. You should have brought an umbrella, or taken a cab. Just your luck, a sunny day turns into a drizzle that turns your shoes into a lake. You hate damp socks.

An umbrella blocks the rain from your soaked clothes.

You spring out of its coverage, spinning to look behind. Your arms jerk out, causing you to wobble because of the wet pavement. (That’s totally not embarrassing.)

“The point of an umbrella is to stay underneath it when it’s raining.” Alastor smiles, giving you a small wave.

You wave back.

“Oh…hello,” you say, adjusting the straps of your bag. Alastor takes a step forward, and you jump backwards. “I’m alright—I can manage by myself.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about your very capable self from underneath the umbrella,” he says, twirling the umbrella. “Come on, now.”

You dip your head inside. Alastor inches closer, but there’s still a respectable gap between your shoulders. “I’m really alright,” you say. “I quite love the rain.”

“Yes, the rain is a beautiful thing to frolic underneath when you’re in a meadow,” Alastor says. You can’t help but feel that Alastor is scolding you, “not when it splashes off buildings and drips off power lines and other items that have not been cleaned. We are in the city, my dear.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“My mother would roll in her grave and haunt me when she finds out I left a lady in the rain.”

“But—”

“Constant refusal is quite rude, you know,” he tells you. “And I still owe you one favor.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Alastor says with a smile that makes you smile back. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m happy to leave my umbrella in your umbrella-less but capable hands, and be on my way.”

You shake your head, inching closer. “We can share if you don’t mind walking.”

“I love walks. It keeps me stimulated.”

Alastor follows your every step, covering you with an umbrella that was meant for one. You glance at his shoulder, and turn away to hide your frown. Half of his shoulder sticks out into the rain, gathering droplets, while not a single speck of water slides on you.

Alastor is giving you the bigger half of the umbrella.

“Would you mind holding this?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you say, and take a hold of his umbrella. Alastor is taller, and you have to quirk your arms higher to avoid hitting his head.

Alastor slips out of his coat. You watch him slide it off his shoulders and pull his arm out the slits. He’s wearing a vest—a fine vest as well. Alastor flicks out stray waterdrops. He leans close enough for you to smell his cologne. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, grabbing the lapels to adjust its fit. His body heat lingers. It’s warm…he’s warm.

Alastor pries the umbrella from your grip with a wide smile. “Before you say anything, the only response that I will be accepting is, ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome.” He adjusts the angle of the umbrella, careful to keep every drop of rain from touching you, even at the cost of his own clothes. “Whatever made you decide to walk? There are cabs and busses for a reason.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I started,” you say. “Plus, I was eager to get home.”

He keeps his eyes ahead. “It’s still quite dangerous.”

You step over a puddle, narrowly missing it. “Dangerous?”

“Yes!”

“The sun is—well, was still up when I began walking.”

Alastor hums, shaking his head. “Murders and thieves do not magically dissolve in the sun.”

You smile to yourself. “I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on that subject.”

Alastor turns to you, and his hair shifts as he tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“I heard your voice on the radio this morning,” you tell him, adjusting his coat around your shoulders. “I caught the news segment.”

“Well,” he starts, his smile widening. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you must have been busy when I mentioned the forecast then.”

You inch closer as much as he’ll allow you, trying to keep a respectable distance, but still close enough that Alastor doesn’t need to sacrifice his clothes to keep yours dry. “Speaking of radio, what brings you to this area?” you say. “Isn’t the radio station all the way across town?”

Alastor laughs in a way that makes you wish you’ve kept your mouth shut. “Have you been tracking my movements?”

“Not at all,” you say and try to mimic his laugh. It comes out strained instead. “I just know how to read a map.”

Alastor steps over a puddle. He places a hand on your back, guiding you away from it. “I just had some business in the area,” he says and drops his hand. “I turned the corner and I found you walking all alone in the rain!”

You smile, careful to keep your eyes forward. “I’m thankful to whatever beings that fated our paths to cross.”

Alastor leans closer, eyeing your hands. “Been gardening recently?”

You glance at your nails, at where stubborn soil sticks underneath the cuticle. “No…not at all,” you say slowly. “I guess you could say…light treasure hunting…?”

“The more I get to know you, the more I find myself dumbfounded at your wide range of hobbies.”

“I hate seeing things go to waste.” You try to ignore the squish of your socks. You are definitely never forgetting your umbrella again. “For example, your garbage is my treasure.”

“What a wonderful philosophy to live by.” Alastor meets your eyes and smiles.

You smile back. “Indeed, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s hold on the umbrella stays firm, even as he follows you around the corner and across the street. Not a single drop of water lands on you. “What treasure were you able to find?”

“You have a lot of questions for me today,” you say and ignore the thumping of your heart. “I feel as if you know me more than I know you—I think that’s rather unfair.”

“Well, what would you like to know?”

You move your foot to avoid puddles of trash. The city could really use a good cleaning. “You know so much about my hobbies. So, I’d like to know some of yours.”

“There isn’t really much to tell,” he says. “The radio is my life.”

A strong breeze has you sinking deeper into Alastor’s coat. “You have your hunts.”

You glance at Alastor, and oh…his hair is as brown as his eyes. Wisps of hair stick to his face because of the rain.

Alastor’s brows furrow a bit, but you swear his smile turns sweet. “Those are more of… a necessity than a hobby.”

“In what way?”

“The woods around my area have a lot of… let’s say… mammals that don’t necessarily belong there, it is as if someone just leaves them from time to time. I hunt a few here and there to thin the population a bit.”

You smile to yourself. “Well, tell me about the radio—What is that like?”

He places his free hand on his chest. “Why, it is the proper medium of expressing oneself, of course.”

“It must be nice having such a creative outlet,” you say. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re able to come up with the most exciting segments.”

“Sadly, you would think after all these years of bringing success and money into the company, I would be allowed to have more control over my content.”

You step over another puddle. A small tug on Alastor’s arm, and he steps over it as well. “That is quite sad to hear.”

“For example,” he starts, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. “I wanted to have this whole portion just on crimes that have been committed.”

“Like… the news?”

“No, not at all,” he says. “I was thinking more on the lines of old cases like robberies and murders—some solved, some not. Unfortunately, the director said it would be too gruesome.”

“It really depends on how you choose to present it,” you say. “I think audiences would love a good mystery with a satisfying conclusion.”

“That is exactly what I thought so as well!” Alastor’s smile widens. “I came across this story…Oh, well I wouldn’t want to bother you with the details.”

“I’d love to hear this,” you say, chuckling. “Show me how you would present it.”

“One winter night,” he starts off with that never ending smile on his lips, “a child—no ordinary child—disappears in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break in and nothing other than the child was taken from the home. Not a single dust was out of place.”

“Wait, what was so special about the child?”

“I will tell you,” he says. “That child was the two-year old son of aviator Charles Lindenberg! Some newspapers called the child the ‘Eaglet’ because his father had become the first man to fly across the Atlantic Oce—Oh, why are we stopping?”

He angles the umbrella, careful to keep you dry. You smile at him and point at the small apartment complex behind you. “This is where I live.”

Alastor doesn’t frown, but his smile droops a bit. “Oh…” he says. “I was getting to the most interesting portion of the story—what a shame.”

“A shame, indeed,” you echo. “You have such a captivating way of conveying your words.”

“Thank you.”

The rain splatters on the umbrella. It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Your socks are damp and it’s starting to get colder. “Would you like to finish what you were saying?”

Alastor’s smile widens, just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. “On the month of May, after continuous searching, a tiny little corpse was found abandoned on the side of the road. Forensics determined that the baby was bludgeoned to death.”

“It’s quite funny,” you tell him. “You talk of such gruesome murders but I find myself captivated.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for going out of your way for me, Alastor.” You slip out of his coat, returning it to him. It’s cold—has it always been this cold. “Will I see you around?”

“Of course,” he says. “We always meet in such unconventional places.”

You duck out of the umbrella, giving him one last smile and head up the steps. A twist of a doorknob, a few flights of stairs, and you would be home. You were tired, your socks are soaking, and the back of your clothes stick to your skin. So, why…why do you find yourself running back into the rain?

“Wait!” you find yourself exclaiming.

Alastor covers you with his umbrella. “What’s wrong?”

‘I… I may have a problem.” The words are slipping out of your lips. “Are you busy by any chance?”

“Not at all.”

“What about your business in the area?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I can always come back.”

“Would you help me?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Of course.” Alastor brings the umbrella closer to you. “What can I do for you?”

“I think…” you begin to say. Stop. Stop! You should turn back; head inside where warm clothes and a bath awaits you. “I think I’m in the wrong area.”

Alastor laughs, and it’s that same breathy and light laugh as before. He drapes his coat over your shoulder once more, and adjusts its fit to secure it around you. It��s the warmest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left a lady stranded in the rain.”

“Not at all,” you say with a smile that you do not remember smiling. “Lots of scary thieves and murders out there—apparently they don’t disappear during the day.”

Alastor nudges you along, down the path, to a destination either of you have the faintest idea where it will end.

Your feet stay locked in its place, and you hold Alastor in your gaze. (His bowtie is crooked, and even with his coat around you, he looks presentable. His vest matches his shoes. You note how his smile is asymmetrical, and how his eyes are still as brown as his hair. Alastor’s glasses are frosted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.)

“Are you alright?” Alastor asks you.

“I’m fine. It’s just….” You shake your head and smile. “It would be a waste to forget this.”

“Come on,” Alastor says in a voice that is oh so soft. He offers his arm, and you hook your own around his.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Motherfucker!” Husk curses into the air, his ears quirking as he does. “Would it fucking kill you to be gentle with that shit?”

“I am being gentle.” You stare him down, keeping the towel pressed firm against his foot. “Would you want to know what it’s like when I’m not? I’d be very happy to comply.”

“………No.”

“Then settle down, Husker,” you say and use your free hand to grab the forceps from the hotel’s medical kit. “This will be much easier if you stay still…or don’t and give yourself a harder time. I’m not the one with glass sticking out of my foot.”

Husk sinks into the clinic bed, sulking as he crosses his arms. He picks on the pillow, fidgeting with its seams. “Bitch.”

You raise your eyebrows and huff. “Virgin.”

Husk’s fangs show when he growls. “I am not…grandma.”

Your feathers bristle. It’s smart to keep Husk talking, even if hurling insults is the way to do so. If it keeps him distracted, you won’t complain. “I died in my late twenties…or was it my early thirties — I honestly forget.”

The blood on his foot begins to clot, and you toss the towel to the waste basket. You walk to the sink, rinsing stray droplets of Husk’s blood with soap.

“Settle down then, grandma,” he says with a triumphant smile, and you roll your eyes. “Today, it’s your memories. Tomorrow, it could be anything.”

You plop on the clinic chair, waiting for your hands to dry. “Yes, it would make sense you’re familiar with the signs,” you shoot back, “considering you lived long enough to be called Pawpaw — Is that why you’re a cat?”

Husk barks a laugh, his wings flaring. He grabs the pillow and tosses it to you. It hits the side of the chair and langs on your lap. You pick it up and toss it back at him. “At least my husband didn’t walk out on me for several years without so much as a word.”

You chuckle, and settle his foot on your leg for better access. Taking your forceps, you brush away slivers of glass from Husk’s foot …or would this be his paw?

You clip a shard of glass, and glance at him. When Husk doesn’t whine like a little bitch, you pull a shard and drop it to the metal pan across you. “At least my marriage lasted even through death, Arachnid Simp.”

Husk rolls his eyes. You smile when his whiskers twitch. “Where did you even learn that word?”

“I see you’re not going to deny it.”

Husk sinks deeper into the bed.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you—I don’t know—wore these things called shoes?” You pluck another shard of glass. Husk tries to jerk his foot away, but your hold stays firm. “They were invented a long, long, time ago, and were created to keep your feet protected.”

“Stop talking as if I’m a child.” Husk frowns and his teeth stick out. “Wearing them feels weird.”

“I guess they kind of are weird.” You grab a fresh towel when blood squirts out of Husk’s foot. “You die and then suddenly waking up to see you don’t have toes

A beat passes between you. “Do you…do you not have toes?”

You toss the towel, and pick out the last shard. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“What does that even mean?” Husk growls, running his palms over his face.

“I…have absolutely no idea.”

You reach into the medical kit, grabbing some dressing. You peel the plastic and toss it to the trash, and press it against his foot.

Egg Boi #03 waddles up to you, a gauze roll in his tiny hands — you weren’t aware the little egg creature was in the room. You thank him with a smile, and wrap the gauze roll around Husk’s paw then his ankle. Satisfied, you clip it in its place.

“You’re all done,” you say. “It might be weird to step on it for a few hours, but it’s not impossible. The glass didn’t puncture you too deep.”

“Good to know.”

“Oh…and just in case, the amount of blood you saw isn’t anything to be scared of. There’s just a lot of tiny vessels on the foot. That’s why it took a while for it to stop,” you say and toss him a new set of gauze rolls and pads.

Husk stares at the items. “I don’t know how to use this.”

You stare at him, leaning into the chair. “Just slap the square on the skin and roll the gauze around your foot.”

Husk hops out of the clinic, keeping pressure off his injury.

It takes a while to clean up after yourself, but Egg Boi #03 keeps you company. The little egg speaks a lot of nonsense, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. You flick the lights, and Egg Boi #03 follows behind you.

The chandeliers had been dragged away, and the glass and debris cleared off the carpet.

Mimzy’s hug makes you take a step back.

You squirm in her hold, placing a placating hand on her shoulders.

“I am sooooo glad you are here!” Mimzy exclaims, shaking your shoulders. “This is like one big reunion, ay. Just between you and me, that Lucifer is a real looker—shame on Alastor for not warning a gal. I would have dressed better, and who knows? Maybe I could be the Queen of Hell. Ha!”

Mimzy grabs your arm and drags you to the bar. Husk pours you a drink with a nod, and stalks away. Seeing him hop up the stairs makes you laugh.

You swirl your drink. “It’s always good to see you, old friend.”

“Not that old!” Mimzy swats your arm, a huge grin on her lips. “And there’s no need to lie to me, darling. I doubt you actually feel that way.”

“Well, I still have those burn marks on my wall from the time you decided to play bartender with matches.”

Mimzy barks a laugh, and her legs kick. “C’mon you can’t still be blaming me! If I remember correctly, it was Alastor who brought out the matches.”

Angel Dust walks up to you with Sir Pentious trailing behind him. You wave.Sir Pentious waves back, his hood flapping open.

“Mind if we join ya?” Angel Dust asks.

“Not at all,” Mimzy says. “I’m always weak to such lookers.”

Angel Dust takes the seat next to you and pushes back his hair. Sir Pentious takes the one behind him. “Sooooo, you two and Alastor run in the same circles.” He takes a drink. “And you guys are friends with him?”

You take a sip of your own drink. “You could describe it that way.”

“Well, those are your words, not mind, but I think it fits.” Mimzy glances at you, a knowing smile on her lips. “But our good doctor here is more than just—Hey! Why do you look so surprised?”

“Well, I just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery,” Angel Dust says. Sir Pentious nods, his head squeaking as he does “What's his deal?”

Mimzy is happy to explain tall, dark, and creepy’s ‘deal’.

“But before that, he was the prime bachelor of my day,” Mimzy says. “Not a single lady wouldn’t want a taste of that twink. But eh… I wouldn’t wish marriage with Alastor on even my worst enemies. It would be a real shock when you die and find out your hubby’s got a real screw loose.”

“Well, it wasn’t a shock to me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You swirl your drink—hmmm, it’s good to know Husk still knows what you like.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Mimzy chuckles nervously. She scoots closer, elbowing you lightly. “You happy he’s back? I still remember the few months you’d visit my place to look for your deerest, most darling Alastor, Mimzy at the bottom of a bottle.”

Your eyes twitch. “Quite pleased actually,” you say and force a smile. “It’s great to finally see my husband again.”

“Husband?” Angel Dust chokes on his drink.

Sir Pentious tilts his head and his hat slides off a bit. “Oh you’re married?”

You show them your ring, wiggling your finger. “Indeed.”

Sir Pentious puffs out his chest. “I would love to meet thisss husband of yours,” he says. “If you cannot be my rival, he can fight in your stead.”

“That wouldn’t be a smart idea

Mimzy stares at him. “He’s not the brightest is he?”

Angel Dust drops his drink with a clink. “Pause,” he splutters. “Shut u—” He coughs, still reeling from his drink going down the wrong pipe. “Shut up. Plause. Pause!”

Sir Pentious frowns, and his tongue sticks out. “No one elssseee is talking.”

“There is no way,” Angel Dust says. He turns to you, eyes bulging. “I refuse to believe that Freaky got hitched.”

Sir Pentious gapes, and his hoop opens. “Alastor is married as well?”

Mimzy slaps her forehead and points to you. “He’s married to her!”

“You are mess’in with me,” Angel Dust says. “Well, you can’t trick me. I refuse to believe it, toots.”

Mimzy takes a swig of her drink. “No one’s mes’in with ya,” she says with bright eyes. “They had a big white wedding and everything. I even got to bless them with my singing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mimzy glares at Angel Dust, a hand on her hips and her noise in the air. “You calling me a liar?”

You place a hand on Mimzy’s shoulder. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?” you say.

“Could’ve been better without the rain,” she says shrugging.

The lights flicker. Static fills the air, making your skin buzz. The bar glows a faint green. “The rain made it sentimental actually,” you say and glance up the stairs. “We quite like the rain.”

Angel Dust crosses both sets of arms. “I thought you said you were friends.”

“I said partners,” you tell him. “Alastor said friends.”

Angel Dust blinks at you and sighs. “So, you married him? Like you’re his wife.”

“I am, indeed!”

“Are you sure?”

“I sure hope so,” you say, crossing your legs. “It would be weird not to be sure considering I was there in a white dress, walking down the aisle.” Mimzy barks a laugh, and the feathers on her head sway. A part of you hopes she topples off the chair.

“Uh…Is this something we should know?” Angel Dust asks. “He’s not going to try to kill me because I learned about this right?”

“We’re not trying to hide it, but we don’t broadcast it either,” you say. “And well…no wife likes to be introduced as a ‘friend’.”

Sir Pentious’ tongue sticks out. “Does Alasssstor own your soul or something?”

You empty your drink and revel in the taste. “We got married back when we were alive.”

Angel Dust reaches across the bar, grabbing a whole bottle off the shelf with his long arms. He pops open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottom. “I still have trouble belive you,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I just…I can’t!”

“Your belief, or lack of, won’t change the fact that I have a ring,” you say. “And it’s not really for you to believe, now is it?”

“Why…?” Angel Dust’s mouth quirks into the cutest frown. “Why…ya’know?”

You sigh and place a hand on your cheek with a smile. “He makes me laugh.”

Angel Dust makes a face, and coils back like he’s been shot.

“Oh he’s a total kitten,” Mimzy says with a bright smile. She inches her glass closer to Angel Dust, and he fills it up for her. “Catch him in a good mood or pour him a drink and play some jazz and he’s totally harmless.”

“You still shouldn’t toss caution into the air, Mimzy” you say. “If I were you, I’d be wary about trusting Alastor just because he likes cleaning up your mess.”

Angel Dust crosses his arm, and his eyebrows quirk. “Ain’t he your hubby?” he says. “Isn’t there this whole spiel about trust and love and faith and all that other boring vanilla shit.”

“He wouldn’t be the Radio Demon if he could be trusted by just anyone, now would he?” you say. “It still crosses me when I remember how he lied to me.”

Angel Dust’s eyes shine. “You said no wife likes being introduced as a ‘friend’.”

“Yes?”

“It must have crossed you quite a lot, huh?”

You shrug, a bit confused. “I mean… I wasn’t really a big deal at the end of the day.”

Angel Dust’s smile widens and that golden tooth of his shimmer. “I want to know everything.”

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Despite the rain, clear skies show the moon, not a cloud in sight.

The flashlight clipped on your collar shines on your path. Your boots sink deep into the mud, but that’s alright. A few inches of goo won’t stop you from your destination. You adjust your leather medical bag—double checked that there are gloves inside.

Between those two trees, your treasure lies buried.

You lay your kit on some nearby stones and reach in for your gloves. You dig until bits of the cadaver’s skin stick out. You brush the soil of his chest and peel open the flaps of his skin. The underside of his skin has blood vessels attached to it. It was worth cutting out the fat to have a glimpse.

Superficial fascia connects his muscles to his dermis. You take your probe and disconnect the thin filament. It reminds you of spider-webs.

You discard your probe and exchange it for the bottle of formaldehyde. You can’t study the whole body, not when it’s exposed to the elements. His fingers are starting to rot, but that’s alright. The chest is all you need, for now. So, the chest is all you’ll preserve.

The cheesecloth you placed on him last night is still damp. Good, that means it’s been sanitized this whole time. You take the cheesecloth and wife it against his open cavity, sanitizing every surface you can reach.

The formalin stings your nose and burns your eyes. It makes you cough, but you push through the pungent chemical.

You peel off the cheesecloth and use it to spread formalin into the deeper crevices between his skin and muscle.

Good. There are no maggots yet. It means you still have time.

You discard your gloves for a fresh pair and prepare your tools. You take your forceps and clip the scalpel blade onto the handle. You lay all your tools on a clean cloth for easy reach.

A human’s adipose tissue buildup is thicker than animals. This man’s fat is soft, easily squishable. Sadly, you’re not here to study his fat.

The scalpel blade is balanced perfectly. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You slice through his adipose tissue, discarding it behind you, carving the cadaver until a nice rectangle opening forms. Muscles are grey, not like the red color printed on textbooks. You run your fingers along the smooth fibers of his pectorals. It’s slimy. That’s probably moisture mixing with the formaldehyde.

You quirk your shoulder to adjust the angle of your flashlight, still running your hand on his pectoral.

There, on the side of the chest where a muscle resembles a fan, do you find what you’re looking for.

Taking your probe, you define the muscle. You don’t use your scapple—never a scapple, because it could slice the fibers. You’ll scrape off the muscles later when it’s time to move on to the systems.

You take a pen and write your notes.

Muscle name: Serratus Ventralis. Description: The Serratus Ventralis appears to be a fan-shaped muscle, just like Hyman writes it to be. Although he’s not describing humans, I think it looks the same. Will double check to see if such similarities are indeed correct. Just like the book says, I can see the muscle extending anteriorly and posteriorly from the scapula and to the walls of the thorax. The Serratus Ventralis appears to be divisible into anterior and posterior portions, with the anterior originating deeper into the body. (Will cut open if there is still time.) The posterior border seems to be where it originates from, and while it is buried by other muscles, I think it originates from somewhere between the ribs. Origin, Insertion, Action: Origin: Textbook says it originates from the outer surfaces of the upper eight or nine ribs. (Will double check once I’ve moved on.) Insertion: The muscle fibers appear to move upward to the side. Inserts along the anterior surface of the medial border of the scapula Action: If it indeed is inserted from the scapula, this could mean that it could draw the scapula, forward, backward or against the body.

You flip to the previous page, and cross out Serratus ventralis. You move on to the muscle on your list: Xiphihumeralis. Based on the name, the muscle should pass through the xiphoid process to the sternu—

“Is this what you meant about my trash being your treasure?”

You startle, jumping back until a tree hits you and there’s nowhere else to escape. Run. Run. Run! Your heart screams at you, hammering in your chest. No one is supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be alone. You were careful—not careful enough, apparently.

Alastor emerges from the trees.

He waves at you when your gazes meet, but you don’t wave back. He’s smiling. “Hello,” he greets you with a gentle voice that strikes your core. It would be foolish to mistake his gentleness for kindness. “And yet again, I’m forced to comment on how you have such interesting hobbies.”

You press deeper into the tree, even if a knot digs into your back. “This….” You pause, trying to find your voice. Do you run? “This isn’t a hobby. I’m merely studying.”

Alastor drops a bag on the ground. It looks heavy. “A man?”

“A cadaver,” you say, careful to keep your voice steady. You cannot let this man see any cracks. “They’re already dead, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be a waste to let them rot like this? At least now, their sorry lives will be making a meaningful contribution.”

The admission of your crime was easy to say. You don’t want to know what that means about you.

Alastor laughs. It’s not that breathy and light laugh he had earlier. This one is lighter, more elated. “Please, tell me more.”

You harden your heart, searching for any speck of bravery. “Why would I?”

Alastor smiles until his teeth show. The moon makes his brown eyes glow—you did not think it would be such an attractive color. “I’m the one holding the large knife.”

You glance at his hand, and oh…that indeed is quite a large knife. It’s not even a kitchen knife, but a proper hunting blade meant to kill. “I see you’re resorting to threats,” you say and you don’t know why you do. It’s not really a smart idea. “I did not think you, a man, would feel the need to say such things to a woman.”

“That was barely a threat,” he says. “I’m just curious to know your motivation to dig up trash.”

“I’m studying—that’s my reason.”

Alastor waves the knife as he talks. “Are there no other dead bodies for you to prey on?” he says. “Don’t hospitals have an area specifically to keep the dead?”

“Only morticians or medical students are allowed access,” you say. “I am neither.”

“Why not become one then?”

“Women as doctors are still a relatively new phenomena,” you say. “There is not a single medical school in this area that will allow me to study, nor are there any that won’t bring me into debt.” Your blood boils and it replaces your thumping heart. It still beats in your chest, but it’s not because of fear. “I needed to find a way to learn, to study, and textbooks could only describe it in words. I want to see for myself.”

Alastor plays with the tip of the knife. “Sounds like a classic case of lusting for knowledge.”

“If lust is to be my sin,” you start and a wonky smile appears on your face, “pride would be yours. A classic case of judge, jury and executioner.”

“I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Well, you are holding the larger knife,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Anything more you’d like to know?”

Alastor hums at you. “How did you figure it out?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” you say, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “You should buy suspicious items at different times and places. Your turn—How did you know I was here?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” he echoes laughing like he’s told the funniest joke. “You shouldn’t have told me where you lived so easily. I thought I would have to hang around your clinic for a few days before I got your address.”

“I made sure to be careful.”

“You weren’t in the slightest,” he tells you. “Even an animal is harder to track. It was quite a surprise to see you heading in this direction.”

“Wait…,” you say slowly. “Hang around the clinic? You…you were stalking me?”

“I wouldn’t say stalking,” he says, putting his arms up. “And if we’re pointing fingers, you would have had to follow me around for a few days to learn where I buried my trash.”

Your eyes drift to his bag, and then to his knife. Realization hits you like a cruel bus. You face heat. “You!”

“Me?”

“You lied to me!” you say, venom lacing your words as you puff. “You had no business in the area, nor did you randomly spot me! You followed to kill me, didn't you?”

Alastor smiles at you.

“Oh my God!” you scream at him, throwing your arms into the air. You point at him, glaring “You’re still going to kill me?”

“I can’t exactly let you leave, my dear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What did you think?”

You stare down at him from your nose. “Don’t be so brainless,” you spit, crossing your arms. “If you would use this thing on your head called a, ‘brain’, and use it to think, you would be able to deduce that you’re currently not in cuffs.”

Alastor glares back at you, tightening his grip on the knife. You don’t give a single flying fuck.

“Since you are adamant on not using your brain, I shall do so for you,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to rat you out to the coppers, wouldn’t I have done so already? Hmmmm?”

“Don’t speak to me as if I am a child.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you aren’t thinking like one,” you say. “Why would I tattle on someone for giving me what I want.”

Alastor gives you a dry smile. “So much sarcasm to the person who does so.”

You cross your arms and lean against the tree. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”

“Will you?”

“No,” you say. “I don’t thank liars.”

You smile to yourself when Alastor rolls his eyes and furrows his brow. That strained smile of his is an extra bonus.

“If you’re going to kill me, be quick with it,” you say. “I’d like to die with my dignity as a lady.”

“How curious,” he says. “You’re not going to try and run? Fight me off in some clever way? Those are always the best kinds of hunts.”

You roll your eyes, making a point to show him that you are doing so. “That would be a waste of our time, wouldn’t it? And I think you’ll forgive me if I am not exactly keen on giving my murderer the satisfaction of experiencing ‘the best kinds of hunt’.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light this time. He tosses the knife into the trees and puts his arms up as if surrendering. “It seems you have made me change my mind,” he says. “Not many are able to do so—especially not when I’ve settled on a hunt.”

“What an honor then,” you say, smiling dryly.

“Indeed, it is.” He takes a step forward, and when you don’t run, he walks to you and brushes stray dirt off your shoulders.

“Why change your mind?”

He smiles, inching closer to you. That is for me to know,” he says. “But, what I will say is I know potential when I see it.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Someone, please, kill me again!” Angel Dust massages his forehead with one arm, using the other to empty the bottle. His third arm reaches into the bar shelves for a new one. You stare at his arms and wonder just how it got to be so long. “You’ve got to be shiting me right now. That’s your example? That’s your final answer?”

You pick at the wooden table, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes “Yes…?”

Angel Dust chugs his bottle at your answer. Mimzy avoids direct eye contact, choosing to study her empty glass. Even Sir Pentious keeps his gaze locked to the floor.. You bite on your cheek, letting out a soft huff.

If they didn’t want to know, they should not have asked.

“Out of all the misery he’s caused and will be causing,” Angel Dust says, “you think that Freaky ly’in to you about his reason for walking you home was the best possible example.”

“Yes?”

Angel Dust takes a deep breath. “Let’s be clear, okay? I’ll rephrase what I said, so listen closely,” he says. “Alastor lied about – and let me get this right—he lied to you about why he was in the area, and that’s why – hold on, bear with me – and that is why you were angry.”

You cross your arms, huffing a bit. “You make it sound stupid.”

Mimzy sighs, shaking her head with amusement. “That’s because it is, darling.”

“It is not!” you say, pouting. “It’s a very valid reason to be cross.”

Angel Dust takes another swig of his bottle. “It’s the fact that you weren’t angry that he was going to murder you in cold blood for me.”

You throw your arms into the air. “Okay, so it might not have been the best example,” you say, tapping your legs. “But that isn’t exactly my fault. Alastor is strangely honest.”

Angel Dust gapes at you. “No, he is not!”

“I don’t know, hun,” Mimzy says, leaning against the bar table. “Alastor kina is.”

“You won’t get the truth if you don’t ask,” you say, nodding your head. “And when you do ask, Alastor will either say the full horrifying truth, say it in a way that’s vague but still considered to be true, or dodge and not answer your question.”

Sir Pentious tilts his head, and he keeps a hand on his hat to keep it from falling. “And that is why we should not trust him?”

“There is no we, my dear,” you say. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust him.”

The hotel trembles.

You startle in your seat, gripping the table for stability. Mimzy clutches your arm, and you grab hers. It’s a small reassuring gesture that would make you smile at any other moment. Someone pounds on the door. You snap your head towards the entrance, nearly giving yourself whiplash. The hinges creak with every bang, and you watch with horror as the wooden frame begins to crack. Whatever wants to go in is determined to do so.

“MIMZY! We know you’re in there, you lousy bitch!”

You lock eyes with Mimzy, glaring at her with bristled feathers. “Really?”

“Whooops…?” she says with the most innocent smile. You grab your glass and throw it at her head. Mimzy snarls at you, searching for a stray bottle. She never finds it.

Glass rains down to the floor. Dust fills the space, and you cough when it irritates your throat. The whole hotel is in disarray. With a yelp, you jump away from the bar when one of the bone heads detaches and crushes your seat.

Mimzy scurries behind the bar.

A portal rips open in the middle of the room…Huh, that’s pretty cool. Vaggie steps out, Lucifer and Charlie behind her. “What is going on?”

Mimzy explains what she did. You roll your eyes when she does.

Fireballs shoot out the broken windows.

Motherfucker! You are going to kill Mimzy. You press against the wall to avoid Sir Pentious’ long tail from smacking into you as he slithers about. Angel Dust scurried away at the first sign of trouble. Of-fucking-course this happens today. Niffty scurries about, cleaning every debris in sight, You grab her by the collar, pulling her away from a stray fire. Niffty squirms out of your hold, and hops away. Another fireball keeps you from pursuing her.

“We’re under siege!” Sir Pentious exclaims, slithering about. “Take cover!”

Alastor pops out of your shadow, jerking your arm to pull you away.

You flap your arms to regain your balance.

Alastor keeps a steady hand on your shoulder, his hold on you firm. His touch keeps you grounded. Your eyes flutter to where you pressed against the wall, but Alastor pokes your cheek with the tips of your fingers, nudging your face to keep your eyes on him. The hotel burns in chaos, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat.

Alastor holds your gaze. He smiles at you softly, but you see the hardness in his eyes and the tension is his jaw.

You try to give him your best smile. “Much better?”

“No, not in the slightest” he says, eyes squinting into a harsh glare. Alastor doesn’t frown, but his teeth bare into a snarl. “Are you hurt?”

The hotel trembles, and more fire crashes through the windows.

You try to turn to the chaos around you, but Alastor leans to the side, blocking the surroundings with his face. “I’d like an answer.”

He smoothes the feathers on your hair, and you lean into his hold, shaking your head. “Not a single feather out of place,” you say. “Thank you, my deerest.”

The hotel trembles once more, but you keep your gaze locked into Alastor’s.

“All of you get a safe distance,” Vaggie says, spear raised.” I’ll take care of this.”

Satisfied, Alastor drops his hand from your head and turns to the door. “No, my dear. Leave it to me.” Radio static warps the air around you. His eyes morph into radio dials. “It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.” He has the smile on his face—that same smile that tell you he’s on the hunt. It makes you buzz.

Mimzy pops her head out. “Ugh, finally!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Tendrils shoot out of Alastor’s back and it waves around the air as if owning a mind of its own. His bones break with audible cracks to adjust to his expanding size. “A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!” His teeth stick out when he smiles, and the little ‘x’ on his forehead appears.

Alastor laughs and begins his kill.

You rush out when your husband crawls out the broken doors, bolting from the bar and out the entrance. You watch Alastor. He grabs a shark with the tips of his fingers and uses the others to pull him apart, slowly, painfully, with a grin.

“Mimzy…” you say, slowly.

Mimzy shrinks next to you. “…Yeah?”

Alastor’s nails elongate and he pierces the shark, letting his blood trail down, reveling in his screams. “I really appreciate everything you do for me.”

A leg sails across the air, it’s bone sticking out. You smile to yourself as Alastor hunts down his prey. Blood paints the flowers red when his tendrils wag like a happy tail.

You’re faintly aware of Lucifer and Charlie arguing behind you.

The show is over too soon.

Alastor shrinks, twirls his microphone and stretches.

Mimzy runs, the first to approach Alastor. You don’t hear a word they’re saying, but Mimzy jabs her fingers into his coat. She leaves with a frown and a middle finger pointed at him.

You walk closer to your husband, a smile on your face. Alastor inches to you, bending close enough for you to reach his bowtie. The fabric is smooth against your fingers as your straighten it for him. “Much better?” you ask.

“Indeed.”

“You put up quite the show,” you tell him. “You looked absolutely riveting, my deer.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and he offers his arm, guiding you back into the hotel. “Did I?”

“You always do, my love.”

And oh…

Another song.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Lucifer leaves, taking his singing with him.

As quietly as possible, you grab your belongings and check that nothing is missing: wallet, flip-phone, bus card, pieces of mint, various essential items, and lastly, your umbrella. You step out of what is left of the Hazbin Hotel’s front doors and stifle a yawn. Today’s excitement has gone on for too long. It was time to go home.

Drops of acid fall from the sky, a light drizzle forming. It was a good idea to stash that umbrella in your bag.

Alastor slithers out of your shadow, and covers your heads with an umbrella. “Did you happen to forget your umbrella?”

You force a sheepish smile on your lips. “I did, actually,” you lie to him. “But a walk seems rather lovely today.”

Alastor twirls the umbrella, his smile widening. “May I join you for your walk?”

“Are you not still working?” You glance behind you, observing the hotel.

Angel Dust sweeps glass off the carpet. He steals glances from time to time, trying his hardest to avoid looking in your direction—he doesn’t try hard enough. Your eyes meet, and you brush your stray feathers from your hair. A not so subtle way of showing off your ring. You stick out your tongue.

Angel Dust laughs, shaking his head with amusement.

Alastor adjusts the umbrella, angling it to block the prying eyes from inside the hotel. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with a questionable glance.

You offer your most innocent smile. “I think they’re going to need a new door.”

“I think it’s time I clocked out,” he sys, inching the umbrella closer. “I shouldn’t have them getting too dependent on me.”

“Are those not grounds for prime picking?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be a doting husband if I left my wife to walk alone in the rain,” Alastor tells you.

“Doting husband?”

He nods, leaning closer to you. “Yes. Was that not your condition for our marriage?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, humming a bit. “I do not remember saying that at all.”

“Well, it wasn’t for you to remember,” he says. “And in any case, I did not call you to the hotel to prepare for some party.”

“Then why did you call me here?”

Alastor meets your eyes and his smile widens. “Allow me to join you, and you shall find out.”

“You’ve piqued my interest, deerest,” you say. “The best walks are usually the ones that are shared. It doesn’t hurt that you have an umbrella.”

“What would you do without me?”

You roll your eyes, and take a step closer. “You always seem to remember for me.”

Alastor fiddles with the umbrella. “What did you do for several years—get pelted by acid?”

“You would know the answer to that had you been present for those years,” you say and you don’t fight the coy smile that forms on your lips.

Alastor hums in displeasure. “Well, in any case, I only have this one umbrella.”

“I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Yes, it seems we will.”

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his. He doesn’t need to take precautions to ensure your clothes stay dry nor do you have to for his own attire, not when you press closely against each other. The umbrella covers the both of you just right.

You rest your head on his arm. It’s nice. Warm. Even if it was as thick as a stick. His bones press into your cheek. Your eyes flutter into a close… just… one… second…

Your knees buckle causing you to trip.

A frim grab of your waist keeps you from the ground. Your nose crinkles when you collide with Alastor’s chest. Finding strength in your legs, you dig your foot into the ground and stand.

Alastor keeps his hold on your waist steady, and you don’t move from his hold.

“Before you say anything—you are not fine,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything else but an agreement.”

You peel your face from his chest, meeting his eyes to give him the brightest smile you can muster. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “It seems…It seems it will be my turn to postpone our outing today,” you say. “The excitement of the day seems to be catching up to me.”

You fell asleep while walking,” he says. “If it was not for me, you would be on the pavement.”

“Then it is a good thing I am no longer alone.”

A single tendril emerges from his back. It wraps around the umbrella’s handle, keeping it secured over your heads.

Alastor’s hand shifts from your waist to your back. You feel his other arm snaking down your legs, trailing your skin until he reaches the back of your knees.

Alastor lifts you like a bride.

Well, you actually are a bride…his bride, specifically.

Alastor continues the walk, holding you in his arms. You lean into him, and he places a chin on your head. “Your pointy chin is poking me, my deerest,” you say but you don’t move to push him off. “It’s digging into my scalp.

His chest rise and fall as he laughs, and you feel every bit of it against your cheek. “I could always drop you right over this puddle.”

“That wouldn’t really be part of the doting husband image, would it?” you say chuckling into his suit.

“No, I guess it would not.”

Smiling to yourself, you nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. “Hey, Al,” you mumble softly, “tell me a story.”

At the corner of your eyes, you see Alastor glance at you. His gaze lasts a second before he turns back ahead. “It was 1929,” he says. “The beginning of the glorious Great Depression.”

You roll your eyes even if he doesn’t see it. “You are the only one I know who calls the Great Depression ‘glorious’. People were starving, and we almost got fired from our jobs.”

“That’s because it was a great year.”

“Because you got to see the sufferings of the masses?” You laugh softly. “That’s definitely something you would do. I can practically hear you laughing at the way they try to claw their way out of misery, only to fail spectacularly.”

“Because we got married that year,” he says. Even if you’re wearing a coat, and Alastor wears his gloves. Even with layers of cloth between your skin, you still feel the way Alastor caress your with his thumb. “Can I continue my story now or would you like to bicker about your failing memory?”

“Continue.”

“So, the start of the glorious Great Depression,” he says. “That day, I saw an ad for the local zoo. I wasn’t doing anything important, so I decided to support my local animals.”

“How kind of you,” you say, stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it was,” he says. “I stalk through the animals. Looking at every malnourished species they kept locked up—”

“You get to the alligator enclosure and to this day, swear that you saw it do a backflip,” you mumble softly, eyes dropping. “That’s pretty good for someone you claim to possess failing memories.”

“Alright then. I shall find another.” Alastor hums as he thinks, and his chest vibrates as he does. “Summer of 1916–long before I met you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” you say, huffing. “I’m well aware of the year we met, my deer. So, Summer of 1916?”

“It was a dark and stormy night. Weird for the summer seasons. Usually, the house becomes a furnace, but it was terribly cold,” Alastor tells you. “During that second night of the hurricane, a knock sounds from the door.”

“Oh… I’ve heard this as well.” You pick on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, tracing the white lines.

“You have?” Alastor raises his eyebrows

“Yes, it was your neighbor. His tree fell into the window and you and your mother ended up sheltering him for the night,” you say. “Then, you’ll tell me that he gifted you three pounts of cheese the next week.”

“I guess there’s nothing left to tell.”

You lean back to meet his eyes. They’re no longer brown. Once, a long time ago, you thought it was your favorite color. Now, you don’t think you’ve ever had a favorite color. You just liked his color. “Nonsense,” you says. “We are definitely not that old. I’m sure there should be be at least a few.”

“Alright, this one began fifteen years ago,” he says, tightening his grip on you. “I was waiting outside St. An’s, and a Sinner came out. It was my first time seeing a cow. It was quite a conundrum because — Oh, I think you’ve heard this already. Have you?”

Your eyelids are heavy. “I have.”

“And you choose not to inform me?”

“Can you tell it to me again?” You sink deeper into his hold.

“Of course, my love.”

Alastor’s steps lag until he comes to a full stop. He holds you in his gaze as the acid rain splatters grow stronger. It’s just you and him in this tiny bubble of an umbrella.

His eyes flicker, touching every inch of this scene. You do not know what he is thinking.

“Are you alright, my love?” you find yourself asking.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m just…trying not to waste, that’s all.”

“Come on,” you say in a voice that is oh so soft.

Alastor continues his story. You don’t hear the end of it.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: | Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| I am excited to know what you guys think about this chapter. My replies and inbox are always open for any questions. I always get so happy to see my notifications. It's a bit addicting actually. Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this story. Every like, reblog, and reply means so much to me. Part 4 will be poasted as soon as possible

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x wife reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x y/n #the radio demon #radio demon

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whileyoureinschoolidothisallday · 3 months

Text

OKAY it has been a day of being sad and panicky. Time to move.

Yesterday, I made a post detailing the cdc announcement that there will no longer be an isolation requirement for covid. If you are one of the thousands of people rightfully raging in my notes, here's some steps to focus on.

We're not gonna give up. I've seen quite a few comments with things like 'what's the point', 'why should I even try anymore' etc etc and what we're not gonna do is give them what they want! It helps the eugenics cause to be apathetic and listless. We've made it this far, we will continue to make it. I know it's hard, but I am at least right here with you. Give yourself whatever time you need to grieve, and then I need you to get up.

If you have stopped masking for any reason, or you haven't upgraded to a respirator style mask, now is the time to change or start. From now on, we will be living in a country where you could assume there are multiple covid positive people in the room with you at all times. Surgical masks will not handle that load, and cloth masks will be even less effective at that point. Obviously, this is an unprecedented situation we're putting these masks in, and I'm not gonna sit here and pretend to be an expert that can tell you with certainty that even respirators will hold up with this amount of viral load for a long period of time, but it's the best and strongest tool we have. I'm considering using my p100 more, so that's always something to consider as well (and they make you look like a cool raver when you wear them!!!). You can buy all sorts of masks here, there's more links in the comments of my original post, and most states have their own mask blocs. To find them, go to Instagram and type "[your state] mask bloc". Here is a google doc of verified advocacy groups and mask blocs all across the country here is a diy fit test kit you can buy for $30 (unfortunately they are sold out right now. shocker.) PLEASE remember to take a layered response in these times. Masks are not the only tool in our arsenal. PLEASE for the love of God keep up with your vaccinations. Make a corsi-rosenthal box or buy a high quality air purifier if you can afford it--at the very least our homes can be safe havens (you can even put a hepa filter on your furnace!!!! And in your car too!!!!!). Use CPC Mouthwash, nasal irrigation, and nasal sprays like this one. Make it a routine: you come home, you shower, you brush your teeth, you rinse your nose, you change your clothes. And, like I said in another one of my posts, DO NOT TAKE OFF THE MASK.

3. If you would like an outlet for your rage and you're into calling your reps, feel free to calmly but firmly let the cdc have it at these numbers!!!!!

[alt text: a tweet by user silly_paulie that reads:

"Disdain for the CDC unites us all. Call today and demand isolation policies be returned to 10 days, and reducing it further to 1 day would be criminally dangerous. Call both:

404-639-7000 (press 8)

800-232-4636"

end text.]

4. If you need more outlets for your rage, I STRONGLY encourage you to get involved with your local union. Moreso than calling the CDC, tbh. I've seen multiple comments telling people just to lie about your symptoms to get more sick time off, but since there's no legal precedent to allow employees sick time for covid, all that's gonna do is get people fired. I truly believe in my lefty heart that the ONLY way we're getting anything close to mitigation is through labor rights. Even the standard for the fucking flu is 3 days, and that's nowhere near as contagious or disabling as covid. I say this as a high risk person with a neuromuscular disability: covid is an intersectional issue, but where we have the most leverage to get what we need is through labor rights.

It is NOT safe for workers to be working while ill with a Level 3 Biohazard (same as TB and the FUCKING PLAGUE. Seriously we have more regulations around fucking lice)

It is NOT safe to willfully EXPOSE your employees to a Level 3 Biohazard

It is NECESSARY for all employees to be allowed up to 10 days to recover fully from Covid-19, in order to avoid possible further injury from or hospitalization

You will NOT die or be disabled for the sake of the wealthy!!!!!

(and while you're at it, ask for better air filtration too!!!! At least 5 air changes an hour, MERV-13 air filters!! Then we won't have to constantly worry about virus bs and policy changes in the first place!!!!)

5. Closing statements. Nothing has changed with covid, this is just policy. Covid still isn't magic, she still has to get in you before she can do damage--mask up, arm your home with clean air, and don't let her. It's always worse toward the end. This is not the time to give up, it's time to dig in your heels and get to work. There are so many good things happening with covid. They are finding encouraging treatments for long covid. Finally, after years of nothing, a new prophylactic for the high risk was submitted for emergency use to the FDA, and it looks like this time it's built to last against new mutations. Covid is here to stay for the rest of our lives, but the real science hasn't given up on taking the worst of its teeth out. We WILL get to the point where the extreme fear of catching covid is nothing but a bad memory for EVERYONE. All I need you to do is commit to the belief that you're gonna survive long enough to be in that moment with the rest of us.

Now stay safe, and give em hell!!!!!

#covid 19 #covid safe #covid advocacy #covid is not over #mask up #danger days: truffula flu simulator #truffula flu survival guide

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brewstersbru · 7 months

Text

More halstarion cuz ive been playing my lil origin run; also happy halloween folks !

Pain. Sharp, dragging, unbearable agony against his back. Astarion huffs a small noise of pitiful discontent before clenching his mouth shut. Quiet. Can’t let him hear you. His fangs tear a little into his gums, but there isn’t enough blood in him for any to really trickle out of the wounds.

A voice- disembodied, but cold and lilting as ever- sounds from behind. “My dear, how prettily you bleed. Even lovelier now, with the poetry I am bestowing upon you. Truly, a gift. And what do we say to gifts, Astarion?”

Astarion moans miserably into the ground- or is it a steel surgical table? He can’t remember, he can’t focus. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. There’s a feeling of hands in his hair, grasping, tearing- the flash of a derisive, fanged grin- “What do we say, Astarion?”

His name sounds like rot coming from his lips, similar to the way one would utter the word “disgusting” or “vile”. Astarion hiccups with the force of his suffering- it’s simply too much, never before has Cazador been so persistent, never before has he carved so deep, for so long. Astarion’s weak, starving body cannot maintain itself against his tides of cruelty.

There is quiet as Cazador waits for his answer, he knows Astarion will do his very best to give it. Years and years of this torment had to have culminated into something- into an exceedingly loyal dog, he’d hoped. It’s why he tries not to command anything; not only because it takes the fun out of things, but also because it encourages a kind of devotion to the task that a simple order could never elicit. Pain can be such a useful tool, and he’s spent years honing his skill with it.

Astarion gasps, chokes on a putrid mix of saliva and droplets of rat blood as they clog in his throat. “T-Thank you.” He coughs. Cazador hums and pushes his head back down. He runs a sharp nail down the middle of the warm, wet mess on Astarion’s back. It stings like a million tiny needles.

“Thank you, what?”

He digs the nail into one of the runes he’d just finished carving, ever so slightly, and Astarion writhes in agony. His breath comes choppy and ragged, and tears track endlessly down his nose. A moment, two, as Astarion brings a heaving breath in and steels himself against the revulsion he is about to feel.

“Thank you, Master.” The hum this elicits is decidedly pleased and Astarion hates himself all the more for earning it. If only he was stronger, if only he were able to hold out just a bit longer. If only he’d been able to make himself wait; Cazador would have grown tired, would have ordered him, eventually.

Now, he is little more than a lapdog, bereft of even his pride, and the pain will only continue. How he despises the man he’s become, the man Cazador has moulded him into.

The agony in his back resumes, even sharper and more unbearable than before. Astarion muffles a scream behind clenched teeth and wrenches his eyes open to reveal a circling of trees. A cool gust of air swipes across his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, slightly.

Astarion takes a moment to orient himself. He’d been trancing, curled into himself and facing away from the fire- Gods know why, he could use all the heat he can get with the way his undead body refuses to hold onto it on its own; some lingering self-flagellation, perhaps.

He’s no longer bound to Cazador- for the time being at least- he’s fine. The ‘dream’ or whatever that had been was only a memory. Nothing more. He’s fine.

Sitting up, he swats at the tear tracks on his cheeks and comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Halsin, who had been whittling, it seems, judging by the knife in one hand and the partially carved wooden-something in the other. Astarion ducks and covers his face with a slender hand.

“What in the hells are you doing, you oaf!?”

“… Whittling?” Halsin’s voice cracks a bit as he stumbles over the word. Astarion tries not to notice how endearing that is. He huffs.

“I gathered. Could you just- turn around? Please?”

Halsin tilts his head to the side, just slightly, and stares at him with furrowed brows, mouth set in a firm line. He speaks carefully, but directly, unable to tiptoe around a subject when they’re both aware of the gravity of it.

“Are you alright, my friend? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just I noticed-“

“Not now.” Astarion’s voice comes out rough, grating, and he cannot bring himself to look Halsin in the eye as he speaks.

“… Alright” There’s a shuffling as- assumedly- Halsin picks himself up and heads back to his tent. Astarion only allows himself a breath of relief when the other man’s footsteps retreat outside of his range of hearing.

On one hand, Astarion is astoundingly, exceedingly grateful to have his wishes honored. On the other, it is so, very quiet, and he can still feel the ghosts of fingers petting, clawing and grasping at his skin. He feels dirty, a vile little thing ought to be left in the dirt.

His back aches- phantom pains, he knows- and even years after their conception his scars throb. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time he’s been able to focus on it, the first time no other, greater pain can distract him from the dull shock of remembrance. Maybe he’d never healed correctly, maybe it’s his mind playing its usual tricks.

Suddenly unable to stand the scratch of cloth against the raised skin on his back, Astarion wrestles his shirt off of himself. Sharp nails dragging uncaringly against the skin as if trying to sate an itch. He wants the ‘poetry’ off of himself, he wants to be clean.

His scratching becomes more fervent, less careful as his thoughts spiral. A sob works its way up, only to die in his throat, he chokes a little on it. Off. Off. Off. He needs it off. He wishes he could claw the taint away. His skin crawls under his fingernails, even as they scratch past skin. Blood flows, sluggish, down the bony curve of his spine. It is not an unfamiliar feeling.

A sharp gasp sounds, quiet, but cutting in the previous silence that had pervaded the space around the campfire. Astarion does not dare look up from the ground. Great. Another interruption to him losing his fucking mind.

Thankfully- which, who could guess he’d ever think the word in relation to the druid- it’s just Halsin again. Arms now laden with jars and cloth, rather than the sharp woodworking tools he’d left the fire with. The jars are labeled, but his scrawl is too small for Astarion to parse the words.

“Astarion, my friend, please cease this needless self-mutilation!” He rushes to Astarion’s side, carefully placing the jars on the side of his bedroll and gently, loosely grasping at Astarion’s wrists- assumedly to encourage the vampire to pry his claws from his skin. He doesn’t push, simply holds him there.

The warmth is welcome, grounding in the swirl of pain and cold and despair that had previously been clouding Astarion’s mind. He lets out an unnecessary, but comforting breath and allows his hands to be pried away.

“Good. That’s good, my friend, thank you.”

Astarion grouses a discontented sound, to which Halsin huffs a small chuckle.

“Alright- you’re alright. You were looking rather pale- moreso than usual at least- and I had hoped some of my oils or salves could soothe any injuries you’d overlooked, or old aches.” He pauses for a moment and rifles through the pile of goods he’d brought over, “As elves, our ‘nightmares’ are more memories, than anything. I’m more than familiar with a long-forgotten wound making itself known after a particularly jarring remembrance. I am sorry yours were so visceral.”

He’s babbling, Astarion notices, low voice rather quick compared to its usual steady thrum, but he can appreciate the effort in attempting to keep him grounded. His body doesn’t want to move, though, and he simply slumps into himself, gaze steadily forward, hollow, almost in its vacancy.

“Here let me-“ A warmth hovers over the mess of Astarion’s back. Well, this is rather familiar. But it pauses,hesitates. Still, Astarion can feel himself tensing. A short, ragged sound punches out of him, unwitting. Halsin hums.

“Apologies, my friend, it seems my manners have escaped me in my nerves. May I touch you? I wish only to soothe the hurt, I have a balm that should do the trick well and once I’ve applied it, my hands will not touch your skin again should you wish it.”

Astarion takes a moment, another unnecessary breath, then nods. It’s curt, almost imperceptible really, but Halsin had been paying very close attention to his body’s reactions. He thanks him- what for, Astarion cannot even begin to fathom.

It’s quiet as Halsin’s deft fingers tenderly pass a wet towelette down his spine to clean the blood from it. It soothes, cool and stinging against new cuts and Astarion can only hope that at least he’d left new scars. Something to disrupt the carving of pure malice that had lain there, undisturbed, for so long.

“Thank you.” It takes a while, and his voice is fairly destroyed by what he can only assume had been long minutes of screaming and sobbing in his sleep, coupled with the panic attack after waking. Halsin’s fingers continue their deft work.

“Please. No need. If I may I- I hate to see you struggle so. Is there anything that caused it? Anything we can avoid?” His sincerity is sweet, but useless. Astarion shakes his head.

“Comes and goes, really. Used to be able to ignore it with other things. Can’t focus on memories when the present is fucked too, right?” Astarion chuckles, but Halsin does not join in.

It’s quiet for a bit, Halsin’s hands feel almost hesitant against his skin, “I am not a man easily drawn to violence but- well- your old master deserves nothing but the slowest, most painful death possible. I know it means little but I am sorry. You did not deserve his torment. No one could deserve that.”

“I was no angel in life, druid. For a long time, it seemed like a penance.” The words are almost hissed, but the sincerity in them is unmistakable.

“Even penance ends, eventually, Astarion. Forgiveness usually follows. Two hundred years is more than enough time. Especially when you had not even truly lived before being thrust into undeath- I mean thirty-nine? You still bear your child name.” Halsin sounds almost pained, although his hands remain steady, now pressing fingerfuls of balm to each cut, and even the undamaged rune-scars too. Something in Astarion howls, surges forward into an incessant rage at the tenderness.

“And perhaps I was a truly devilish child, druid! Perhaps I deserved it!” Halsin sighs.

“No one deserves that, Astarion. You have to know that.”

“If I allow myself to believe that, then I have to accept victimhood. I have to accept that loss of control. I have to accept that it’s not that I deserved it, it’s that no one cared enough to try to save me. Tell me, druid, which would you rather believe.” With a final, gentle pass of his thumb Halsin retreats. Shamefully, Astarion misses the warmth of his touch. The druid rounds his bedroll, settling criss-crossed in front of him and busying himself with organizing his bottles into a neat pile.

“Well, first, I’d like it if you used my name and not my title. It feels rather impersonal talking to you when you won’t even call me ‘Halsin’. Second, I truly don’t know, but I have always favored the truth over anything else.”

Astarion hisses, “I will call you what I like, not what you tell me to call you.” Halsin simply nods, and something inside him deflates. Backs down from its haunches.

“Oh, alright, you big baby. Halsin. Maybe the truth is that I was- however implausibly- the kind of person to deserve my penance.”

Halsin seems to light up at the sound of his name from Astarion’s lips. Astarion tries to find it dorky and uncool and not hopelessly endearing. Then, “I find that incredibly hard to believe. Had you even chosen an adult name? Had anything in mind?”

Astarion falls quiet at this. “I had an idea, a few, maybe. I remember being excited about them, I thought I was so clever with the word choice… But I cannot remember them. Cazador only called me by this name, when he deigned to adress me, and I did not exactly have the time or energy to care about choosing another.”

Something within Halsin cracks at the admission. To have that rite stolen from him was abhorrent. Heartbreaking.

“Truly you remember nothing?”

Astarion shrugs, “Hard to find that kind of thing important when there are other, more pressing matters. It’s not like the names would fit me anymore, either, two hundred years have taken their toll, after all.” He smiles, a crooked, self-depreciating thing and gestures to himself, the scars on his back. “Thank you, by the way. I wouldn’t have treated them on my own.” The thanks doesn’t even need to be forced from his lips. Halsin smiles at the ease with which it is offered.

“No need. And I know.”

It’s quiet for a while longer. The two of them take the time to simply look at each other. Astarion wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, what Halsin is seeing as he gazes at him with such open fondness and admiration. Surely it cannot be him. Godssakes he hasn’t even seen himself in two hundred years, who knows what kind of effect it’s had on his wrinkles. He tries not to dwell.

“I’m going to read.” Astarion says, when he can no longer stand the thought of just how many lines have been carved in his face, without the help of Cazador’s many painful instruments. Halsin simply nods, but continues searching his face. Astarion is unsure what he’s looking for, but is fairly certain, whatever it is, has long since left him. Nowadays he’s mostly bared teeth and vengeance more than anything.

“Please, go right ahead. If you would not protest, I would very much like to join you. I’ll whittle, stay quiet so you can focus. Would that be alright?” He tilts his head to the side, and, with the way he’s fiddling with a jar, seems so incredibly bear-like in the moment that Astarion has to clamp down on a giggle.

“… Alright. But you had better keep that promise to stay quiet.” Halsin grins, a warm, blinding thing.

“As a mouse. And we druids are rather good at mimicking animals, you know.”

A laugh punches itself from Astarion’s throat as he heads back to his tent and settles on some pillows, his most recent thick tome open in his lap.

It’s not long before Halsin is quietly announcing his presence, shuffling around to settle a few feet away, legs tucked up under him as he situates himself against the nearest surface- a stolen chest from one of the many towers they’d rummaged through.

It’s easy to forget he’s there- or, no, it’s easy to simply exist in a space with him. Astarion doesn’t feel the need to perform or prove anything to him- after all, he’s basically seen him at his worst- and the silence is warm. Interrupted, every so often, by the methodical scrape of metal against wood, or the crisp flipping of a page.

Before he can stop himself, Astarion’s fallen into another trance. This time blissfully devoid of any visions or memories.

He wakes to an empty tent, but his book is neatly bookmarked and stowed beside his bedroll. He, himself had been carefully tucked under a pelt of some sort- a piece he knew was not from his own tent- and next to the book lay a small, intricately carved wooden star. On the back, a careful engraving:

little star, how you shine

It feels like a declaration.

#if you couldnt tell im enamored with the idea of halsin carving lil trinkets for his bf #and astarion secretly loving them #very nascent (new word i learned from a commenter ily) romance #bg3 #astarion #halsin #halsin x astarion #halstarion #astarion ancunin #enjoy #no idea how long this is but oh well #happy halloween have gay people!!#tipsy scribbles #brublurbs

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ataraxiaspainting · 6 months

Text

Dismemberment.

Yan Mahito x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Mahito wants to learn more about human biology.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, Mahito as his own warning, medical horror (drugging, non-consensual surgery) and implied past violence.

Word Count: 400.

*~*~*~*

“I’m not a medical student anymore, not that I was one for very long anyway.” You say, trying to be gentle. “I’m not that knowledgeable with this kind of thing. I can’t really teach you anything.”

Mahito ignores your pleas to put it simply, still putting the surgical tools on the dirty metal table, sewer flies already resting on them and buzzing. “It’s okay! You still know some things that I don’t. After all, you wanted to be a nurse once upon a time.”

The man was unconscious on the “operating table” as you were forced to call it, a table you tried to clean to the best of your ability but still smells heavily of algae and bacteria-infested water. You wanted to at least try to make sure he won’t get infections in whatever areas Mahito cut and hopefully later sewed shut. You got a part of what you wanted thankfully, having Mahito give him anesthesia so he would not be conscious for a majority of the horror show about to play out here.

“Keyword wanted to.”

You nearly sigh when there is a sudden pull of one of your fingers; the broken one that still has not healed. So, you don’t sigh, instead choosing the best of two evils. He would still force you to go this either path you take anyway.

“Okay, okay…! I’ll teach you. Just let go–”

“Yippie!” With his response and an immediate release, your hand flies to your face, making you slap your nose and Mahito laugh loudly. You stumble backward and nearly fall on the slippery concrete occipital bone first. If you did, Mahito would be more than happy to experiment on your anatomy rather than some random man’s, so you count your blessings and thank yourself and whatever is watching over you that you did not.

“Let’s just start already.” You say, looking over to the large dog bed Mahito gave you when he first took you, a partially soaking wet copy of Stephen King’s Misery, and your almost busted Nintendo DS.

Then you look at the chips and other snacks that Mahito got from the nearby convenience store earlier that week, though most of them were stale because they did not close properly. Still, it is better than simply starving to death.

You keep having nightmares from that day on that you will eventually be the one on the table.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere mahito #mahito #mahito x reader #aya abstractions #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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xxdemonicheartxx · 10 months

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The flights and their major exports

Ice: furs, fish, culinary or food grade ice, unique and seasonal herbs, spices and flora that only grow there in the spring, super rich culinary culture has formed here and it attracts tourism and foodies, cooking oils and fats, seeds and nuts for consumption

Nature: lumber, meats, spices, fertile soil, insect cuisine, perfumes, freshwater fish, houseplants, seeds and shoots for farming, decorative plant or wood working, plant based oils for cooking or fuel

Light: wheat, plant based fibers and fabrics, paper and or papyrus, chalk and marble, huge bread and baked goods industry, baskets, porcelain, exotic percivore cuisine, pigments, seasonal fruits

Earth: cactus fruits, minerals and stones, gemstones, terracotta creations or construction pieces, ceramic work, glass tile work, roots and tubers, fossils, pigments,

Wind: rice, grains, construction grade bamboo, paper, rice paper, fabrics, plants and small birds for consumption, instruments (specifically wood-wind), silks, ribbon, sonorous sculptures

Shadow: fungal harvests, wire craft, tactical suits and mantles to conceal the body, iron weaponry with decorative detailing, insect and plant exports, huge root farming industry, lantern exports, candles, woodturned tools/utensils/decor/etc

Water: shells and abalone, fish, seaweed and kelp cuisine, boats and boat blueprints, crustacean cuisine, huge huge huge provider for the pescatarians, opal

Lightning: machinery parts, batteries, cactus harvests, insulation for both heat and electricity, exotic insect cuisine, dried and aged foods, electricity is produced in excess enough to provide immediately to the surrounding territories

Arcane: stained glass, lumber from the starwood strand (has unique properties and could be used for construction or artistic works), magical batteries made from the crystals, tomes and books, lenses, exotic herbivore cuisine, luminous pigments, tapestry work

Plague: immunizers/immunizations, craft and construction grade bones, leather, ale/mead/wine/whiskey/etc because they have the most intricate and detailed brewing and fermenting processes due to the understanding they have surrounding bacteria, pickled foods and pickling kits, surgical grade tools, cheeses, dry aged meats, medical practices unlike any other

Fire: weapons and armor, exotic carnivore cuisine, glasswork and glass blowing, obsidian and basalt export, geothermic energy(they can provide power enough to the surrounding territories) intricate mosaic and tile work, mineral exports, ceramic exports, blackened foods, metal shells and armor for vessels and vehicles and mounts

These are just what I can think of by examining the map and element at face value, there are millions of things these places can produce and export but I think these are the big ones or what they are known for, maybe even just the best quality versions of the export! If you want to use these ideas or add your own feel free!

#fr #dragon #flight rising #flightrising #fr headcanon #worldbuilding

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delicatebarness · 2 months

Text

winters child | pilot

Summary: How it all began.

Warnings: Slight MCU Spoilers. Talks of Young Pregnancies Against Will, Mentions of Still Birth. Mentions of Physical Fighting. It is a story about a child born into Hydra and The Red Room, just expect the worst. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Word Count: 1278

Masterlist | Next Episode

A/N: There are three POVs in this story. Natasha's, Bucky's & Reader's. Each has its own respective emphasis'. As shown previously, Natasha's POV will be Italic, Bucky's POV in Bold, and Reader's POV will be the regular option. Any 'Talking Heads' will be in 'Small'. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I have come up with the idea and written it! As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. Side Note: I am posting this chapter now to collect thoughts/feedback. If it is requested for more then it will be weekly on Wednesdays when new chapters are released.

Tags:

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED TO ANY THIRD-PARTY SITE OR APP. IF ANYONE SEES MY WORK ANYWHERE BUT HERE, IT HAS BEEN REPOSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

Act One

The Red Room. Every corner harbored secrets, and whispers. They echoed a weight of betrayal. She was one of many Black Widows trained there to become the best of KGB spies. As well as Ballet but that was only a cover. That was where she met him.

"Meeting The Winter Soldier was, chilling, he was an enigma. I remember the room would go silent, and the air would feel heavy like every breath was a reminder of the darkness that processed him. He sent shivers down my spine."

The products of manipulation and trauma, forged with purpose, get information and kill. She did see the echoes of herself within him, and the longer he trained her, the more she saw. The Red Room watched closely as they dodged each other's attacks in a delicate balance. Seamlessly. Watching their crafted weapons and experiments working together in harmony, they couldn't help but wonder.

"I was different, I watched every day as each girl would be taken and come back... sterilized. With each passing day, more of them would go and I would be left behind, still a working machine. Until it was my time."

Another violation of Natasha's humanity was what they did next to her. Turning her once again into another one of their tools for twisted agendas.

"It wasn't until I released the Hydra files that the lies began to unravel. I carried a baby, a baby girl. They used me as an incubator, to produce another Black Widow. Or so I thought. My pregnancy was if you take out the how it happened part, normal. I had morning sickness, stretch marks everything. It was her birth that was the issue."

Nashata had nine months to prepare for the motherhood she expected to experience at the end. Nine months believing that she would be free, no more ballet, no more spy work. She could be a mother. Unfortunately a mother to a child destined to become the same as her. It would be different, she would protect the child. She would use the skills she has already learned to free them both.

"I never got to see the child I carried. I didn't hear a cry. Medics and Scientists surrounded me, surgical lights were blinding me, and my hormones were everywhere. I asked for her. I kept asking for her."

The baby's existence had been concealed from Natasha, more lies and manipulation had her believe that she had lost the child at birth. Her hope was lost. She no longer could see the freedom she had been dreaming of.

"I worked hard. I became the best spy The Red Room created and then, I got out. When I released the files, I knew I had to find out more about what happened all them years ago. Even if it was just why it happened. What was their end goal? I never expected to find out that all this time, she was alive. "Дитя зимы" was what she was referenced as in all their files. Winter's Child. She was nameless, her only identity was a reference to her 'father'. That was when I realized my child was also his. They were breeding soldiers."

Act Two

After the fall of Hydra, everyone fled. The baby who had grown into a worthy assassin was now an average 21-year-old, who had no idea how to take care of herself unless it was in a fight, fending for herself. She didn't know what was happening, there were too many conversations, yelling, and rushing happening at once for her to focus. Watching all these workers she had grown up around in chaos, scrambling to protect whatever information they could, she saw the opportunity and she ran. They failed to conceal their biggest secret, their deadliest weapon.

"One thing I think everyone is forgetting is, I wasn't brainwashed. I never forgot who I was after a mission or a trigger like The Winter Soldier did. That was all I knew, I never had a life before that. I didn't have any triggers. Yet, at the same time, I was still a child, I was still a teenager and now, I'm learning that my upbringing wasn't 'normal'. I just want to explore life as a 'normal'."

Betraying her years of training, she ran as far as she could. Not stopping until she could no longer hear hurried footsteps or the cacophony of echoes. Taking a moment to catch her breath, her thoughts kept running. The only life she had was currently crumbling around her.

"All I could think about was my life is over. Again, I never had a life before Hydra. And, that realization kicked in pretty fast once I was outside for the first time without someone else or a comm in my ear. For the first time, I was curious about what life was beyond my bedroom, the training room, or his office."

After continuing to run, she found herself trying to navigate her way through unfamiliar streets. How was this so close to where she had lived for two decades but never knew of its existence? She couldn't help but feel excited over the newfound freedom, a possibility she never had dared to dream about before. While lost in thought, she almost missed the News broadcast playing on a storefront TV. "Hydra's Reign of Terror Over - Natasha Romanoff speaks on releasing secret files..." She read along with the 'Breaking News' segment.

"Yeah, I read the files. That was how I found out who my parents were also. It was a strange experience reading them and having flashbacks of training with my dad but knowing that wasn't the knowledge I had at the time."

Act Three

The soldier, even though it was against his instincts as a trained assassin, always felt protective over the girl and a type of responsibility. She was small yet incredibly powerful. As they sparred in the training rooms, he would watch her throwing punches toward him, hitting his ribs perfectly. He began to admire her movements, using her ballet training to always be able to get around him. He couldn't help but recall an older widow he trained who moved extremely similarly.

"As a kid, she didn't half give back as much as she took. She was determined in every training session to impress everyone who studied her. No matter how tough of a challenge they threw at her, she never backed down. Funny, I knew another punk who was just like that."

While he was tasked with training her, a dormant side of him was learning from her too. The man he was inside would begin to reach out, she was only a child, and the voice would echo this in his mind as he began to awaken. As the years went on and he watched her grow under his guidance, it became easier for the soldier to come back from the brainwashing. Which, was causing problems outside of their training bubble.

"I believe if I could have controlled it, I would have stayed as The Winter Soldier in that moment. They were worried that I was 'waking up' and that she was the reason why. I mean, it was true. The more time I spent with her in the training room, the more our bond grew and it did start to feel more human."

Although the soldier was unaware that the girl was in fact, his flesh and blood, something in him believed she was his in spirit. He grew a paternal instinct to protect her, and their bond grew fiercely, just like father and daughter.

"No, I didn't know she was my kid."

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yesokayiknow · 5 months

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anything on 13 and 14 for the bigeneration?

-since there’s already two of them, fourteen never gets shot, which means fifteen won’t be around for a while yet 😔. it also means that both the doctors play their own games against the toymaker! fourteen sticks with highest card, thirteen goes with mario kart (and wins, for the record. yes she will be holding the fact that she won her game and fourteen lost over his head forever. oh what’s that his game was pure chance and doesn’t have anything to do with his level of skill? tough)

-donna's spare room only has one bed, and they argue over who gets it for like an hour (thirteen's like i sleep on the floor a lot anyway it's fine you take the bed and fourteen's like you literally died like 5 hours ago YOU take the bed) until donna's like Why Doesn't Somebody Take The Fucking Sofa. that somebody is thirteen bc fourteen's really tall lmao. donna comes downstairs the next morning to find fourteen curled up on the floor next to the sofa anyway and is like hm i sure hope this won't be representative of their general relationship!

-for the first week, thirteen is very much not fun to be around for reasons of she literally just fucking died and was kind of hoping that it would mean she didn't have to deal with any of that unresolved trauma (spoiler alert it's still there but It's Worse Now). eventually even fourteen starts avoiding her, which makes it ten times worse (turns out she's uh kinda bleeding psychically. that's what happens when two aliens rip open your memories again and again and then your best enemy forces a regeneration on you). this goes on until she snaps at rose, at which point donna sits her down in the shed and is like we're going to talk or else i will physically kick you out. an hour (and a lot of tears) later she brings fourteen in too. they end up having semi regular check in sessions after that and it really does help

-around a month in, they just Vanish and the tardis is gone too, and donna's like well they could've left a fucking note. but i get it. and then rose is like mum come look!!! and takes her into the shed, which is now bigger on the inside and has two full rooms, one with rose's workshop (now with a bunch of vintage sewing and knitting machines in) and one with the tardis and a hammock (for thirteen) and a sofa bed (for fourteen). donna's like oh you definitely should be in seperate rooms you guys are unhealthily close and they're like we can't hear you over our amazing coping methods

-yeah they're like. really codependent. they also have vastly different ways of getting comfort (fourteen needs to be touching somebody at all times, and also loves comfortable silences; thirteen needs a five foot cube of personal space and also can't stop talking ever Or Else The Thoughts Get Her) which isn't a super great way to live tbh! luckily you kinda need surgical tools to seperate donna and fourteen, and rose and thirteen can talk at each other for hours, so it kinda balances out. the fact that they physically need to interact with other people really helps dskjldsajklds

-while fourteen isn't ten, he's just like a more mature version of him, so he slots very easily back into donna and wilf (and even sylvia)'s lives. thirteen, on the other hand, is a completely new person, and does often feel a little out of place. once everyone else realises she feels like this they're like what the fuck are you talking about. you're sad and feral. that's the doctor

-they do eventually get better with uh lots of therapy and also getting desk jobs at unit (fourteen ends up more with the organisational side while thirteen is just Generally Sciencey. she has like forty experiments going at once. kate only knows about around 2/3 of them) plus the shed expands eventually and thirteen gets her own workshop and tinkering really helps calm her down. meanwhile fourteen starts getting into baking, and that helps him too. they both just really needed a breather, yknow?

#asks #anon #bigeneration au(s)#doctor who #the doctor #thirteen #fourteen #they're both doing very much not good!#thirteen goes through So Fucking Much in her life and stopping to think about it makes it all hit her at once #and fourteen's like the saddest wettest cat around. mainly because Look At Who He Came From #votest most depressing doctor duo #also since they both live in the same place they need a way to differentiate them #donna comes up with SO many stupid nicknames #her favourite is probably bitey and bony #there's also stripes and suit. blondie and spiky. shortcake and double decker. north and south #also fourteen ends up migrating from his suits into just comfy clothes but i don't think thirteen ever changes tbh. maybe also more jumpers #god i need to make these shorter #sorry 😔

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cynamed · 1 year

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#surgical pliers #vial crimper #vial decapper pliers #decapping vials and bottles #vial decapper #vial crimper 20mm #30mm vial crimper #decapper bottle opener #decapping pliers #vial opener #best vial decapper tool #best vial decapper #cheap vial decapper #cheap vial opener

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wh0re4gwen · 3 months

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POPPET ･ﾟ･｡

Possessive!Donna Beneviento x Fem

T/W- Dolls, possessive Donna asf, needles, forced surgical work (?), & I think that’s it

A/N- I’m trying to post all my drafts so I can publish my material list🥲

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

She loved you. Of course she did, or she wouldn’t be helping you right now.

As your partner, Donna vowed to always, do what was best for her precious poppet. Even if that meant doing something she wasn’t particularly proud of.

She almost felt bad, but you tried to leave her and she can’t have that. Oh no, no, no, her precious doll out there all on her own?

The thought saddened Donna. ‘I’m fixing you Cara Mia’ Donna thought to herself.

This way we’ll be together forever and you won’t have to worry about making silly mistakes anymore.

In fact, you won’t have to worry about anything anymore, I can think for the both of us.

Donna began to hum lightly as she wove the needle into your porcelain skin. She smiled at her progress, almost done, then you’ll be good as new.

Once she made the last stitch, she carefully put the needle on the little grey tray with other various tools.

“Now all you need is a new dress. Every doll must look their very best.” Donna spoke softly as she caressed the side of your face lovingly.

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.” She joked as she exited the room.

#donna beneviento x reader #re8 village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #donna beneviento #wlw fanfic #angsty #coquette dollete #angie resident evil #house beneviento #doll maker

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 5 months

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I love soukoku relationship reveals as much as anyone and they're fun to write, but for me Fukumori (Zenki Soukoku) is undeniabley the best.

I mean Soukoku, while the agency would never guess, is fair. Dazai is a wild card and they don't know anything about his past. Banging a mafia executive seems like sometjing he would do. Now marriage and finding out Dazai actually kept a commitment is a bit more shocking, but still once you find out how long they've known eachpother it makes sense. Even if they're dynamic may seem weird as hell.

And then there's Shin Soukoku. I think the people most suprised to find out they're dating is them. I mean we've all see how gay they are for ecahother, litterally not even Kunikida is suprised at this point.

But Fukumori . . . now that's different. Fukuzawa Yukichi is the kind man who feeds stray cats, adopted an orphan whom noboy else wanted, started a detective agency to SOLVE CRIME, cares for his employees, and is best dad boss 100/100.

So to find out he's banging, and more than that, married to the boss of the Port Mafia, a man who is cold an calculating and kills people with surgical tools is just fucking insane, like absolutkley fucking wild, and I cannot tell you how much I love writing relationship reveals for these two!

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #fukumori #morizawa #zenki soukoku #morizawa relationship reveal #fukumori relationship reveal #zenki soukoku relationship reveal

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

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Lavender - Ch. 20

Life in the QZ gets worse and you're called outside the walls again. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-19 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader (broken up), Tommy Miller x Reader

Warnings: Mild smut, talk of extreme police action, description of injuries. No use of Y/N. Minors, DNI 18+ only

Length: 6.5k

Saturday, June 11, 2011 - One Year Later

“I can only keep them off your back so long,” Elias was all but stalking you into an operating room as you made sure your hair was tucked below your scrub cap. “At some point…”

“I’m not asking for you to keep them off my back,” you said, pausing at the door to go scrub in. “Don’t need to lie, don’t need make up an excuse. Tell them I think they’re fascists and that I’m not going to prop up their dystopian police state.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted.

“They’re going to do it with or without you there,” he said. “This isn’t the hill you want to die on…”

“I think it’s exactly the hill to fucking die on, actually,” you snapped.

“And if they decide to execute you, too?” He demanded. “What then?”

“Sounds like you’ll need to find someone to fill in for me on Saturdays,” you shrugged. He glared at you. “Can I go do this hernia repair now or are you going to keep trying to get me to be a tool in the continued downfall of humanity?”

“Sometimes we can’t solve everything ourselves,” he said. “Sometimes we have to go along with awful things because we can do more good if we survive it.”

You sighed.

“They don’t know shit about medicine, right?” You said. He nodded once. “Great. Tell them you really just can’t spare me because I’m the only one who can do some stupid common surgical procedure so you need me here when I’m on duty. Because it’s just raining appendicitis here in the QZ. I imagine that will satisfy them and they can figure out how to check the pulse of someone they’ve hanged themselves without dragging me into it…”

“Might work,” he sighed.

“None of us should be a part of this,” you said. “Not just me. None of us should. It goes against our oath and even if it didn’t, it’s cruel and wrong.”

“I agree,” he said. “But imagine how many people would die if they executed the entire clinic for insubordination. Oaths are complicated things. Sometimes, we have to look beyond just ourselves and consider what’s best for the whole.”

“What’s best for the whole is FEDRA not executing people who have broken curfew one too many times because suddenly they’re dissidents,” you replied and then you sighed. “I do need to actually operate, I’ve got another hernia repair after this one… I’m sorry you’re stuck dealing with this shit. If you can keep me out of it while letting me keep my head, I’d appreciate it.”

“Just… try not to call any of the guards fascist to their face, alright?” He said. “I’d rather you not end up shot in the street.”

“I’ll do my best.”

You went in to scrub and ground your teeth. Things had been steadily going down hill with FEDRA for the last six months.

Patrols had increased drastically. They instituted a curfew about 10 months back that people didn’t take seriously at first - especially not the speakeasy crowd. Being home by midnight seemed outrageous.

Then the executions started.

They waited a few months before they started killing people. Gave people citations. Warned them that they’d be seen as conspirators with the Fireflies, the militarized resistance to FEDRA. From what you’d heard on your regular visits to the radio - you were still hoping against hope to find Cassie one day, though you were far less certain of her survival than you’d ever been of Joel and Tommy’s - that the fireflies were gaining strength across all the other QZs. People were angry that things weren’t getting better. You didn’t blame them.

The first sign you had that you, specifically, needed to worry about getting roped in was when Andrew showed up to your apartment one evening, looking distraught.

“Hey,” you frowned, pulling him inside. You led him to your couch and he sat down, almost in a daze. “What’s going on?”

“Guards just came by, they took Jess, said they needed her, they’re doing something outside the walls, I don’t know what they need her for out there, it doesn’t make sense,” his voice cracked. “I don’t know what they need her for, what if something happens? She’s never been out there, she’s from Boston, she came right here, what if…”

You pulled him into a hug, his arms going around your waist, his head buried in your stomach and he let out a choking sob.

“It’s OK,” you ran your fingers through his hair. “It’ll be OK, they’ll look out for her. She’s going to be OK.”

He spent the night that night, you sandwiched between him and Tommy (“This is weird, right?” Tommy said. “I mean, I’m fine with it, I just want to know that I’m not crazy.” “It’s weird,” you and Andrew said together.) Jess came back the next day, shaken but otherwise OK. It was the first of numerous trips for her outside the walls of the QZ. They were trying to use her to justify increased militarized presence through psychology, how that would help keep raiders under control. They were trying to prove their own worth. It was only a matter of time before they started roping in medical staff and teachers, too.

Meanwhile, the Fireflies were getting more outspoken, more vocal and more violent. The tighter FEDRA seemed to squeeze, the more people wanted to back the Fireflies. It was so incredibly stupid on FEDRA’s part it took all you had to not walk off both your jobs. The only thing that kept you going was the fact that it was the best way you could help people. There were no schools or clinics that weren’t run by FEDRA. If you wanted to teach, if you wanted to heal, there were no other options.

And you could use your connections to keep Tommy, Joel and Tess safe.

They were still making their smuggling runs. You tried talking Tommy out of it every time he was about to leave for another one, all but begging him to stay with you instead of going out again.

“What, and leave Tess and Joel without all my skills to back them up?” He kissed your forehead. “C’mon. I’m basically the only reason they’re still alive, Sweetheart. Can’t let them go it alone.”

So you kept them stocked in trauma supplies, stealing things from work with even greater regularity. Tommy kept showing up at your door battered and bruised. You’d taken to keeping a suture kit at your house, regularly needing to stitch his wounds closed.

“I really fucking hate this,” you said one night, stitching a knife wound to his shoulder closed as you sat behind him on your bed.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed.

“No, I mean it,” you said. “I really hate it. I really hate seeing you hurt, I really hate patching you up, I really hate that you feel like you have to do this. I really fucking hate it, Tommy, and I wish you’d stop going out there.”

You tied off the suture and got the kit cleaned up, stashing what was unused and still sterile back in your abused at home supply kit.

“Hey,” he took your hand and pulled you between his legs, looking up at you. “I’m not goin’ out there for nothing…”

“You’re going out there for ration cards,” you snapped. “Which is damn near nothing.”

“Goin’ out there for shit we can’t get here,” he said, untying your robe and unwrapping you slowly, like you were a gift. He pressed his lips to your bare stomach, kissing up your body to your breastbone. “Some of it is important shit. And I have to try to keep Joel and Tess safe. I’m not tryin’ to get hurt, I’m really not tryin’ to hurt you. I’m doing it because it’s important and it’s the only damn way I got to do something important in this fuckin’ place.”

“You’re important to me,” you said quietly, running your fingers through his hair. “Be important that way.”

“And you’re important to me,” he kissed your chest again. “But would you listen if I asked you to stop working at the clinic?”

“I’m not risking my life at the clinic.”

“You’ve got your brain to offer,” he half smiled up at you. “I’m a soldier. All I’ve got’s my body, so I’m usin’ it.” He tugged you closer. “Hopin’ you’ll let me.”

You sighed, straddling him, kissing him, your arms draped carefully over his shoulders so as to not disturb his fresh sutures.

“Really don’t encourage a lot of physical activity so soon after a medical procedure,” you said as he slid your robe to the floor and trailed his lips down your throat. “Should probably make you wait…”

“Swear to God I’ll lose my mind if you don’t let me inside you,” he growled and you laughed. He took the opportunity to pick you up and lay you down with a surprised shriek.

“And you really shouldn’t be doing that,” you said between kisses. “You’re going to rip your stitches out!”

“Worth it.”

He quickly pulled off his pants and thrust into you, making you gasp and moan. “Fuck, Sweetheart, Goddamn,” he groaned. “How do you always feel this fuckin’ good?”

You ground your hips into him and he pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat with a delicious moan, starting to work himself in and out of you. He knew just how you liked to be fucked now, knew all the places inside you to find, how to work your clit, touch your skin, suck your nipples into his mouth. He pulled you tight and close to him as his pace increased and your orgasm built and you fell apart together, gasping for breath as he lay on top of you. You lifted your head just enough to see his sutures before collapsing back down into bed.

“You got fucking lucky, Miller,” you panted. “Because I’d never fuck you again if you made me redo those stitches.”

“I’d seduce you eventually,” he said, kissing your shoulder and sliding out of you. You rolled your eyes. “Only took me 10 years the first time…”

Your relationship with Tommy had been one of the few, surprising bright spots in the last year. It was oddly easy, being with him. There wasn’t much about him that wasn’t easy. He was sweet, he was fun. It was what you’d imagined a relationship to be like in college before you’d started dating Joel. With Joel, it had been heady and intense from the beginning. You’d been head over heels for him from the start. There was no other option, it was all in or nothing and nothing didn’t feel like it was on the table.

Tommy was the opposite. But that was, in part, because you couldn’t seem to actually fall for him. Even when you tried. Even when you focused on it.

It didn’t seem to matter what he did. He took you dancing at the Speakeasy. He brought you bottles of wine from outside the QZ. He got you a small TV/VCR combo from the underground market and a copy of You’ve Got Mail on VHS. You were almost giddy with it while trying to tell him it was way too much.

“Nah, I had to,” he smiled. “Found the tape when we were outside, knew how much you loved that movie. Then I just had to make sure you could actually watch the damn thing.”

Tommy was probably a damn near perfect boyfriend. He just… wasn’t Joel.

It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen him - not even in passing - since the conversation near the clinic. Tommy always came to your place. You always dealt with him or Tess when it came to resupplying their medical stash. He had done a thorough job of making sure you never saw each other.

And it didn’t make a damn difference.

There was a second every morning Tommy spent the night where you thought you were waking up next to his brother. It was one moment - a sweet, if brief, moment - where everything felt right. It was one of your favorite moments of the day, the second there your mind tricked yourself that you were still with the person you loved most. And then came the letdown followed by the shame of it.

“What the fuck is my problem?” You asked Andrew one afternoon as you worked in your lab. “Why can’t I get the fuck over him? Tommy… he’s basically perfect, why can’t I just love him? Why do I have to want the person who doesn’t want me back? And at what point do I fucking tell Tommy ‘hey, I know you’ve basically done nothing but be the best boyfriend a girl could ask for for the past almost year but I’m still in love with your brother who, as it happens, is kind of a dick.’”

“The heart wants what the heart wants, I guess,” Andrew shrugged. “I can’t imagine loving anyone but Jess. You could drop Halle Berry in front of me, make her love all the same shit I do and I’d still want Jess. Just how it works sometimes.”

“This is such a fucking mess,” you groaned.

“He said he understood what he was getting into,” he shrugged again. “So, if I were you, I’d keep it to myself until he drops the L-word on you. Then you’ll have to come clean. But, until then, I think you’re in the clear.”

“Why am I this stupid?” You asked. “Seriously. I’m not this stupid with anything else, how was I this fucking stupid?”

“Eh, you’re pretty stupid with at least some other things,” he said. You glared at him. “You are an absolute shit partner to have in bridge. You cannot strategize for shit, you are really stupid at bridge.”

“Thank you,” you said sarcastically. “That makes me feel so much better.”

“Always happy to be of service.”

It had been a few months that you’d known, for a fact, that you couldn’t fall in love with Tommy. It didn’t matter how hard you tried, how much you wanted to, it wasn’t going to happen. You still weren’t sure what to do about it.

You thought about it more when he wasn’t around. So you were thankful, that Saturday, to have surgeries to attend to. Tommy, Joel and Tess were outside the QZ yet again. Not only were you always worried the whole time they were gone, your brain went into overdrive trying to figure out what to do about the Tommy situation. Surgery was a pleasant distraction.

It was late when you finally finished everything on the docket that day. The sun had set and you felt like you were ready to fall asleep standing up.

“Want to come over later?” Andrew asked as you leaned against the front desk. “Feel like you might need the distraction.”

“Yeah…” you sighed, looking out at the empty waiting room. “Probably a good idea…”

The bell on the front door rang and you instinctively looked. Tess ran in, eyes wide, blood dripping from her shoulder.

“Fuck,” you swore. You were running before you even really knew you were running, grabbing one of the clinic’s go bags.

“Andrew,” you said as you went for the door. “Keep an OR ready for me, do NOT shut down until I get back, understand? See if you can get someone else to stay, please…”

“I’ve got it,” he said. “Go!”

Tess led the way to the hole in the fence.

“What happened?” You asked, the two of you walking as quickly as you could without drawing the attention of anyone patrolling.

“We got pinned down, about a mile outside the QZ,” she said. “We took everyone out eventually but Tommy and Joel…”

“Tess,” your voice cracked.

“They were alive when I left,” she said.

“Fuck!”

You slipped out of the fence, past the search lights and the debris field, and you ran.

You’d never been an athlete. You liked hiking and swimming and walking and were in fine shape but you’d never been a runner. That didn’t seem to matter then.

You raced toward where Tess pointed you, her falling back. You started watching for the bodies that would be around wherever they’d stashed themselves, the telltale signs of the showdown Tess mentioned.

When you spotted it, you practically tore into the small storefront, yanking a flashlight out of your pocket. It didn’t take you long to find Joel and Tommy.

“Hey Sweetheart,” Tommy smiled a little at you. He was breathing heavily, his gun lying across his lap. Tess ran in behind you.

“Hey, you idiot,” you smiled a little back. Joel was silent on the ground. “I need to evaluate you both and figure this out, try to stay conscious for me, OK?”

“Anything for you,” he said, wincing a little.

You took off your backpack and put your flashlight in your teeth, looking Joel over first. He was unconscious but he had a pulse and was breathing. Good signs, even though his breath was shallow. There was a penetrating chest wound and a compound fracture just above his left knee.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck did you guys get up to?” You asked, pulling out your stethoscope. “Do you know how fucking hard it is to break your femur?”

“Had to jump off a roof,” Tommy winced. “Think I just sprained an ankle, Joel landed wrong…”

“Wrong is a fucking understatement,” you muttered, checking his heart rate and his breathing. “Think he’s stable for the moment…”

You moved to Tommy.

“Why do I feel like we’re gonna be in a fight after this?” He asked.

“Because we are,” you said. “Show me what’s wrong.”

“Got shot,” he angled his leg with a groan so you could see the wound. It was to the thigh but had missed the major arteries, so not terrible. “Sprained the ankle…”

“Tess,” you said. “I’m going to need…”

There was a sudden gasping sound from behind you and you spun. Joel was still unconscious but he was struggling to breathe.

“Doc!” Tess ran to him.

“Move!” You ordered, rushing over and thrusting the stethoscope into your ears. You pressed it to his chest and listened. “Fucking hell…”

You yanked your bag to your side and started ripping through it.

“What?” Tess sounded panicked. “What is it?”

“He had a fucking pneumothorax that I missed and it just changed to a tension pneumothorax,” you said, thrusting the flashlight to Tess. She took it, shining the light down at the bag. You found a scalpel and some tubing.

“What’s that?” She asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means there’s air in his chest that’s trapped and making it so his lung can’t inflate and I need to get it out or he’s going to fucking die,” you snapped, ripping his shirt open, sending buttons flying and pointing to a spot on his rib cage. You cut off a short length of tube. “Light here.”

She obeyed and you made the cut, thrusting the tubing in to hold the incision open so the air could escape. He took a deep, shuddering breath and you relaxed.

“Thank fuck for that,” you sighed, really looking at his face for the first time.

You had to fight the urge to touch him. He was still so fucking beautiful it made your heart ache. Seeing him again was like getting hit by the train. All this time, you’d thought you’d just been holding steady, that you just kept loving him the same way you always had.

You hadn’t. It had become a dull roar. It hung on the edges of everything but you could forget about it sometimes, when he wasn’t there to remind you. But the second you saw him, it was all consuming. You felt it in your skin, your chest, your marrow. Loving him was built into you like any other vital thing, there was no excising it. You could quiet it, avoid it but it would never cease to exist. Not for you.

“Tess,” you said after a second. “Hold pressure on the lower chest wound, leave the one I just made the fuck alone.”

You went to Tommy and started looking at his gunshot wound.

“How are you feeling?” You asked. “Lightheaded?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, Sweetheart,” he smiled a little. “Just having a hard time walking is all…”

“Yeah, that’s going to be the sticking point here,” you glanced to Tess.

“What?” She asked.

“You and I are going to have to do some heavy lifting,” you said.

“I can do that,” she nodded. “I can do that.”

You grabbed some gauze and a brace from your bag, wrapping Tommy’s gunshot wound and giving him some ankle support before you looked him in the eye.

“Alright Miller,” you said. “Time to boot and rally, you were in the army, you can do this. You’re going to go with Tess to the fence and head for the clinic. Andrew is waiting for you guys.”

“What about you?” He asked.

“I’m going to wake up Joel and I’m taking him to the main gate,” you said, getting to your feet and offering Tommy your hand.

“That’s a fucking death sentence, you can’t go to the main gate!” Tess gaped up at you.

“We can’t get him through the fence,” you said. “There’s no way in hell, not with a compound fracture, an open chest wound and a pneumo. Main gate might be a death sentence for you but I can get us in. It’ll be tricky but I can get us in.”

“That’s too big a risk,” Tommy said, taking your hand. You pulled him to his feet and slung his arm over your shoulder. “You can’t…”

“I can’t just leave him out here,” you looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “I need to get him to the clinic before shit gets worse and that’s the only way…”

He cupped your face, looking in your eyes and you knew he saw it. What you felt. Why you couldn’t leave Joel behind. Not now, not ever.

“It’s gonna get you killed, Sweetheart,” he said softly.

“Don’t have a choice,” you smiled sadly. He pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Tess?” You said, still looking at Tommy. She came alongside you and you held up his arm. She stepped into place. “Straight to the clinic, OK?”

“You sure you’ve got Joel from here?” She asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Get yourselves out of here, we’ll be right behind. The clinic. Andrew’s staying there, he’ll help you.”

She nodded and they left you there with Joel on the ground.

You ran to his side, checking his breathing. Still solid.

“Well at least there’s that,” you muttered to yourself. You quickly bandaged the wound at his chest. Looking closer, you were pretty sure it was a stab wound and not a bullet hole. You tried to keep it so it wouldn’t be jostled and have him start bleeding out. You moved onto the leg.

You were going to need to at least partially set it, there’s no way you could carry him and he couldn’t put any weight on it the way it was now. It was just going to hurt like a bitch. Which is part of why you’d sent Tess and Tommy along. This part was not going to be pretty and there was a good chance he was going to scream loud enough to attract every clicker and raider in a five mile radius.

“OK Miller,” you grabbed the length of tubing you hadn’t used to open his chest and put it between his teeth, making him bite down on it. “You can do this, you can get through this you stubborn asshole, you’re going to be fine, hear me? I will never forgive you if you’re not fine so you’re going to be fucking fine…”

You grabbed the stuff to make a splint from your bag and set it up around his injured leg before you put one knee on his hip, hoping to help hold him still.

“Here we go,” you took a deep breath. “One, two, three…”

You winced as you started pushing his bone back into alignment. He gasped and flung his hand out, catching you in the side.

“It’s me!” You said quickly, pushing the bone back into place. He groaned, the sound choking and gasping. “Bite down on the tube, I’m setting your leg enough that you can put weight on it, I know it hurts, I’m almost done just stick with me…”

The bone disappeared below the skin and you stopped pushing. Joel went slack, panting for breath. You grabbed gauze and quickly bound the point where the break had come through the skin before setting the splint.

“You still with me over there, Miller?” You asked, not able bring yourself to look over at him, afraid of what you might see.

“Still here,” he was panting for breath.

“Good,” you said, sitting back on your heels for a moment, out of breath yourself. You looked over at him.

He was watching you, a soft look on his face. Your heart swelled with it.

“Hey Kid,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you half smiled at him.

“Tess and Tommy?” He asked.

“Headed for the QZ,” you said. “Sent them on ahead because they’re taking a different route in than us.”

“What route are we taking?” He frowned.

“Main gate,” you said, starting to pack up your supplies.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, we can’t…”

“You can’t without me,” you cut him off. “But I can. And you can’t get under the fence right now, Joel, not with your leg like that coupled with the fact that you’ve got a penetrating chest wound and I had to give you an incision to relieve a tension pneumothorax.”

“Then you’re leavin’ me out here,” he started trying to prop himself up on his elbows and you went to help him. “Not riskin’ you bringing me in through the main gate…”

“Shut the fuck up, Miller,” you said, helping him sit up all the way. He glared at you.

“Always knew there was a risk of not comin’ back, Kid,” he said. His eyes kept ranging over your face.

“You don’t get to just die on me out here,” you snapped. “We’re not doing that, got it? I didn’t come all the way out here to save your ass just to have you die on me so we’re going to the main fucking gate.”

You stood up and put on the pack before offering him your hand. He glared at you.

“I swear to God Joel if you don’t I will go to the main gate myself and make them come get you in a patrol truck,” you snapped. “Guessing this is a smuggling hide out for you, I will bring them here, I don’t give a shit.”

“You’re the most stubborn damn woman I’ve ever met,” he muttered, taking your hand.

“Put as much weight as you can on the good leg,” you ordered. He glared at you. “What, you’re saying dumb shit like I should just leave you out here to die so I have to state the obvious. Ready?” He nodded once. “Alright, one, two, three.”

You pulled and he hissed in pain as you helped him up. He almost collapsed and you caught him with your shoulder tucked into his armpit.

“See?” You said as he panted for breath. “We’ve got this.”

It didn’t take long for you and Joel to fall into a rhythm that kept his pain from getting worse as you walked. It was slow going but you made steady progress.

“Why’d you do this?” He managed after you’d walked half a mile.

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“Come out here,” he said. His breaths came in short, gasping pants. “Save me. Why?”

You were quiet for a moment.

“You know why,” you said eventually.

He ground his teeth.

“We’re not good for each other,” he said.

“I know.”

“Told you I didn’t want to see you.”

“Trust me, I remember.”

“You’re with Tommy.”

“I know.”

He growled. The searchlights of the QZ perimeter were getting close.

“When we get up there, let me do the talking,” you said. “Keep your mouth fucking shut. I’m going to get us through this in one piece but you have to do what I say for a change, got it?”

He just grunted in affirmation.

The guards spotted you quickly. It wasn’t like you were trying to hide.

“Hands up!” Their guns were drawn. You raised the hand you could. “I fucking said hands up!”

“Can’t put them all up, I have an injured man with me,” you called back. “I’m a doctor at the clinic, I got word of an injured person outside the fence, I’m bringing him in for treatment…”

The voice shifted.

“Doc? That you?”

You squinted against the searchlight as the guard came closer. You smiled a little.

“Hi Tim,” you said. You’d known there was a good chance one of your former students would be at the gate. It was just luck that it was one who remembered you fondly. He lowered his gun.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked, coming over and taking Joel’s other side. Joel just gaped at you.

“Helping the injured,” you jerked your head in Joel’s direction. “That whole hippocratic oath thing, I couldn’t just ignore it once I knew about it. I was hoping you could let us in here.”

“Doc, you left the QZ…” he said quietly.

“I know,” you said. “And I don’t want to compromise you or your job in any way. But I had to do my job, too. If you need to write me up or take me into custody you can, but I need to get this man to the clinic first…”

He looked Joel over.

“You’ll make sure he does intake?” He asked.

“Of course,” you replied. He pulled out a scanner and took a sample from each of you. The screen glowed green. His jaw twitched.

“Alright,” he said. “But we have to move quick and you never saw me, OK?”

“Thank you,” you said, moving as quickly as Joel would allow. Your heart was in your throat until you were through the gate.

“Get to the clinic by curfew,” Tim said. “You’ve only got 20 minutes.”

***

Joel wasn’t sure what hurt more, his leg, his chest or seeing you.

He’d managed to avoid you for a year. A whole year of not seeing your face, the longest he’d gone since he’d come to the QZ. He hated every goddamn second of it.

It was the right thing to do, though, trying to let you go. He kept fucking failing you and he’d keep fucking failing you the more he was around you. And being around you hurt.

He wasn’t sure it would be better or worse if you were his. Everything he’d lost was all tied up in you. The life he’d been inches away from having wound around your limbs and lips and hair. He didn’t think he could just be next to you and know that. But fuck, not seeing you…

One of the hardest things he’d ever had to do was say goodbye to you that day on the street. But he couldn’t keep drowning you in his misery. As much as he’d hated Tommy for touching you, for picking you, he couldn’t hate him for pointing out the obvious. He’d been cruel to you. As much as he was angry, hurting, wanting to hate you, you didn’t deserve that. You deserved better than what he could give you. You were too much for him to take and he couldn’t seem to stop hurting you. It had to end.

But he was relieved that he could gauge how you were doing by Tommy’s mood. He didn’t like much else about the fact that you were with him but when Tommy came home from seeing you in a good mood, he knew you were happy. If he were a little off, he knew you probably had a bad day at work. If he were irritable it meant you were upset about something. He didn’t dare ask what but he knew it was something.

It was strange, knowing you existed in the world but not knowing much of anything about it. He clung to what he did know. Wished he didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to see you. Wished he didn’t want to look at you.

But now you were close - so fucking close - and it hurt. Andrew helped you get him onto an exam table and he could barely hear what you were saying, giving him some kind of pill and making him breathe in some shit that made his head swim as you made him lie down.

“Don’t want you workin’ on me,” he managed. You frowned.

“Well I’m the only option you have, Miller, so suck it up,” you said, not looking up from your work at his side.

“Don’t want to want to look at you,” he muttered.

“Then don’t look at me,” you said, stitching up his side.

“Can’t help it,” he mumbled. “Too fuckin’ pretty…”

“Sounds like a personal problem, Miller,” you said. “Stop talking so much, you’re making it hard to sew.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Just missed you.”

You looked at him for a moment.

“Missed you too.”

You went back to sewing. He just watched you work, soaking up what he could of you. He didn’t know when he’d see you again. He wanted to hold onto this.

He fell asleep watching you heal him.

***

By the time you finished with Joel, you were exhausted. You were going to have to just sleep in an exam room, it was past curfew and you wouldn’t want to be far, anyway. But, for that moment, you just wanted to slump against the wall in the hall, not able to make yourself move any further.

You slid to the floor, leaning your head back against the wall and taking a deep breath. Your legs and arms ached. You were pretty sure your abs would, too, in the morning after you hauled Joel all that way.

Tess came out of an exam room and looked surprised to find you on the floor before siting next to you.

“How is he?” She asked.

“He’ll be fine,” you sighed. “Won’t be able to make any runs for at least two months while his femur heals, though.”

She nodded slowly.

“Can I ask you something?” She asked after a moment.

“As long as it’s nothing philosophical,” you replied. “Brain is fried. Ask me how to do surgery, that I can do with my eyes closed.”

“What are you doing with them?” She asked, watching you. You frowned. “You’ve got Tommy wrapped around your finger. You’ll put your life on the line to save Joel. What are you doing with them?”

“Nothing that I really have a say in,” you looked at her, too tired to try to dodge the question. “If I could stop… feeling the way I do, I would. I hate it, I hate what it’s done to me, what it’s done to him, what it’s doing to Tommy and I just… I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I want it to be over.

“I keep thinking that loving people, that’s the reason we’re here. That’s what we’re supposed to do with life, we’re supposed to love people as much as we can for as long as we can but that doesn’t work anymore, does it? Maybe it did before all this happened. Maybe it didn’t and I was just too naive to know it but that’s what it felt like we were supposed to do. But I can’t keep loving him and I can’t just let this keep going with Tommy and I just….” Your voice cracked. You were too tired to try to fight off tears.

Tess tugged you over so your head was on her shoulder. You blinked in surprise.

“I was married before,” she said. “I told you that. I didn’t tell you that I had to shoot him, in the outbreak.”

“Jesus…” you breathed.

“Even knowing how it was going to end, I’m glad I had it while I did,” she said. “But I’m still too afraid to ever love someone like that again. Love like that wrecks you, utterly destroys you. It’s why I make the choices I make now. And yeah, it’s safer but my God is life sweeter when you have it.

“Joel’s broken like that, too,” she said. “Part of why we get along. I’m not sure he’ll ever get his shit together. It’s too big a risk for him. But I think you still can figure it out. It hasn’t broken you yet. You still wear ribbons in your hair. You’re not broken yet.”

You stared at the wall for a moment.

“I need to talk to Tommy,” you said eventually.

“I’m really sorry, Doc,” she said quietly.

“Me too.”

You made yourself stop crying before you knocked on Tommy’s door and opened it quietly, half hoping he would be asleep when you went inside.

No such luck.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he half smiled at you.

“Hey,” you half smiled back. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better,” he shrugged. “Been worse.”

You nodded.

“The nurse - Kristen, I think? - said Joel was fine,” he said. You nodded again.

He just looked at you for a moment, like he was memorizing you.

“I never had a shot, did I?” He asked.

You smiled tightly.

“I told you I wasn’t sure I could ever love anyone else,” you said softly.

“You did,” he nodded. “Just hoped I’d convince you.”

“You and me both.”

He smiled at that and held out his hand for you. You took it, letting him tug you to him.

“You’ve been the most fun I’ve had since the end of the world,” he said. “Glad we got to figure it out.”

“Me too,” you sniffed, trying not to cry.

He smiled and kissed your forehead.

“Go sleep,” he said. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Yeah, I think I am,” you laughed. “Your brother is fucking heavy, I’m never hauling him anywhere again…”

He laughed at that, too. You looked at him.

“I really tried,” you said quietly. “But…”

“I know,” he said. “Now get out of here before I do something stupid.”

You nodded and went for the door.

“Hey,” he said.

You stopped and turned back to him.

“Here’s looking at you, Kid.”

You smiled, shook your head a little, and left him behind.

A/N: Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as things ramp up as we build into the core story of TLOU. Tommy will still be around for a bit but boyfriend Tommy is over. So sorry for all the Tommy Stans! This was always the plan, though. He was here to help Joel figure his shit out and give Doc a way out of her single-mindedness when it comes to Joel.

I do have a tag list, please let me know if you'd like to be added, just comment below! If you've asked and haven't made it on, please ask again. I'm trying to get everyone added but I think people may have slipped through the cracks because I have no organizational system for this.

Thank you so much for reading and commenting and letting me know how the story makes you feel! It's a joy to write for you all, thank you for hanging out with my characters :)

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