#not sold on this design for carpenter

[bird-sovereign]

Been relistening to season one

#she makes him leave the hat at the motel #and then they lose it in 15 #not sold on this design for carpenter #the silt verses #tsv fanart #tsv #faulkner tsv #carpenter tsv #art from the bird

[writteninlunarlight-years]

My 4th shot of Espresso~~~~Alastor x Reader

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sinners being sinners, Anxietyy descriptors, some swear words, high amounts of caffeine consumption, alcohol consumption

Type: Story ( I had no control again and I made it so long)

Word Count: 6944

Playlist: Espresso- Sabrina Carpenter

Prompt: The reader was a singer in her past life, well-known in the human world for her sweet, sultry voice before her untimely death. The people of the overworld would say she was like a shot of espresso to your system. Now, in Pentagram City, a particular radio demon can't help but seek out his next caffeine high.

Notes: I will not lie to everyone; I am a hardcore Sabrina Carpenter fan. She is one of the few artists outside my regular music routine. She has a grip on me and my reptile brain.

Her song Espresso got me thinking of one Radio Demon specifically. The 1900s was a big time for coffee production (in the US, where I am from), mainly due to Prohibition, and it just so happens that right around the 1920s, espresso machines were introduced heavily in America. The FDA also recommends not going over 6 shots of Espresso, but many health professionals say not to go over 3 shots, so I will meet in the middle here.

My 4th shot of Espresso~~~~Alastor x Reader

The day you died was tragic indeed for all parties involved. Your deranged stalker who killed you now serves life in prison, your fans continue to broadcast your music regularly, crying their eyes out, and your record label is on the hunt for the next ‘Hit’ girl. The only problem was you were a one-of-a-kind, naturally gifted with vocal cords, so sweet and sultry everyone fell for you. Your varying music genres make you an addiction to almost any music fanatic. You were the singer of your time. 

How did you keep that title for so long? Simply put, due to becoming the designated ‘shot of espresso everyone needs to wake up and have a good day,’ your fans were less than kind to any new artists or rising stars. You were an Angle, sweet inside and out, never letting your fame get to your head. However, many scandals and theories have been made that people can never surpass you because you sold your soul or hired people to knock down your competition. None of this was true, though. You were simply a bystander to your fan's actions, not wanting to seem unthankful for all the support that got you there.

Then it happened: your death. One minute, you were walking to the coffee shop by your apartment in the city when a strange man started yelling at you. Of course, the one day you don’t have a bodyguard leave with you, the paparazzi show up. If only that man were a paparazzi; as he got closer, you noticed the lack of camera, the deranged look in his eyes, and the shirt he wore saying, ‘Y/N be my wife.’ All you could think of doing at that moment was trying to make some distance between you and him, seeing as the streets were barren since it was late at night. Why did your best music writing have to happen late at night? Running as fast as you could, the man grew angry, and then bam, next thing you know, you wake up on the streets of a city, not your city; no, this was too red.

As you stood up from your prone position, you glanced at a window only to see not you standing there; well, it was you. It looked like you, but it also didn't look like you. Soft tan skin, chocolate brown hair, Hazel eyes, and a white, tan, and brown outfit adorned your body. You looked like the embodiment of the coffee you would drink at your go-to coffee spot. If only you hadn’t gone there that night. Maybe you would be your normal (E/c), (H/c), (S/c) self. 

Thinking hard about everything that happened, you remember being chased, him yelling obscenities at you, being shoved to the ground, something warm on your face, then a loud bang noise. What was that bang? You only remember the warm, sticky feeling, probably blood from hitting your head on the curb, then you fought a bit, squirming around; the bang must have been a concealed weapon of your assailant's choice. Jeeze, people are crazy…Oh fuck, your dead. You died. Gone. A memory. As this realization came to you, you began walking the streets of this new city.

All the inhabitants of this place looked like those demons you would see on TV or even read about in books. Looking up at the horizon, you see a large building with a flashing sign called the “Hazbin Hotel,” a giant ball to the left that looked like it had wings on it, and above you, a giant pentagram. The pieces finally clicked: you were in Hell, but why you were the sweetest human alive, even fame, didn’t get to you. Maybe Heaven reads tabloids and assumes you did participate in the fate of many of your rivals or that they thought you were a greedy pop star. Sighing softly, you turn your back on the hotel and make your way to the first place that helped you start up in the human world: a cheap manager at a cheap venue. 

~~~Years Later~~~

Years had passed since Mimzy and her crew had taken you in. She was the only demon in Pentagram City that didn’t ask for your soul immediately. Course, as you found out yourself, it’s because her soul, too, was taken from her. Meeting Mimzy was a breath of fresh air; she reminded you of your grandmother and all the pictures you saw of her singing and dancing at nightclubs when she was your age. Mimzy took you under her wing, gave you a palace to sing your sweet new music, and protected you with her clientele. Mimzy did have a habit of getting herself into some deep shit, though. Nothing you couldn’t help with, see as your popularity in Pentagram City grew, so did your powers. Some even compared you to Lilith when she was still around, a voice to conjoin the masses. You were no Lilith; you were simply ‘Y/N,’ so you compromised for a reprise of your old title: ‘ A shot of espresso to keep you going.’ Honestly, who knew demons still partook in human drinks and activities? 

As you began preparing for your next act at Mimzy’s club, said woman entered your dressing room. “Doll, oh, look at you so gorgeous. You're not as gorgeous as me, but you're still amazing. I have big news for ya’ Come and sit with me, deary.” Following Mimzy’s orders, you went to the small sofa in your Dressing Room and sat with her. “What is it, Mimz? Did you get in more trouble with those loan sharks? I told you they are dangerous; this owner of your soul is a real slow ass seeing as I have to save their ‘precious’ soul over and over again.” 

Mimzy just laughed, waving her hand in your face, resituating herself to look you in the eye before speaking again: " Don't worry about that doll. Of course, I would keep that opinion to yourself. He’s back and probably can hear everything around us. Speaking of which, that is why I came here. My dear friend Alastor and the princess of hell are coming to visit our lovely establishment. Make sure to knock their socks off!” 

You nodded softly to Mimzy, laughing at her; she was a firecracker of energy—a troublemaker, yes, but a firecracker of energy. Mimzy quickly excused herself, saying she needed to be ready to meet her guests and introduce the acts for the night. You sighed softly, returning to double-check your makeup and clothes again. 

Looking like a gorgeous espresso martini, as Mimzy calls it, you stood center stage, waiting for the curtain to rise. You hear Mimzy’s tiny heels hitting the stage and some mic feedback. “Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you our star of the stage, your shot of espresso to boost you through hard times, our dame so beautiful and sweet, Y/N.” Cheers erupted in the audience as the curtain rose and a soft amber spotlight landed on you. 

Looking out into the audience, you hesitated for a minute. A handsome man in a red suit sat in the center of the tables. He looked like a deer, not the oddest thing you have seen in the city. The way he was looking at you, though, was intense. You felt the need to cringe and back away like his power exceeded that of an average Sinner. He looked dominating, powerful, and scary even though he had a giant smile plastered on his face. Next to him sat a young-looking girl with big red cheeks. She looked so happy to be present at this event. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bun on her head, with a black crown adoring her. Your boss, Mimzy, was on the other side of the smiling demon, giving you a big thumbs up. 

You took a deep breath when the song started to play on the drums and guitar behind you. You began to sing the song that had never been released to the public before you died. This was an important night for Mimzy, so why not go all out? As you began to sing, the nerves washed off of you, and you started to do your choreography, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of deep red eyes following your every move. As the song ended, you stopped center stage again, a soft, elegant smile gracing your face. “ Thank you so much, everyone. That was called Espresso, and I do hope you all enjoyed it. I will freshen up; please enjoy our band as they play some classic and new hits throughout the ages.” As you bowed and motioned to the band, they began to play. You walked off the stage, quickly stopping at your dressing room before heading to the floor and meeting the others at their table. 

You finally heard this mysterious, powerful demon's voice as you approached the table. “I never took you as the kind to allow other music in your establishment, Mimzy. Weren’t you also one always found of our time's music.” Mimzy just laughed, slapping the demon's arm. Stopping behind the group, you noticed the demon's ears pull back; he knew you were there, good. You cleared your throat for the others and spoke gently, “I’m sorry. Was there a problem with my song, sir? I didn't realize I would be in the presence of a music critic in hell.” 

The tension in the club could be cut with a knife as the demon let out a soft laugh and turned to view you. The young girl beside him was visibly panicking while Mimzy held a laugh back. The demon stood, bowing slightly and extending his hand to you. “Well, dear Y/N, it's nice to meet you. My name is Alastor the Radio Demon, and if you would like to call me whatever it was, you just made music by all means; I must be your critic.” That smile on his face never faltered. It stayed plastered there, if not a little more strained. Gently taking Alastors hand, you curtsied for him and stood straight and tall again, preparing to speak. “Well, Mr. Alastor, you don't seem to have good music taste, seeing as I am a prized singer in hell.” The two of you stared intensely at one another, sparks flying between your eyes. Mimzy cleared her throat, “ Y/N, this is Alastor, as he mentioned, the demon that owns my soul; he also runs the Hazbin Hotel with Miss Charlie Morningstar here.” 

You let go of Alastors hand, breaking eye contact first to greet the young girl. Charlie was the polar opposite of ‘Mr. Music Critic’. She compliments you and tells you how you reminded her of her mother, who has been missing for seven years. Keeping conversation with Charlie, Alastor, and Mimzy began to speak on the side. “Isn’t she interesting, Alastor? She had to have been powerful even in her human form. She may not be your level of scary, but she is something. When I found her within a month, Valentino had come to claim her and ask for her soul; she whooped him physically and mentally; she's quick-witted and cunning.” Alastor nodded knowingly; this could be advantageous to him. 

“Mimzy darling, why have you not sold her off yet? Could make a pretty penny off of her, maybe enough to pay me back for your soul.” Alastor stared at you intently. He couldn’t deny you were attractive in a beauty standard since, and the fact you weren’t afraid of him even if he dominated you in power was intriguing. Mimzy slapped Alastor’s shoulder, “She's like a daughter to me; she's sweet, smart, and a helluva singer. Why would I risk losing business here selling her off to the Vees or any other overlord.”

Tuning into Mimzy’s and Alastor's conversation, you turned to look at the Radio Demon in the eyes once more. “She also can’t get rid of me due to the fact I save her ass more so than you ever have or will.” The authority in your voice even frightened you. The smile on Alastors face tightened more, changing from boredom to interest. “Oh, is that so doll? You save my property for me.” You nod curtly to the demon holding his gaze. The smile slowly morphed into a smirk. Charlie chimes in, “Well, guys, it looks like we have overstayed our welcome; Y/N, you were phenomenal. Please let me know whenever you have your next performance. You have my number!” You nod softly to the cheerful girl before returning to the Radio Demon. 

As you all begin to stand from your seats, Alastor disappears and reappears at your side. “Ms. Y/N, it seems I have a business proposition for you. As Charlie loved your performance so much and I seem to have bad taste in music, how about we strike a deal? You come to the hotel and live there for free; you can sing once a week, and if you can pull in some more sinners looking to be redeemed, I will admit you have the better music. I will also allow you to broadcast your music on my radio.” You stared at the demon timidly, but no one made a deal that didn’t involve losing their soul. You brace yourself for the answer and speak purposefully, “What is it for you if I lose?” Alastor smiled at you menacingly, “I get your soul, of course, and you will do my bidding.” 

You hesitated, contorting your face slightly; losing your soul was not something you wanted to happen; no one did. You looked between Alastor and Mimzy rapidly, a slight panic overcoming you. As you go to speak, Charlie takes your place, “ Alright, Alastor, enough scaring people; we are leaving now. Let's go.” Alastor looked at Charlie before looking back at you. He nods slightly before saying, “I will return in the morning. Have your decision ready.” With that said, the duo left the club.

The night continued like normal; you sang a couple more songs and mulled over the conversation. You won't lie even if you were sweet on earth. Being here in hell made you a lot more prideful than when you were alive. Had someone offered such a stupid bet in the human world, you would politely decline, move on, and let your fans handle them. Alastor, though, something about him and this stupid condescending attitude made your blood boil. As the night closed, you came up with your decision. You went to your dressing room and began to pack a bag for the morning. You were so wrapped in your thoughts hating that stupid Radio Demon that you didn't hear Mimzy walk in. As you finished packing and turned around, Mimzy sat on your couch, a frown on her face. Setting everything down, you walked over to her and sat with her. 

Mimzy looked at you softly, her regular, boisterous exterior fading as her calmer interior emerged. “Y/N, you don’t have to do this. I shouldn’t have done this. I only invited them to show Al how much better I was doing even after his absence. I didn’t expect him to bargain your soul with him.” You gently grabbed Mimzy's hand and looked at her, “Mimz, I got this. I am one of the best singers in hell. I will not lose my soul, and maybe I can bargain him into freeing your soul-” Before you could finish your thought, Mimzy stood up, tears in her eyes, “NO Y/N! You-You don't understand; Alastor is a notorious and powerful demon. He won’t give up mine or your soul. There is always an underlying bargain in his deals.” You looked up at Mimzy. She had never yelled at you like that before, even after ruining her favorite pink dress. Mimzy sat down gently and hugged you close before letting go. “Let me tell you Al’s story, the best I know of it anyway.” 

Even after hearing Mimzy’s story, you are set on proving yourself. Why did you feel the need to? You could only chalk it up to wanting to wipe that stupid smile off the demon's face. You stood outside the entrance of Mimzy’s club, holding her hand. “Y/N, you don't have to do this. Just ignore him.” You shook your head at Mimzy before responding. “I can do this, Mimzy. Trust me. You know where I am if you ever need me.” She nods somberly and hugs you close. The Radio Demon appears out of the shadows as you two part ways. “Hello ladies, Y/N, Mimzy, what a touching display of affection. Are you ready to strike our deal, Y/N?” You nod gently, extending your hand to the demon. With a soft chuckle, he grabbed your hand. Greenlight erupted all around you. Shadows and relic symbols appeared around you as the deal was bound. As the green lights faded, you were sucked into the shadows with Alastor and taken to a Hotel on the other side of Pentagram City. 

The hotel was lovely, nothing too overwhelming like when you were still alive. It was quaint and adorable. You could tell that Charlie put her heart into the place. Walking through the entrance to your left, you notice a bar with a black and grey cat sitting there drinking. Taking the initiative and having the desire to start already pissing the Radio Demon off, you walked away to greet the cat. “Hello, there one espresso martini, please; my name is Y/N, and I’m going to be a new resident and singer for the hotel.” Hearing your words, the cat looked up at you, practically spitting his whiskey onto the bar before collecting himself and cleaning up. In a gruff voice, he responded, “Never thought I would see the day we got more willing redeemers. Thought Sir Pentious would be our only one.” 

You laughed, covering your mouth politely as the cat put your drink before you. As he finished wiping the bar down, Alastor appeared behind you. “Ahhhh, good friend, you have met our new resident artist. Y/N, this is Husk or Husker, as some patrons call him.” You nodded politely to the cat demon, sipping your drink. Alastor sat next to you, staring the cat down. He acted like it was a sin that Husk even talked to you. As you finished your glass, a spider demon walked into the building, groaning about his day at work, sitting on your other side, and ordering a straight martini.

As he rose his head up, looking to great Alastor, he saw you. “WOAH toots, who are ya’ you gorgeous? I didn’t know another pretty thing like me walked these streets.” You smiled sweetly at the spider demon, sticking your hand out to shake his hand. You liked him. He had spunk. “My name is Y/N, and I am the new resident singer of this joint.” Silence filled the room; the spider demon's eyes widened. Looking at him confused, you pulled your hand back and awkwardly sat there. Behind you, Alastors voice rang, “Yes, dear flamboyant friend, that Y/N, the one who took Valentino down a few pegs before he became part of the Vees.” 

The spider's smile grew ten times as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “Toots, let's be best friends, deal. My name is Angel Dust. It's a pleasure to meet you.” You laughed softly, connecting that this Angel Dust might be the soul of that awful month. “Deal, I need new friends now that I am out of Mimzys club.” Husker dropped his bottle, causing a shattering noise as he turned to stare down Alastor. “You were Mimzy’s singer; what are you doing here?” Alastor stared down Husker, the ever-growing smile present on his face as power exuded off of him. “Simple Husk, can’t you tell she's in a deal with me.” The room went silent as you looked down at your hands. Based on everyone's reactions, you soon realized you were fucked. 

The tension was thick between the three of you, Angel silent, not daring to interfere in a soul contract, Husker glaring at Alastor, and the Radio Demon eating up everyones distrust. What felt like hours passing was only a few minutes when Charlie and another woman appeared walking down the stairs. “I am telling you, Vaggie, I heard a new voice.” Your eyes connected with Charlie when she let out an excited squeal, barreling down to you. You laughed softly, happy the tension was broken, and hugged the excited girl back. “Oh my goodness, you came here! Are you trying to be redeemed? I am so excited! Vaggie, this is the singer I told you about!” You looked at the other girl and waved at her. When Alastor stood, she nodded back, getting ready to speak to you; however, Alastor had removed Charlie from your embrace. “Sorry, dear Charlie, but Y/N is part of my deal. She will be a new singer for the hotel, as Husk is the bartender, and Niffty the cleaner.” 

As if hearing her name, a tiny, child-looking demon crawled from the depths of somewhere and sat on Alastors shoulder. “Wowie lady, you must sing well for Alastor to vouch for you. You aren’t no bad boy, but you look like you could be tough.” You stood wide-eyed in shock at the minor demon that seemed to spawn into existence. Alastor stood beside you, shooing Niffty off him and placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Alright, dear Y/N, why don’t I show you to the drawing room where you will perform? You have three days before your big performance.” Everyone looked at the hand placed on your shoulder, confusion laced on their faces. Was Alastor, not a touchy person? All you’ve known of this man was for him to be touching you in some dominating way. You nodded briefly, following the demon to the drawing room. 

You had been practicing hard for the last three days. You met Sir Pentious while in the middle of a practice performance. He was apparently your biggest fan and regularly played your music in his blimp. You signed some autographs for him and told him he was welcome to come and watch whenever he felt like it. Of course, he never did come back while you were practicing. Angel Dust said Alastor frightened the snake demon, who was “getting too close to you and distracting you.” This only confused you: why is Alastor so against any demon getting close to you except for the striking spider demon? Two, why does he care if you get distracted? Shouldn’t he want you to lose so he can keep your soul? These thoughts plagued your mind every day as you practiced. You decided to do a four-song set, your three most popular songs and the new one you debuted at Mimzys place before you left, as a nod back to your old home. 

Throughout your days here, you have noticed so many odd quirks about these residents, but nothing too crazy. I mean, it is hell after all. Angel Dust was a famed porn star for Valentino; Husker used to gamble at the high-end casino in town; Nifty liked cock roaches; Charlie and Vaggie were fighting with Heaven about Sinners being redeemed. Even Sir Pentious had a past saying he tried to kill Alastor, which made you laugh and congratulate the snake demon. The only major oddball was Alastor; every resident said he was acting different, more pompous, possessive, and aggressive. Before you showed up in his life, he was just a condescending asshole who smiled all the time and had a wicked sarcasm streak. 

What made you special? You have been nothing but mean to this man, trying to get a rise out of him and knock him down a few pegs. The main consense from every resident after they learned of your deal is to be careful; he's a master manipulator. The tidbits of information you learned of Alastor were as follows: he hosted a radio show that, up until seven years ago, played screams of his victims; he still very much missed the 1920s; Jazz was his favorite music, makes sense why he hated your pop music, and lastly like any true child of the bayou he enjoyed his coffee, his coffee with three shots of espresso. No wonder the man was wired 24/7. 

Alastor was also not a touchy man; the only person any resident had seen him touch so constantly was you. Why? No one knows the answer; Angel Dust has his theories that he “has the hots for ya toots.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that notion. The pompous, rude, robust, attractive, funny, charismatic Deer Demon didn't have a thing for you. Okay, yes, you have a thing for him, though; what changed in the three days of getting close to him and everyone else? You have no real idea; you only know that the day you realized you had more than aggressive feelings for him was two nights ago.

~~~Flashback~~~

You had been summoned to the famed radio tower by Alastor. He had a treat for you, as he put it. Following Niffty's instructions, you ended up before the radio demon's door. Now you heard the rumors already he killed and broadcasted in his tower. Did your deal mean nothing? Was it a ruse to get rid of someone with a little bit of power? You must have been standing there for too long in your thoughts because before you knew it, Alastor had opened the door for you. “Ah, dear Y/N, come on in. We have a broadcast to get to.” You nodded gently and followed him inside. 

Taking your place beside Alastor, you notice how cluttered his desk is. You stifle a laugh; the thought of the infamous radio demon who looked so clean and polished having anything untidy amused you. You see Alastor pouring his regular coffee as you turn to the small end table with some chairs. “Alastor, I never would have taken you for a coffee drinker. You seem more refined to like English teas or other sophisticated drinks.”

Alastor just looked at you with a small, unstrained smile. As he finished his drink and poured you one, he said, “Nonsense dear Y/N coffee is highly sophisticated; Louisiana was a large export of coffee grounds we lived for this drink. Coffee was the way to go when we needed to work long hours tending to fields or making ends meet at factories.” You nodded gently, amazed that this man remembered his life so well after so long. While you sat and drank your coffee, Alastor got up to prepare the broadcast. While he was busy, you took this time to examine the Deer Demon in more detail. 

He was handsome; his fringe was odd but suited him well, the unforced smile looked attractive, and his suit was perfectly fitted, leaving just enough imagination about what lay underneath. As you caught yourself having this thought, you shook your head, setting your cup down violently. Alastor turned to look at you, his smile still soft but a questioning look in his eyes. You coughed softly into your napkin and stood to meet Alastor at his desk before speaking. “So Al, what is it you need of me.” His reaction to the nickname did not go unnoticed.

Now, the original reason you decided to use the nickname he hated was to get under his skin, but instead of doing that, he smiled at you wider. Gently, he placed a microphone and headphones in your hand. You looked up at him with a curious gaze. “I believe that for people to know you are here at the hotel and will sing, they need a sample. We may have a deal on the line, but I am no cheater.” You nodded, smiling at him; maybe he wasn’t so bad. As the broadcast started, though, the same pompous ass hole came out. Boasting about being missed and how he can't wait to give Sinners of hell an actual broadcast, he introduced you. “Now, my dear patrons, I introduce Y/N. Some of you may know her and even love her, but tonight she will be singing a song for you, a taste into her performance that will be happening here at the Hazbin Hotel in two days.” 

You gripped the microphone and started singing one of your more classic songs. Only the people at Mimzys club that night had heard the new song, and you didn't want to ruin the surprise you had been working on for your concert. As you sang, you couldn’t help but notice the red eyes boring into you. Was Alastor checking you out? No, of course not. This is just to even out the deal. However, how his eyes softened and he hummed gently to your tune made your heart flutter. He sure learned one of your songs for someone who hated your music. 

As you finished your part in his broadcast, Alastor played some old-time Jazz, muting the mics before leading you out the door. You said your goodnights and began to walk away when Alastor grabbed your arm. You turned to look at him, a sweet, innocent look in your eyes; a part of you wanted him to kiss you right there. However, you could see his conflict. After a few seconds of staring at one another, Alastor let go of your arm and cleared his throat, “Good night, Y/N. Be prepared for our deal.” You nodded, and before you could ask him what was wrong, the door was closed and locked in your face.

~~~Present Day~~~

The day you had finally come for your concert. You had spent most of the day resting and preparing for the show. It had been over a week since your last live performance. You took your time getting prepared, wanting everything to be perfect. You double-checked your hair outfit and even dabbed on an old perfume you found while shopping with Angel. Did you buy this specific sent because it was trendy in the 1920s? No, of course not. You weren't trying to impress the famed Radio Demon during your performance tonight. It finally dawned on you as you did your last touches. You either become soulless tonight or beat the Radio Demon. A shiver ran down your back; you were so caught up in falling for the man that you forgot he was ruthless and owned you now. It's not that you minded the owning part; you minded the soulless part. 

A soft knock was heard at your door, and you released a quiet “come in.” As you turned from your vanity to see who had entered, before you stood, Mimzy, you ran to your mentor and hugged her close. “You came, you came. I thought you would be too mad at me to come.” Mimzy slapped your shoulder gently before speaking. “When have I missed one of your shows since you started working for me? Plus, Alastor personally invited me and gave me a front seat. I don’t know if it's to torment me that he's going to take your soul or if mister Deer likes you.” Mimzy began nudging your side. You stifled an almost forced laugh, your cheeks growing warm. “Mimzy, you need to lay off the alcohol. That is an absurd statement. Alastor doesn’t like me.” She gave you a knowing look. “You may think he doesn’t like you, but I can tell you sure like him.” You looked away at the floor.

Mimzy gave you a few more encouraging words before returning to the drawing room. According to Mimzy, there was already a large number of people filling the place. Charlie must be going nuts trying to recruit people. With a final glance in the mirror, you began to walk to your call point. Instead of your average tan and brown ensemble, you wore an elegant blood-red dress for tonight's performance. One that just so happened to be in your closet this morning when you started to get ready. You did your hair up and let some pieces frame your face, your makeup soft and subtle, giving you a sweet, angelic look.

Charlie introduced you to the crowd; as you took center stage and waited for everyone to calm down, you began your set. You looked out to the crowd like you did all those nights ago, and sitting right in front of you were your new friends and him. He didn’t look smug or dominating this time. No, this time, he looked calm and compassionate. Even if you looked hard enough, it almost looked like he was enjoying himself. He wore a suit practically identical to your dress in color. You promoted the hotel between each song as you sang. Your first three songs went perfectly, keeping the crowd entertained to the fullest as you always did. Once your last song died down, the crowd erupted. 

A slow interlude played as you spoke softly: "I wrote this last song a long time ago when I was alive. I have only sung this song once at Mimzy Speakeasy, so if you were one of the lucky few to hear it, please feel free to sing along and enjoy it to the fullest this time.” You smiled softly before landing your eyes on Alastor. You don’t know what possessed you to sing this song, looking directly at him, but you couldn’t help it. You felt compelled, too. As the begging notes to Espresso started playing, a small group of people cheered, including Charlie. 

You began your normal choreography and sang your heart out, never taking your eyes off of Alastor for long, and from what you saw, he never took his eyes off of you for long, either. Singing your heart out as you finished the outro of the song you posed, letting the cheers and lights fade out. Charlie rushed to the stage and informed everyone about food, refreshments, and signing up to join the hotel. You, however, hid behind the curtains, blushing. Why was he looking at you so intently? Why were you suddenly so shy and concerned you sang poorly? You always had confidence in your singing.

Collecting yourself, you quickly refreshed your look in the bathroom before joining the after/recruiting party. As you were going down the hotel hall to get to the main part of the drawing room, an uneasy feeling hit you. An anxious, familiar feeling. You turn your head, and down the hall, you see a man making his way towards you. You turn around and keep walking, ignoring his shouts as you try to beeline for the entryway. You are panting at this point, memories of your death coming back to you, everything feeling too close to that moment. Just as you are about to turn the corner into the doors for the drawing room, the man reaches out for you. You brace for impact; however, nothing happens. You hear sickly screams emanating from before you as a pair of arms gently encase you in a protective embrace. As you open your eyes, you see shadows tearing the man who looked to be a part of the Vees team apart. Alastor covered your eyes before walking you back towards your room.

You didn’t even realize you had begun to cry or shake when you got to your room. The anxiety of reliving that night you died catching up to you. Alastor never let you go, even after you got to the safety of your room. Once you calmed down, Alastor went to the bathroom connected to your room. You sat there holding your face in your hands, probably looking like a mess from your actions. Alastor re-entered the room and brought you a fresh, damp towel. “To wash your face off; you probably don’t want all that on you anymore.” You nodded softly and began to wipe your face. Alastor scoffed, then took the towel from you, crouching down. Alastor gently held your face and began to clean it off. You two never broke eye contact. He was so gentle.

After your face was cleaned, Alastor took the pins out of your hair and went to find some more comfortable clothes for you. You were ushered into the bathroom and began to change when, through the door, Alastor began to speak. “Did he hurt you at all? I tried to get there as fast as I could. Before you came on, Mimzy was telling me about the night you died. I assume the Vees and their minions must have overheard and, in an attempt to weaken your resolve, make you remember that night.” You sniffled lightly, slowly opening the door, and you looked up at Alastor. Where was a man like him when you died? No, where was he when you passed that night? A choked sob left your lips as you hugged him close to you, crying into his shoulder. Alastor was amiss on what to do, but slowly, as you cried, wrapped his arms around you as well. 

As the tears faded, a green glow surrounded you and Alastor again, like when you first made the deal. No one signed up for Charlie's hotel, whether because the demon was mutilated one door over or because you didn’t come to socialize with the guests. It didn’t matter; Alastor had your soul now. Oddly enough, you weren’t as upset by this as you anticipated; you were happy about this. You felt safe, protected even. 

Alastor bid his farewell to you after you had finally calmed down. Neither one of you speaking about the contract or lost deal. You lay in bed, exhausted from all the crying and anxiety. As you drifted off to sleep, you saw your assailant again. This wasn’t an uncommon dream for you, but this time, it hurt worse due to the raw emotions. However, just as you were about to die again for the millionth time in this dream, a man dressed in red with brown hair and a soft smile protected you and saved you. 

You had been asleep for a little less than 24 hours when you woke next. Your body needed a recharge. You made your way to the kitchen to make some coffee; if you were staying at the hotel to sing, you could start putting together new songs and programs. You made your drink, noticing that Alastor's cup was missing from the cabinet. Taking your hot coffee back upstairs, you passed the hall to your room when you heard a piano playing your song Espresso. 

You made your way to the door and entered quietly to find Alastor playing your song, humming quietly in tune. You knocked gently and said, " Al, if you wanted a concert yourself, I would have given you one.” You smile softly. Alastor, unfazed by your appearance, probably already knowing you were there, hummed in amusement before speaking. “As a thank you, why don’t we perform a duet for me saving you?”  You made your way over to the piano, sitting down next to him and setting your coffee cup next to his on the piano. 

He began to play the start of the song, and you two began to sing together. Softly, you rest your head on his shoulder, allowing yourself to be vulnerable with your feelings for the man next to you. You had never sung this song like this before, and it felt special between you two. Some of you began to believe that this song was made for you and Alastor. Before you died, you knew you would meet your match—someone who met you as an equal yet also an opposite. Alastor finished the last few notes of the song. Comfortable silence surrounds you. 

Alastor smiled more naturally, “You know, Y/N, I do like your music. It did catch me off guard the first time I heard it, but your music has a lot of truths in it.” You look up at him from his shoulder, listening to his words. “From the moment I looked at you, I couldn’t get enough of you; when I met you, and you challenged me almost instantly, I knew I had to have you. You keep me awake at night thinking about everything that has happened between us in the last few weeks.” You smile softly, thinking back to the lyrics of your song. You lean up gently and place a kiss on Alastors cheek. He laughs softly when he turns to look at you thoroughly. “I’m sorry, doll, but you may have misunderstood me. I like you a lot; I feel that deserves more than a mere peck on the cheek.” You laugh wholeheartedly, this time without covering it up, before placing a soft, chaste kiss on Alastors lips. You pulled back, both of you smiling. “Now that’s an espresso I would happily take any time.” You laugh at his antics before placing your hands on the piano, now playing an old song you remembered from when you were a kid. 

All was well. Who would challenge the infamous Radio Demon, especially now that he had the notorious addictive ‘Espresso’ singer as his girlfriend? With your powers combined, he could overcome the deal he made, but that is a story for another time.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #x reader #new writter #radiostatic #pentagram city #angel dust #charlie morningstar #vaggie #sir pentious #hazbin hotel husk #husker #niffty #radio demon #radio demon x reader #radio demon x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel

[trollcafe]

Its Horror Season Babey!!! Perfect time to make some designs based on my favorite horror movies <3 Availability and Rules under the cut!

Edit: Lowered prices to $25!!!

Annihilation (2018) - $25

Nope (2022) - $25

John Carpenter's The Thing (1982) - SOLD

No One Will Save You (2023) - SOLD

Brief rules- 1. First come first serve. I'm going to bed after posting these so the best means of reaching me is via discord. My user is chowowed. 2. Payment can be done via Paypal, Cashapp, Venmo, Ko-Fi, or if I know you, Zelle. 3. Do not resell the designs, unless you got a significant amount of artwork done. In that case please ask me prior. I may be interested in buying the design off you. I will never, under any circumstances, reclaim an adopt from you. I may offer to buy it back if you say you don’t want the design anymore, but I will never take then back without prompting, nor will I redistribute them without your agreement and permission. 4. Do not use the designs for anything nefarious. Not for commercial use unless you ask, not for use with any AI artwork either. You may change the design but please keep it recognizable! Violating this will result in being blacklisted from my designs in the future. 5. You do not need to have seen the movies to buy the design...but knowing their context does make it a lil more fun!!! 6. I can hold a design for a few days if requested. Uhhh Please credit me for the design, I would love to see any art you create of them<3 7. Talk to me about discounts for additional artwork. For an extra $15 I will draw The Thing in MacReady's Baby Slut Outfit.

#ghost.art #adopts #fantroll adopts #fantroll adoptable #ask 2 tage #these were honestlky SO!! much fun #but now i am the goer to bed.m #im sorry thing is so expensive i just rlly rlly like him. hes so offputting <3

[dilf-din]

Suddenly

Chapter 4: Winter

Din Djarin x florist!reader

WC: 5300 (oops)

Warnings: absolutely none, all fluff and domestic bliss. No use of y/n but reader is female presenting and has a nickname.

A/N: the final chapter is here! I’ve had so much fun writing this little world. I already have a few one shots planned, so stay tuned! As always, inspired by Venus by Sleeping at Last. Enjoy, my loves 🩷🩵

I was a billion little pieces

'Til you pulled me into focus

Astronomy in reverse

It was me who was discovered

Winter on Nevarro was busy, despite the fact that the climate was so steady that all the days blurred together. Karga liked to celebrate the changing of the seasons. He said it boosted morale, made the people there seeking shelter feel like they were on a bigger, mid-rim planet. So even though the sun still beat down with the same intensity that it did when you arrived on the planet at the beginning of the year, the town square was decorated for a weeks-long winter equinox celebration. Though he had spent most of his life on the volcanic planet, Karga’s travels had taken him around the galaxy a few times. He fondly remembered the festivals he had observed in worlds with more extreme climates.

He had recruited you to help in the decorating efforts. Your apprentice, Tal’oh, had really come into his own the past few weeks. His broad frame made it easy for him to handle the deliveries of large clay pots, bags of soil, and heavy stones that came in several times a week. Your home gardening section of the store quickly moved inventory as everyone in town was taking to creating their own green oases on the dusty planet.

Despite his large stature and equally large hands, Tal’oh was also a natural when it came to floral arrangements. He delicately trimmed and placed flowers with a soft look of determination. His dark hair fell over his eyes while the tip of his tongue stuck out from his lips in total concentration. He had been a welcome addition to the shop, coming highly recommended from the townspeople when they saw your help wanted sign. He was the grandson of one Mrs. Greebs who had been selling yard ornaments in your storefront for a few months now. She made delicate metal frames filled with stained glass that cast luminous rainbows when they caught the light.

With some help to look after the every day responsibilities, you dedicated your time to creating a collection of wreaths for the townspeople. Using some of the planet’s native plants and briars, you wove together wooden, earthy designs that people flocked to your store for. Each time you set out a new display, they sold out within the afternoon. You also painted some small signs to commemorate the equinox, a simple scene of a bright white moon rising over the lava plains. Karga beamed with pride when you brought him the first samples.

“I knew you were the right person for the job! Your cheerful spirit is going to spread to every person who sees these hanging on people’s doors.”

You sheepishly accepted the praise, relieved that what you made was to the High Magistrate’s likings. He was hosting a feast at his palace at the end of the week that everyone had been busy preparing for. The extra influx of jobs was welcome to the hardworking people of Nevarro. Everyone brought their own skills to the cause. Carpenters fashioned the extra long tables to hold the elaborate meal that would be made by the local restauranteurs. The baker was tasked with creating an elaborate cake along with an array of sweet treats showcasing the local fruits and flavors of the planet. For a place that seemed to settle into its own factions, it was nice to see the community coming together like this. Karga had done a wonderful job of busting up the gangs that once ruled the streets, bringing a long sought after peace to the residents.

You were busy working on a new set of wreaths when you heard the familiar tinkle of the bell indicating someone had walked through the door.

“Be right there!” you called from the corner bench in the work room you had spread out on, carefully tying a bundle of branches together.

“We can wait,” your favorite smooth voice responded, as you saw Din appear in doorway with Grogu in his arms. Grogu wiggled with his hands out trying to get to you, drawing a laugh from your lips as you resigned to finish your project another time.

“Come here, little one,” you said gently taking him into your lap. He held his arms straight out to give you the closest thing to a hug someone that tiny could give. Din leaned forward to press his helmet to your forehead. Your free hand rose to rest on the side of it, and his own hand met you there, giving it a gentle squeeze. He had explained to you the meaning of the keldabe kiss in Mandalorian tradition, and you revered those touches even more than the few kisses you two had stolen over the past few months.

“To what do I owe this great pleasure?” you teased, helping Grogu down onto the floor so he could waddle through the greenhouse. Din carefully moved a pile of sticks over and sat on the bench next to you.

“You’ll be attending the feast at the end of the week, correct?”

You nodded, “I don’t think I have much of a choice. I’ll probably get roped into resolving some last minute decorating snafu.”

Din paused, “Would you like to go with me?”

You turned to face him, a smile lighting up your features, “Of course, I’d love that.” Your hand found his to give it a small squeeze, a touch for a touch, always keeping the score even.

The two of your gravitated towards each other whenever you were together. Always hands resting on arms or backs, the worn tips of his gloves brushing your hair behind your ears. When he left for bounties now, he always pressed tender kisses across your neck and jaw, saying they were meant to hold you over until his return. He had spent his entire life stuck behind a wall of metal, and now that he lowered his defenses to let you in, he couldn’t get enough. He craved nearness, hating the sight of you on the lava plains growing smaller behind him each time they departed.

You yourself were surprised with the quickness with which you had fallen for him. Din was easy to talk to. Maybe it was something about the fact that you couldn’t see any judgement in his eyes like you did talking to people face to face. You thought to yourself that, one day, if you were to ever see his own eyes laid bare before you, the same thing would be true. It wasn’t the mask or the beskar, it was just who he was to his core. He longed to understand others and to be understood himself. The Mandalorians were connected by creed, a loyalty engrained in their bloodline like the iron that made it red, but they were stoic people, reserved when it came feelings and personal matters. Din had always longed for more, hoping to one day meet someone he could bare his soul to. Grogu was the first one to make his proverbial armor crack, inching his way in until he occupied every chamber of Din’s heart. Now he felt those spaces expanding, leaving space for someone else to find their way through the labyrinth, someone like you.

He had agonized for days over asking you a simple question, to go with him to the feast. He knew what your answer would be. You had both expressed your fondness for one another, but he still had seedlings of doubt trying to take root.

With the first part of this interaction out of the way, he took a deep breath as he reached into the bag at his side.

“Then I hope you will accept this as a gift for the occasion,” he said, drawing a parcel out wrapped in brown paper and tied with a delicate blue ribbon.

“What is this?” you smiled, taking it into your lap and easily undoing the knot holding it together. The paper fell away to reveal a beautiful emerald gown with gold beading. You held it up to admire the detail and care in every stitch, hands running over the small, round beads. The back was low, the sleeves were capped with a sheer material, the body of the dress being something closer to velvet.

“Din,” you said breathlessly, “This must’ve cost a fortune.”

“Price is no issue when it comes to you, I picked it up on Coruscant a few months ago. I couldn’t help but think about how nice the color would be against against your skin,” he said softly, drawing some of the skirt up to hold against your arm.

“It’s beautiful.”

“And it will look beautiful on you,” he said, rising to go.

Grogu had wandered back in holding a few tan bean pods to snack on.

“Bye bye!” he squeaked out, opening and closing his hand in your direction like the small wave that babies do.

“Bye buddy,” you smiled.

“Goodbye, cyar’ika,” Din nodded, heading back towards the front of the store.

You sank back against the wall, clutching the bundle of paper and cloth to your chest, heartbeat pulsing all the way to your fingertips as you thought about dressing up for a date with him. The two of you had talked that one night in your apartment, and several times after that, but hadn’t yet had a chance to do something together like this. You dove back into your crafting session with newfound vigor, as if working faster would convince the clock to skip a few beats and jump forward in time to the weekend.

The time did in fact pass quickly. This was the busiest week you had had at the shop to date. It seemed like everyone wanted their own solstice decorations. You were so thankful for Tal’oh’s presence to help head off the rush. The night of the banquet, you closed down shop early, slipping Tal’oh an envelope full of credits.

“Consider it a holiday bonus,” you smiled.

“Thank you,” he said in awe, giving you a quick squeeze before running home to get change out of his dusty clothes.

You locked up the shop before retreating upstairs to get yourself ready. The green gown had been hanging on the door of your closet for days now, practically calling out to you to put it on. You tried it on the second you got home earlier in the week and twirled around your living room for hours. It was a good color for you. His gift giving had been impeccable since you first met, yet he continued to surprise you with his thoughtfulness.

After washing off today’s layer of dirt, you slipped into the cool material, reveling at the way it fit so snugly against your skin, as if it was made for you. It probably was, you wouldn’t put it past Din. With some fluffing of your hair, and a fun addition of some gold eyeliner to match the dress, you were satisfied. Din was supposed to pick you up snd walk with you there. The knock on your door came just as you secured the clasp of your necklace. It was an intricate web of golden flowers given to you by your grandmother. Your hand lingered on it for just a moment as your heart ached at the thought of her seeing you all dressed up like this.

You crossed the expanse of your room quickly so as not to keep your suitor waiting, swinging the door open with an eager smile. Din, of course, was sporting his armor. Although, it seemed that he had worn a nicer cape for the occasion than his usual tattered one. He stood clutching a bouquet of flowers you recognized as ones Tal’oh had arranged earlier that day.

“Hi,” you said shyly, gesturing for him to come in.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice tinged with a gentle awe.

“Thanks, my boyfriend got me this dress,” you joked doing a little spin.

“Boyfriend?”

“I’m not quite sure what to call you,” you laughed.

He chuckled, “I’ve never been a ‘boyfriend’ before.”

“Where’s Grogu?” you asked, noticing the lack of his usual companion.

“I dropped him off with Karga already. He’s always looking for ways to spend time with him,” the hint of annoyance in his voice drew another giggle from you. You took the flowers and set them carefully on the counter behind you.

“So you’re saying I have you all to myself?” you said coyly, running your hands up his chest plates. His own arms wrapped around your waist pulling you flush to him. Muscle memory took over like you were suddenly marionettes with someone else pulling the strings, and the two of you parted, his hands drawing the curtains, yours reaching for the black scarf he got you all those months ago. You found each other again, and the sound of air rushing from his helmet signified to you that your hands were free to roam, caress the sharp angles of his jaw and get tangled in the ends of his curls.

His always nuzzled his strong nose against yours, lips ghosting over your own as he whispered to you, a mix of Mando’a and basic. “Mesh’la. Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmured.

The two of you only ever allowed yourself a few moments of these touches, not wanting to wander too far from the creed.

“We’re gonna be late,” you whispered, sneaking one last kiss before he pulled the helmet back over his mysterious face.

The walk to the palace was a short one, it being just around the corner of the town square. Evening’s dimming light painted the backdrop for the dozens of others couples making their way up the stone steps, arm in arm, just like the two of you.

You noticed wreaths hanging on every door and window, a small smile playing on your lips.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just, it’s nice to see this town doing things for beauty’s sake. It seems like a much different Nevarro than the one you’ve told me stories of.

“Cyar’ika, you’ve brought so much beauty into the lives of everyone here, including my own,” he said softly, “You can’t turn any direction in town now without seeing something touched by your kindness.”

You squeezed his arm a little tighter as you climbed the wide staircase in front of you, following the sound of laughter and low music floating out the double doors. The scene before you was like something straight out of a storybook you read as a girl on Naboo. The ceilings were so high, going straight to the top of the building with multiple crystal chandeliers casting twinkling light onto the white stone walls and floor. Grand columns rose on either side of a long great room filled with rows of long, wooden tables piled high with food. You walked down the aisle between the two tables taking in the amethyst and ruby banners hanging down from the stone railings on the balconies above you. Ivy and other greenery running in between the narrow rails added a sense of liveliness to the decorations. At the end of the rows of tables, the room opened into a large dome, the round floor decorated with a beautiful pattern of smooth tiles in every color imaginable. It seemed that that portion of the room was being reserved for dancing. On a platform to the left sat a large band playing elegant music.

You suddenly felt out of your element. You had never been somewhere as fancy as this, your heartbeat quickened in your chest, and you found yourself thankful for the steady man you found at your side. His arm now resting around you, hand at the small of your back, grounding you.

“There they are!” Karga’s voice boomed, drawing your attention to the head of the last table on the left. Your feet followed Din’s closer to the High Magistrate, noticing Grogu beside him in a new black jacket with a bow tie. He sat perched on a pile of pillows being used as a makeshift booster seat. He chirped when he saw the two of you approaching making you feel more at ease.

“What do you think, huh?” Karga grinned, clapping Din on the back. “It’s barely begun and I can already tell people will be talking about it for years to come. Come sit! You two are my guests of honor,” he gestured to the open pair of seats beside Grogu, taking your hand in his and bowing as he spun you to let you to your seat. He was in a long, deep purple robe with beautiful gold adornments on it. Din scooted your chair in for you before taking his place between you and Grogu.

It was only a few moments before Karga garnered the attention of the entire room and gave a speech about what an honor it was to have everyone there under his roof. It wasn’t until that moment that you realize you were at a feast, and Din wouldn’t be able to eat anything.

You leaned your head to his and whispered, “I’ll eat quickly, then maybe we can find a private room for you to get a bite in.”

He chuckled lowly, sliding his hand on top of yours where it rested in your lap, “I’ll be fine waiting, mesh’la, you and Grogu take all the time you need.”

Your skin burned under his touch, even through the thick leather of his gloves. As Karga’s droning came to a finite end, the room filled with scattered applause and then the sound of silverware clanking against the thick, black ceramic plates as people helped themselves to the array laid out on every table. It was a magnificent meal, decadent in a way you were unaccustomed to. You enjoyed all types of meats and breads, all the while immersed in a conversation with an older couple sat across from you. They were some of the wealthy few in Nevarro, donating heavily to Greef Karga’s campaign to clean up the city. Din watched you through the side of his visor, taking in all your little tics and quirks. The way your hand covered your mouth as you laughed, how intently you look at whomever was speaking at the moment, the way you glowed under the silver light like a star fallen to earth. But you didn’t look out of place, you looked like you belonged there. He would’ve been content to watch you for hours. He almost didn’t notice when you called his name, your hand sliding onto the exposed part of his arm above his vambrace.

“Would you like to go eat something?”

He nodded and smiled, although you couldn’t see it. You helped him pile his plate high before retreating to the library with him and Grogu. The inner rooms varied heavily from the bright stone of the main hall. The library was filled with dark wood and carpet, old books on shelves that ran to the ceilings, all warm tones and comfort compared to the cold regality that lay on the other side of the door. You doubted anyone would be making their way in there on a night like tonight, but you still locked the door for good measure. Din sat down at a large desk in a green, velvet chair while you chose a wooden bench facing the door. You heard the familiar click of his helmet releasing and smiled softly at how it had become a regular sound in your life, when you never would have dared to dream of it a few months ago.

Grogu sat on the bench next to you sharing a pastry filled with dark berries. You carefully tore off pieces to hand to him, and he chirped his thanks while Din ate quietly.

“It’s good, right?” you called over his shoulder, and he grunted his agreement through a full mouth.

“I haven’t eaten like this in a long time,” his low voice called back. You cherished every syllable that fell from his lips when the modulator wasn’t sitting between the two of you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a meal like this before,” you commented, handing the last bite of your treat to Grogu.

“I’ll have to take you to Coruscant one day, there’s a restaurant there I think you’d like,” he said so nonchalantly, as if taking a trip across the galaxy was an every day thing. Although, for him it was.

“You keep saying things like that,” you looked down at your feet, trying to focus on anything on this side of the room, ignoring the aching magnetic pull of the man behind you, longing to see his face.

He was quiet for a while before responding. “Do you think I don’t mean it?”

You instantly regretted your word choice, “No, no it’s not that. It’s just, you say it so casually, like it’s not a big deal for me to think about something like that. You’ve seen corners of the galaxy I could never imagine, I’ve only ever been here.”

“I don’t take it lightly, mesh’la,” he said softly, “I would be honored to be the one to show you the stars.”

Your breath caught in your chest, the stirring you always felt gave no indication of settling down any time soon. The draw you felt to him, the connection you two shared was starting to scare you.

You tried to change the subject in an attempt to compose yourself. “I uh, I brought you a present,” your hand shuffled into your bag to bring out a small frame wrapped in brown paper with a gold ribbon delicately tied around it. Din placed his helmet back on his head and crossed the room to take the package carefully in his hands.

“It’s not much, just a little something I’ve been working on in my free time.”

He pulled the bow loose and shrugged the ribbon off before peeling back the paper. In his hands sat a lifelike portrait of Grogu that you had painted, his big brown eyes shining and his small mouth turned up in a smile showing off the few teeth he had.

“Look, kid,” Din said angling it down for the boy to see. You couldn’t be certain, but you thought you heard his voice crack.

“Thank you, this is lovely. I’ll treasure it always.”

You smiled up at him and rose from the bench to meet him face to face.

“I actually have something for you too, but I left it at home,” he said softly, his hand moving to brush your hair behind your ear.

“Oh that’s fine, you can bring it another time,” you reassured, your own hand cradling his helmet where his jaw would be.

During your exchange, Grogu had wandered over to the tall door. “Out,” he said, tiny finger pointing at the door knob.

Din chuckled, “Let‘s go, ad’ika.”

The three of you rejoined the festivities, getting lost in the music and lights. You sipped a few of the themed cocktails one of the cantina owners had crafted for the occasion, feeling a pleasant lightness as the alcohol mixed with your blood.

Towards the end of the evening, you found yourself swaying in Din’s arms. The bright chandeliers had been dimmed by this point in the night, most of the light coming from what remained of the cranberry colored candles adorning the tables. Your head rest on his chest while the band played a slow melody. You didn’t even realize the sleepiness that was overtaking you at first. Grogu had passed out long ago atop the pillow tower he had sat on to eat. He laid on his belly with someone’s jacket draped over him, tiny snores coming from his mouth.

“I think it’s time to get you home, cyar’ika,” Din mumbled lowly, his hand gently rubbing over your back to draw your attention back to the present.

You straightened your posture and pulled away from him.

“You’re probably right,” you said with heavy eyes and a sleepy smile. “Good thing it’s just a short walk,” you continued, making your way over to the table grab your bag.

“Actually,” Din started, pausing as if he was unsure about the question about to fall from his lips, “What if you came back with me and the child, to get your gift. I have a spare room, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“I’d love that,” you smiled, heat rising to your cheeks, a mix of the leftover buzz from the drinks and the desire to maintain the closeness you had fallen into over the evening.

You held close to his waist as the three of you sped down the barren road leading to their small cabin. You realized about halfway through the ride that this would be your first time seeing his house. You were curious to see if it revealed any more about him. Although you had spent a considerable amount of time together, he was still a bit of a mystery.

Their home soon faded into view, and Din pulled the speeder to a gentle stop, hopping off to offer you a hand off. You bunched your skirt up and slid down easily with his hand to steady you. Grogu was still fast asleep in the crook of his arm. You followed him up the stone path, pausing to admire the window boxes he had planted months ago with millaflowers in full bloom. On the front door, hung a wreath you had made specially for him with a smaller one for Grogu hanging off the bottom. Traces of you were all over, and you hadn’t even crossed the threshold into the house yet.

The front door opened up into a small hall with a coat rack holding some of Grogu’s robes and Din’s extra cape. The kitchen lay dead ahead and opened into the living room. At the end of the living room was another hall leading to two bedrooms separated by a bathroom. He quickly made his way across the length of the house to tuck Grogu into his bassinet.

You wandered into the kitchen, your shoes making a clacking sound on the adobe tile. There was a half empty bowl of fruit on the counter, no doubt for the ravenous toddler at the end of the hall. The sink held an empty mug with caf stains, and you smiled at the thought of mornings spent with Din. The fridge was covered in scribbled drawings of Grogu’s held up with colorful magnets. You smiled when you noticed the same “Welcome to Nevarro” one Din had gifted you.

On the window above the sink sat two small cactus like plants native to Nevarro. You leaned forward to admire the yellow bloom on top of the smaller one when you heard feet padding towards you, your breath hitching when you felt a bare knuckle gently drag the length of your spine.

“This is pretty,” his voice came through the modulator softly, signifying that he still had his helmet on, “What does it mean?”

You realized he had never seen your full tattoo before, the low back of the dress highlighted it perfectly.

“There’s a flower for all eight people in my family. My sister and brothers, my parents, and me,” you explained, tucking your chin into your shoulder and eying his figure behind you. He had stripped off his beskar and was in simple clothes for bed, a long sleeved black shirt and dark grey sweatpants. You had never seen his bare hands before. His fingers carefully traced the petals on your back before cupping your elbows. He was drinking in every second of touch he could get.

“Would you want a big family of your own one day?” his voice came out barely a whisper.

“With the right person, maybe,” you whispered back, turning more to meet his eyes fully beneath the visor.

You stood locked like that for what felt like hours, neither one of you daring to speak next.

“I laid out some clothes for you on the guest bed if you’d like to go change,” he said, finally pulling himself away from you.

“As beautiful as this dress is, my feet are killing me,” you smiled, reaching to hook off your shoes with one finger. The kitchen tiles were cold and slightly rough against your bare feet. He gestured down the hall for you to go get ready for bed, and you gladly followed, the tiredness of the evening setting back in. You took the shirt and pants he had laid out for you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. Using a rag and cold water, you easily cleansed your face of makeup. Slipping out of the dress he bought you and into his clothes felt like a holy moment, the answer to a long uttered prayer in the middle of the night.

You met him back in the living room. He was stretched out on the sofa, arms wide across the back making a welcome space for you to fit into. A habit as easy as breathing, you fit yourself against his side. His arm came down to hold you close to his chest. Your hands found his, running over every vein and scar, committing them to memory.

“You said you wanted to bring me here because you had a gift for me?” you suddenly remembered, shifting to sit upright.

He reached to the far end of the sofa and pulled out a long box, not very thick. He handed it to you wordlessly. You lifted the lid to find a black velvet pouch inside. Untying the strings at the top revealed what looked like the handle of a knife. You pulled out a small dagger that fit perfectly in your hand. The handle was black, possibly made out of the tusk of an animal, with delicate flowers carved into it. It a had a matching sheath that, when removed, held a thin, silver blade.

“Is this beskar?” you asked breathlessly.

Din nodded, “I took my spear to the Armorer, and she melted part of it down to forge the blade.” He turned it over in your hand to show you the other side which had his clan’s insignia etched into it.

“Din,” you gasped.

“I know you’ve read up on Mandalorian tradition based on prior conversations, I just want to clarify, this means exactly what you think it does. We already think of you as a part of our clan, I hope you’ll consider making it official.”

“Din Djarin, are you asking me to marry you?”

“Ner kar’ta, cyare, you are the one I’ve searched the deepest waters and driest deserts for. Your heart is the one that beats in time with mine. To live the rest of my days by your side would be the highest honor,” his voice tremored as he took your hands in his.

“Din, I was so scared to let myself dream of a future with you,” your eyes filled with tears, “But it’s what I’ve hoped for since the day we met.”

“I knew from the first moment that I saw you in the parade that are hearts were meant to be bound to one another,” he said softly, firm hands cupping your jaw. He wiped a single stray tear away with his thumb.

His forehead pressed to yours, and you felt something settle over your shoulders and run down your limbs to your fingertips. Something akin to peace, belonging. You had found your home away from home.

Mando’a translations

Mesh’la: beautiful

Cyar’ika: sweetheart

Cyare: beloved

Ner kar’ta: my heart

Ad’ika: little one

A/N part 2: Tal’oh is pronounced with a soft a like tallow, not a hard one like tail-oh

Taglist: @harriedandharassed thank you for always reading 🖤

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fic #suddenly

[scotianostra]

Reverend Patrick Bell was born on May 12th 1799 at Auchterhouse near Dundee.

Born into a farming family Bell was brought up at the farrm at Mid Leoch and attended Auchterhouse Parish School, Patrick Bell was only 27 when he had the idea that led to his invention, which was one of the first pieces of mechanical agricultural machinery to be used. He failed to profit financially from his invention, preferring instead to become parish minister. He studied Divinity at St Andrews University and was ordained as minister of Carmyllie Church in 1843.

Two stained glass windows at Carmyllie Church commemorate his life. He was minister in the parish from 1843 till his death in 1869.

The following excellent article is reprinted here with the kind permission of the Dundee Courier and Advertiser in 2008.

The 2008 harvest has been a trial, but spare a thought for those who had to struggle in the far off pre-combine days, when crops were cut and bound into sheaves. All highly labour intensive stuff but at least the binder could cut and bind the sheaves in one operation - before that it was sickle or scythe for cutting and hand binding.

It was an Angus man who started the world's farms on the way to harvest mechanisation. Patrick Bell, a farmer's son from Mid Leoch, near Auchterhouse, developed the first successful reaper in 1828.

He had a very analytical mind and was especially interested in engineering. He installed a gas lighting system at Mid Leoch and even took an interest in the cultivation of sugar beet, growing some and extracting sugar from it a century before the industry came to Scotland.

Many people, historians included, have mistakenly credited Cyrus McCormick of America as the inventor of the reaper in 1831. However, it should be Patrick Bell who is recognised as the designer of a machine that was deemed far more efficient and reliable than any previous attempts. Four of his reapers went to America where it is likely they influenced the designs of both McCormick and his contemporary Obed Hussey.

Patrick Bell designed and built his reaper when he was a divinity student at St Andrews University, getting the idea for his cutting system from a pair of garden shears that were stuffed into a hedge. He took the shears through a gap in the hedge and tried them on some standing grain. His first design was built in model form and with the help of a Tealing carpenter a full size version was assembled. Fear of derision led him to spread earth on the floor of his shed where he planted stalks of harvested grain to trial his machine.

The reaper cut the grain adequately but it fell unevenly for gathering for hand binding. Undaunted, he developed a canvas conveyor that the cut grain fell back against. It was then transported to the side of the machine falling into a neat windrow. A revolving reel to pull the crop on to the knife was also included in his design.

Eventually satisfied with his machine's performance he and his brother took the reaper out to a field of wheat at 11pm when prying eyes were asleep. The "guid horse Jock" was yoked, but the trial started disappointingly. In their excitement the brothers had forgotten to attach the reel. They hurriedly brought it out to the field and fitted it. The machine then worked very satisfactorily. Confident of the reaper's ability a public trial was staged at Powrie Farm on the 10th of September 1828. It received a favourable report in the "Quarterly Journal of Agriculture" and received a premium of £50 from the Highland Agricultural Society, which barely covered costs.

Bell did not file for a patent believing that his invention should benefit all. This led to various copies being made that were inferior to the Bell-made machines and they did nothing to encourage wide-spread usage. However around 10 of Bell's machines were sold in east central Scotland and, as previously mentioned, four crossed the Atlantic, others went to Australia and Poland.

At this time in history labour was still cheap and many farmers did not see the benefit of such a machine, preferring to stay with traditional methods. This was another case of a good invention being too far ahead of its time. However, the Bell machine was to prove itself as far as reliability and longevity was concerned, as the original machine continued for many harvests at Mid Leoch before going to work for many more at his brother's Inchmichael Farm.

In 1852 it was put in a good state of repair and shown at the Highland Show at Perth where it was thought by many to be the latest machine on the market. However, the Americans eventually began to sell greater quantities of reaping machines no doubt due to their lightness, manoeuvrability and competitive mass-produced pricing.

Meanwhile, now ordained, the Reverend Bell became minister of Carmyllie parish where he continued an interest in engineering, working at his bench at the manse. He remained unaffected by all the clamour that his machine had caused.

The Inchmichael machine, fastidiously looked after by his brother, ended up in the Science Museum in London where it still resides today.

Two contemporary models of the machine were presented to the National Museum and one is on show at the National Museum of Rural Life at Kittochside, East Kilbride. A third was presented by his daughters to the agricultural department of Aberdeen University.

Today's combine harvester has thus developed from the work of two ingenious Scotsmen - it is a combination of Andrew Meikle's threshing mechanism and Patrick Bell's reaper.

#scotland #scottish #history #church minister #farmer #inventor

[thepoisonjackal]

Wings of Fire Hybrid Adopts part 2! $5 for the character and their headshot, or for $20 you can have a fullbody designed as well! Paypal only. Remember, people in my discord get first pick of adopts and early access to commissions!

Tropical Carpenter: SOLD Cecropia: SOLD Agama: SOLD Death’s Head: SOLD Spoonbill: SOLD Eclectus: SOLD Sooty Owl: SOLD Foxtail: OPEN Gila: SOLD

#wings of fire #wof #adopts #adopts open #wof adopts #wof hybrid #rainwing #hivewing #skywing #silkwing #sandwing #nightwing #mudwing #seawing #icewing #leafwing

[briarcrawford]

Choosing a Job for your High Fantasy Character

Why is it that characters in medieval-inspired fantasy novels always have the same jobs? If they are not royals or warriors, you just know they are going to be a farmer. In reality, there was a vast variety of jobs available.

There were entertainers so popular they were influential, people who sold beauty products, fashion designers, and guilds that could be compared to today’s corporations.

Not only can you feel free to pick a job a bit more interesting than the typical ones, but it can help alter the plot a bit too. For example, a candlemaker might seem boring, until you add in the fact that only the rich could afford beeswax candles. That candlemaker suddenly has connections and wealth.

Once you stop thinking about those from the past as dates in a book and start thinking of them as people, it will open several new writing opportunities.

Just so you all know, I have no problem with your characters being a farmer or a warrior, but I wanted to make sure that you know these are not the only options available.

If you do want new ideas, to help you out, I brainstormed a list! Do note that they may not be the proper historical titles or terms for the positions, so please do research on the trade if you chose something.

Castle Worker

Cook

Maid

Stone Mason

Barber

Carpenter

Butler

Food Taster

Messenger

Watchman

Candle Maker

Nanny

Baker

Gardener

Clerk

Blacksmith

Lady in Waiting

Tax Collector

Scribe

Dog Trainer

Carrier Pidgen Keeper

Falcon Keeper and Trainer

Money Crafter

Inventor

Teacher

Arts:

Acrobat

Jester

Story Teller

Puppeteer

Minstrel

Painter

Blacksmith

Tapestry Weaver

Clothes Maker

Jewellery Maker

Play Writer

Sculpter

Fashion Designer

Military

Poison Maker

Assassin

Messenger

Scout

Knight

Armorer

Tracker

Officer

Medic

Cook

Other Jobs:

Tree Cutter

Beauty Product Creator

Road Builder

Charcoal Maker

Parchment Maker

Mine Worker

Fishermen

Herbalist

Merchant

Horse Breeder

Farm Worker

Blacksmith

Mead/Ale Brewer

Candle Maker

Sailor

Fairy Docter

Shepard

Construction Worker

Baker

Basket weaver

Shoe Maker

#Worldbuilding #Characters #how to write #writers on tumblr #writingtips #writingfantasy #fantasywriter #writing tip #writing help #writing tips #writing advice #fantasy writer #writing fantasy #write #writer #writing #writers of tumblr #writeblr #CharacterJobs #WorldbuildingOther

[m1lkt00th]

random kick of thoughts so im going to write them down super quick

BIRD AU!

this was an idea i only really thought about once in a while. it doesnt have much development outside of “cross is a pigeon that comes from a mostly ‘human’ population/was a pet that escaped an abusive household. he has the learn about the surrounding environment (a forest and a few fields and a river) and eventually grows into himself and strikes out on his own. cross stays with the stars for the first portion then with the afterdeath duo and then nightmare’s group before finally being alone (in a happy way though)

these are all the assignments i remember off the top of my head

cross -> pigeon

nightmare & dream -> owl

ink -> that one carpenter bird of paradise (bowerbird ?)

error -> woodpecker

blue -> finch ?

CENTAUR AU!

another au that i wasnt really sure how to develop. it was mostly focused on magic and how theyd express themselves and communicate though

these are all pretty random because, again, off the top of my head but im really sold on the apple twins, horror and dust. blue being a lion is just for fun though

cross -> wolf or bear

nightmare & dream -> deer

horror -> bear

dust -> wolf

killer -> moose or leopard

blue -> lion

ink -> house cat (???)

error -> elephant

red -> lion

MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS

really want to just. get used to sharing my thoughts here because this is my thoughts archive, my thinking place. i dont have to post art all the time 😭

but anyways i love making cross designs im going to redesign some older ones i did. hibiscus flower cross.. neon cross.. wowie

#tooth rambles #tooth thoughts #writing #undertale au #cross sans #ink sans #error sans #nightmare sans #dream sans #horror sans #dust sans #killer sans #swap sans #fell sans

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Seattle's Unification Church owned mansion sold – and will be demolished

6601 Northeast Windermere Road, Seattle, WA 98105

The original Rolland Denny estate home in Seattle’s exclusive Windermere neighborhood has been sold. On the market since 2022, Loch Kelden was recently sold to developers for what real-estate sites say is $5.999.900.00, “pending feasibility.”

Preservationists could not nominate it as a city landmark because the state Supreme Court has exempted religious entities from landmark designation unless such owners support or seek it. Thus, demolition appears imminent.

This gem of Seattle history is nestled behind a curtain of trees: it's the 7,700-square-foot mansion that Rolland Denny, the first son of Seattle pioneer Arthur Denny, built in 1907.

Shortly after moving in, in 1908, Denny named his new domain "Lochkelden" — loch, meaning "lake" in Scottish; "Kel" for his wife, Alice Kellogg; and "Den" for Denny. Today, it's the only residence left in Seattle where one of the original pioneers lived.

Rolland Denny was an infant when Arthur Denny and the original pioneers arrived on Alki Beach in 1851. The Duwamish Tribe helped keep him alive by teaching his mother to feed him clam broth through the winter.

Like any 100-year-old institution worth its salt, the old Windermere mansion, as it's called, is not without intrigue.

In 1974, the Unification Church, a nontraditional church established by Sun Myung Moon in Korea in the 1940s, bought the property and its remaining 1.7 acres for $175,000.

In 1977, a group of Windermere neighbors, "Save Our Neighborhood," brought a lawsuit against the new owners, questioning their right to use the residential property for religious and commercial ventures. The lawsuit, spurred partly by a popular condemnation of the church's mass marriages and recruitment techniques, was dropped in 1982.

A community feature is access to the waterfront/private beach.

While some neighbors remain uncomfortable with the Unification Church's hold on the property, others applaud the church's efforts to refurbish the house, which suffers from the inevitable internal decay of 100-year-old plumbing and wiring.

"There's so much to fix. I have so many projects. And it's an absolute bottomless pit for money," said Scott Dolfay twenty years ago. He is a carpenter and had been a church member since 1981. In 2001, he helped raise $180,000 from the church for maintenance purposes and estimates he and other church members have contributed over a million dollars more in personal cash, materials and volunteer work since then.

Exploring the old mansion is like peeling back layers of time, he says: There's the false-backed cupboards in the master bedroom, that can be revealed using a pulley-system, rigged to the closet.

_________________________________

Boston UC Mansion at 46 Beacon Street purchased in 1976 for $475,000 now sold for $20.5million

Unification Church sells Cardinal Cushing Villa in Gloucester for $5 million

Jin-joo Byrne was raped and murdered in August 2002. She was just 18. She was fundraising on her own with costume jewellery in Charlotte NC. Some time later it was arranged for Hak Ja Han, on a visit to Seattle, to meet the family who lived there. Hak Ja Han was not very sympathetic. One person understood what she said in Korean.

All these UC members were killed while fundraising for Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han

#unification church #sun myung moon #hak ja han #moonies #ffwpu #Seattle #Jin-joo Byrne

[dagamingshelf-database]

Rune Factory 5 Acrylic Stand - Ryker

This acrylic stand was released in Japan in 2021 by Contents Seed for 1,100 JP¥. It was released as merchandise for Rune Factory 5. There are a total of fourteen different individual acrylic stands sold by Contents Seed for this game, featuring the male and female leads as well as both the full cast of bachelors and bachelorettes, with the exception of Priscilla, who was released exclusively in a limited store-exclusive bundle.

These stands are designed in a chibi-esque style. They measure approximately 8.5cm in width and 10.5 cm in height before being popped from the plastic. The stands are made of a clear acrylic with inkjet printing.

This particular stand features Ryker, an apprentice carpenter who constantly lazes about and procrastinates, until night arrives, where he is seemingly a different person.

#Japan #2021 #Contents Seed #Rune Factory #Acrylic Stands

[slpublicity]

MY BLOODY VALENTINE Trading Cards & Apparel from Fright-Rags

Have a bloody Valentine's Day with Fright-Rags' My Bloody Valentine collection! The horror merch company has created official trading cards, two T-shirts, and Harry Warden socks from the '80s slasher.

My Bloody Valentine trading cards are available in single packs with nine movie cards and a sticker; factory boxes with 80 movie cards, two parallel cards, two stickers, and a checklist; and sealed boxes (limited to 320) with two full base sets, two full sticker sets, two full parallel sets, two checklists, one autograph card, and a printing plate.

They Live will invade Fright-Rags on February 15 in celebration of its 35th anniversary. John Carpenter's prescient cult classic is receiving four new shirts, including a glow-in-the-dark design.

Also coming this month are shirts from Deadstream (February 21), Elvira (February 24), and an anniversary collection for a fan-favorite slasher sequel (February 28).

Recent releases include an official design from Joe Bob Briggs' Vicious Vegas Valentine special and restocks of sold-out tees from The Black Phone, Creepshow, Halloween, Killer Klowns from Outer Space, MonsterVision, Pumpkinhead, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Shop the latest horror apparel at Fright-Rags.com.

#fright rags #my bloody valentine #they live #joe bob briggs #halloween

[the-paintrist]

Thomas Ellerby - Portrait of John Wilson Carmichael - 1839

oil on panel, height: 25.7 cm (10.1 in); width: 20.2 cm (7.9 in)

South Shields Museum & Art Gallery, UK

Thomas Ellerby (10 January 1797 - 4 April 1861) was an English portrait artist whose work included 72 paintings chosen for hanging at The Royal Academy of Arts exhibitions from 1821 until 1857. He remained active as a painter until the end of his life.

James John Wilson Carmichael (9 June 1800 – 1868), also known as John Carmichael was a British marine painter.

Carmichael was born at the Ouseburn, in Newcastle upon Tyne, Northumberland, on 9 June 1800, the son of William Carmichael, a ship's carpenter. He went to sea at an early age, and spent three years on board a vessel sailing between ports in Spain and Portugal. On his return, he was apprenticed to a shipbuilding firm.  After completing his apprenticeship, he devoted all his spare time to art, and eventually gave up the carpentry business, setting himself up as a drawing-master and miniature painter. His first historical painting to attract public notice was the Fight Between the Shannon and Chesapeake, which sold for 13 guineas (£13.65). He then painted The Bombardment of Algiers for Trinity House, Newcastle, for which he received 40 guineas; it is still at Trinity House, along with The Heroic Exploits of Admiral Lord Collingwood in HMS "Excellent" at the Battle of Cape St. Vincent, painted in collaboration with George Balmer. Another important early commission was for a View of Newcastle for which the city corporation paid him 100 guineas. During the redevelopment of the centre of Newcastle, Carmichael worked with the architect John Dobson to produce some joint works, including paintings with designs for the Central Station and the Grainger Market.[4] He also collaborated with John Blackmore to produce an illustrated book: Views on the Newcastle and Carlisle Railway in 1836.

His name first appears as an exhibitor in 1838, when he contributed an oil painting, Shipping in the Bay of Naples, to the Society of British Artists. He showed both oil paintings and watercolours at the Royal Academy, his contributions including The Conqueror towing the Africa off the Shoals of Trafalgar (1841) and The Arrival of the Royal Squadron (1843).

He lived in Newcastle until about 1845, when he moved to London, where he was already known as a skilful marine painter. In 1855, during the Crimean War he was sent to the Baltic to make drawings for The Illustrated London News. His painting of the bombardment of Sveaborg, which he witnessed during this assignment, was exhibited at the Royal Academy and is now in the collection of the National Maritime Museum.

He later moved to Scarborough, where he died in 1868.

He published The Art of Marine Painting in Water-Colours in 1859, and The Art of Marine Painting in Oil-Colours in 1864.

His daughter Annie married William Luson Thomas son of a shipbroker and a successful artist who, exasperated by the treatment of artists by the Illustrated London News, founded in 1869 The Graphic newspaper which had immense influence within the art world.

#Thomas Ellerby #uk #portrait #paintrist #James Wilson Carmichael #history

[emailsicansab]

sabrina’s going on tour in North America!!! go get tickets!!

when?: september 28-october 16th

where?: (bolded means there are still tickets)

ORLANDO, FLORIDA

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

BOSTON, MASCHUSETTS

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

WASHINGTON DC

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

TEMPE, ARIZONA

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

tickets:

VIP PACKAGES:

*NOW SOLD OUT*

FAST TIMES VIP EXPERIENCE

One general admission standing ticket with early entry to the GA floor

 Invitation to an intimate Q&A with Sabrina Carpenter

Access to an exclusive sound check performance with Sabrina Carpenter

One specially designed Sabrina Carpenter merchandise item

One Sabrina Carpenter autographed lyric sheet

One commemorative Sabrina Carpenter VIP laminate

Pre-show merchandise shopping opportunity

On-site VIP host

*NOW SOLD OUT*

BET U WANNA EARLY ENTRE PACKAGE

One general admission standing ticket with early entry to the GA floor

One specially designed Sabrina Carpenter merchandise item

One Sabrina Carpenter lyric sheet

Pre-show early tour merchandise shopping opportunity

*NOW SOLD OUT*

READ YOUR MIND SOUND CHECK PACKAGE

One general admission standing ticket with early entry to the GA floor

Access to an exclusive sound check performance with Sabrina Carpenter

One specially designed Sabrina Carpenter merchandise item

One Sabrina Carpenter autographed lyric sheet

One commemorative Sabrina Carpenter VIP laminate

Pre-show merchandise shopping opportunity

On-site VIP host

ALL VIP ACTIVITIES/PACKAGES OCCUR PRESHOW!!

follow Sabrina Carpenter for future tour date, etc:

I WILL BE UPDATING THIS POST REGULARLY TO MATCH THE WHATS GOING ON WITH THE TOUR

#eics #eics tour #sabrina carpenter #tour #tour updates #sold out!!

[demospectator]

“B 7. Store Window in Chinatown, S.F., Cal.” c. 1885. Photograph by Isaiah West Taber (from the Cooper Chow collection at the Chinese Historical Society of America). The “B” designation referred to Taber Photo’s “Boudoir Photos” sold in the 5 x 8 size 

The characters 祥隆 (canto:  “Cheung Lung”), literally “auspicious prosperity” appear in the center pane of the storefront window.  A second sign is visible inside the store, inscribed with the characters “榮生,” which, when read from right to left would be “生榮” (canto: “Saang Wing”).  In the lower left-hand corner of the photo, the vertical signage  for a business located in the basement appears below the lower left corner of the window display area.  The name 有記  (canto: “Yow Gay”) appears, followed by what appear to the characters 包料木工枱瞪 (canto: “bau liu muk gung toy duhng;” lit. “packing woodworking table”), indicating the business of a woodworker or carpenter.  The ghostly figure of a vendor can be seen in the entryway at right, presumably overseeing the small sidewalk display to the left of the store entrance.  His relationship to the operators of the interior store space is not apparent.  The left-center portion of I.W. Taber’s photo of a “Store Window in Chinatown” shows the prominent 押 character on the signage for a pawnshop.  Typical for that era, the two-part signage of the bat hanging upside down and holding a coin is suspended from underneath the overhang of the first story’s balcony.

Pawnshops of Old Chinatown

 When the Chinese pioneers began to settle in America, the appearance of pawnshops and pawnbrokers in cities and Chinatowns throughout the Pacific Coast and the western United States, became inevitable.  Pawnshops, offering loans to borrowers and secured by personal property collateral, had traced their history more than three millennia to ancient China.  

For lower income groups, pawnshops have, in the words of professor Heiko Schrader, “a high outreach, are very often financially viable and have several advantages, compared to other institutions of the micro financial sector. Clients cannot fall into long-term indebtedness, due to the fact that they have to deposit a pawn of at least the same value.  And for the pawnshop this pawn reduces the risk to provide a loan to poor people, and monitoring is not necessary.”

“Street in Chinatown, San Francisco. Completely Burned. No. 2168,” published c. 1906.  Photographer unknown for the Photo. Co. of America, Chicago.  The street is the pre-1906 pawnshop row along the north side of Washington Street at the southern entrance to Ross Alley.  The pawnshop signage for the On Wing (安榮) store at 828 Washington appears in the center of the photo.

The photographic record of old San Francisco Chinatown’s streetscape provides numerous scenes of the southern Chinese pawn shop sign – the 押 character or symbol (canto: “aap”), literally a “mortgage” or pledge.   Additional signage showing a bat holding a coin 蝠鼠吊金錢 (lit. “bat mouse hanging money;” canto: “fūk syú diu gām chin”), signifying fortune and the benefits denoted by the coin, can be discerned.

“The Sign of the Pawn Shop” c. 1896-1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the Genthe photograph collection, Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division).  A print of a similar image appears in Old Chinatown : a book of pictures by Arnold Genthe with text by Will Irwin (New York : M. Kennerley, 1913, p. 195).  The signage for the pawnbroker, Hang Lee & Co. (亨利押; canto: “Hung Lei aap;” pinyin:  “Heng Li”) or “Pervasive Profit” pawnshop was located at 830 Washington Street near the entrance to Ross Alley, can be seen suspended in the foreground  of the image.  The Hang Lee pawnshop was located at 830 Washington Street, on the northwest corner of Washington Street and Stouts (or Ross) Alley – strategically situated within easy walking distance of gambling establishments and bordellos.

Historian Jack Tchen wrote in reference to Arnold Genthe’s photo “The Sign of the Pawnshop” for the Hang Lee & Co. as follows:  

“Amid the gambling rooms where savings were quickly lost, pawnshops thrived. Pawnshops had very high counters upon which the item to be pawned would be place for inspection by an unseen shop worker, hidden behind the counter for security purposes.  Often a man visiting his favorite prostitute or singsong girl would stop by the shop and pick up a present.  [Arnold] Genthe developed his collection of jades by frequenting these stores. “

The residents of old Chinatown preferred to hold liquid assets in the form of gold or gems because of the relative ease with which they could arrange loans from pawnshops when they needed cash urgently.  The neighborhood’s pawnbrokers located their shops in strategic proximity to houses of gambling and/or prostitution, with particular concentrations of shops on Washington and Jackson Streets.

“Dupont St. Wood Carriers of Chinatown Sf Cal.” c. 1890.  Photograph by A.J. McDonald (from the Marilyn Blaisdell collection).  The wood carriers might have been based on Dupont Street, but the signage in the upper left-hand corner of the frame advertise the location of the Hang Lee & Co. pawnshop or “Pervasive Profit” pawnshop (亨利押; canto: “hung lei aap”), at 830 Washington Street, at the northwest corner of Washington Street and Stouts (or Ross) Alley. Also, the barely discernible signage for the On Wing (安榮) pawnshop slightly down the eastern incline of the street at 828 Washington can be seen in the upper center of the photo.

"Hung Ai[sic] Art Co. doorway, August 24, 1901" Photograph by D. H. Wulzen (from the D.H. Wulzen Glass Plate Negative Collection (Sfp 40), San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library).

In contrast to the misfortune which befell his contemporaries, the glass negatives of photographer D.H. Wulzen survived the quake and fire of 1906.  As a result, the San Francisco Public Library provides higher quality images of Wulzen’s work online, such as his 1901 photo of the Hung Hai Art Co. at 832 Washington Street.  Its name (恒泰) and address appear clearly in the center of the photo, as well as a prominent 押 (canto:  “hung tai aap”) character emblazoned on an oversized coin topped by the usual inverted bat icon which holds the coin.

Additional confirmation of the address location on Washington Street may be found by the partially-obscured signage of its adjacent pawnshop, the Hang Lee & Co. (亨利押; canto: “hung lei aap”).  The Hang Lee shop was located below street-level at 830 on the northwest corner of Washington Street and Stouts (or Ross) Alley.

The below-street grade location of the Hang Lee & Co. pawnshop at 830 Washington Street on the northwest corner of the intersection of Washington Street and Ross Alley, c. 1900.  Photograph by Henry H. Dobbin (from the Marilyn Blaisdell collection).  

Detail of the locations of Chinese pawnbrokers’ shops on the north side of Washington Street as depicted on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors’ special committee map of July 1885 (from the Cooper Chow collection at the Chinese Historical Society of America). The address numbers of 828 (at the northeast corner of the inverse “T”-intersection and 830 (which was located below street level were omitted by the 1885 survey.  

A wider-angle view of the north side of Washington Street at Ross Alley, showing the entrances to the Hung Hai Art Co. at no. 832, Hang Lee & Co. at no. 830, and On Wing at 828 Washington Street.  The trio of businesses represented a strategic and convenient cluster of pawnshops which San Francisco’s 1885 “vice map” recorded as occupying the north-side frontage of Washington extending west from Dupont Street and across Stouts (a.k.a. Ross) Alley.

The Horn Hong Company’s business calendar-directory of 1892 shows the pawnshops located in the 800-block of Washington Street, flanking the southern entrance to Ross Alley’s gambling establishments..

The 1885 map and the various business directories for Chinatown of the 1890’s show the pawnbrokers (including the Hung Hai company’s predecessor, Fong Chong Fook Kee & Co, which had occupied the 832 Washington premises during the 1880s and early ‘90s), had strategically situated themselves adjacent to, and within easy walking distance of, the gambling establishments and bordellos on Ross Alley.

Three Children outside of the Hung Hai Art Co. pawnshop at 832 Washington Street and Ross Alley.  The signage for the pawnbroker, Hang Lee & Co. (亨利押; canto: “Hung Lei aap;” pinyin:  “Heng Li”) or “Pervasive Profit” pawnshop at 830 Washington Street is visible above the head of the boy in the right half of the frame.  Photograph by Arnold Genthe, c. 1896 – 1906 (from the collection of the Library of Congress).

“Ross Alley Chinatown 1904.”  Photograph by Henry H. Dobbin (from the collection of the California State Library).  At right, the sign for the 巨興  (canto: “Geuih Hing”) or “Great Prosperity” pawnshop can be seen. 

“The Morning Market” c. 1896-1906. Photograph by Arnold Genthe (from the Genthe photograph collection, Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division).  

In the center of Arnold Genthe’s “Morning Market” photo of a Jackson Street block dominated by grocery stores, the glass windows of the Kung Wo pawnshop (公和押; pinyin:  “Gunghe;” canto: “Gung Wo aap;” lit. “Honorable Peace Mortgage”) can be seen in the center of the photo at 639 Jackson Street, between the grocers Tuck Wo (德和) at 635 Jackson and Yee Chong (裕昌) at 639 Jackson.  

The Chinese preferred to buy assets like gold or gems because of the relative ease with which they could arrange loans from pawnshops when they needed cash urgently.  To respond to the cash demands by the dominant population of single male workers for the recreational services provided by sex workers and gambling operations, pawnshops proliferated in old Chinatown.

Detail from San Francisco’s 1885 vice map of the location of the predecessor pawnbrokerage to the Kung Wo pawnshop (公和押; pinyin: “Gunghe;” canto: “Gung Wo aap;” lit. “Honorable Peace Mortgage”) which would occupy 639 Jackson Street at the time of Arnold Genthe’s photo of the block, “The Morning Market.”  The pawnshop was located at the top of the T-intersection of Jackson Street and the southern end of Bartlett Alley.  The alley contained the highest concentration of Chinese houses of prostitution as depicted by the “C.P.” coding in the San Francisco Board of Supervisors’ special committee map of July 1885 (from the Cooper Chow collection at the Chinese Historical Society of America).

According historian Jack Tchen notes, “[Chinatown’s] pawnbrokers were primarily located on Jackson and Washington Streets, near the concentration of gambling rooms,” and the city’s 1885 “vice map” shows such location, as well as near houses of prostitution.

“Ross Alley, Chinatown” 1886.  Oil painting by Edwin Deakin. The painting depicts a Chinese New Year’s celebration at the southern end of Ross Alley as viewed from Washington Street and the pawnshops flanking the entrance to the alleyway.  

Having operated for more than three decades, Chinatown’s pawnshops were all destroyed during the Great Earthquake and Fire of 1906.  However, the pawnbrokers reestablished their shops in the rebuilt neighborhood and often on familiar streets.  

This post-1906 photo shows the T.G. Kong Co. pawnshop at the renumbered street address of 852 Washington Street, on the same northwest corner of Washington Street and Ross Alley.  

The reminiscences of longtime Chinatown resident, Lyle Jan, about the new Chinatown’s pawnshops provide insights into how business was conducted during the era between the world wars:

“There were several pawn shops in Chinatown. I remember one in particular. It was located on the corner of Waverly Place next to Washington Street. I remember this particular pawnshop because my mother often visited this shop whenever we were short of cash.

“The pawn broker, or as he was also called, the moneylender, would provide money with interest, on personal property deposited with him as security. The pawnbroker kept the personal property until the borrower paid off his loan. Chinese gold jewelry is a personal property that can be easily pawned. The moneylender knew that if the borrower did not redeem the item, the gold jewelry would be fairly easy to sell to customers who seek a bargain on gold jewelry. The unredeemed gold jewelry is also attractive to goldsmiths who can melt the gold and make new jewelry from it.

“As a bit of added interest, during the 1930s and even up to the 40s, the street windows of pawn shops in Chinatown were boarded up so that passerbys on the street could not see the person inside the shop making a transaction. Inside the shop, the borrower faced an approximate 6 foot high counter with a wrought iron framework on the top. There was an opening in the framework much like the one for a teller in a bank. The borrower would hand the item he wanted to pawn with a raised arm and give it to the moneylender seated behind the opening of the wrought iron framework. The moneylender appraises the item to be pledged as security for the loan, then quotes the loan amount plus interest available to the borrower. If the borrower agrees to the loan terms, the money and a receipt is handed down to the borrower by the money lender. At no time was there a direct face to face contact between the moneylender and the borrower. . . .

“Customer at pawnbroker's shop remains hidden, slips camera through window for the Chinese consider it a disgrace to pawn anything”, 1944.  Photograph by James Wong Howe on assignment for LOOK magazine (from the collection of the Bancroft Library).

“The reason for the boarded street windows and the high counter between the moneylender and borrower was an effort to provide privacy for the borrower during the loan transaction. It was considered a loss of face for anyone to go to a pawnshop to borrow money. This privacy bit was rather comical, in that probably more than half of the Chinatown residents have had to walk into the portals of a pawn shop for cash to tie them over temporarily, especially during the Depression Years in America. I wouldn't be surprised that when a borrower walked out the doors of a pawnshop after receiving a loan, his best friend or relative might be just walking in to pawn his or her personal property.

“There was another purpose for the high counter besides privacy. In case there was an attempted robbery, the height of the high counter would act as a physical obstacle to the robber.”

-- from China 2227 Long, Long Ago: Memoirs of Old San Francisco by Lyle Jan (Infinity Publishing.com, 2005)

The Yick Lung Co. pawnshop operated at 852 Washington Street on the same northwest corner of Washington Street and Ross Alley as had its pre-1906 predecessor pawnbrokers.  The proprietor’s name was Alexander Dea.  Photographer unknown.

The sign of the Foo Wah Cheung hangs over the premises of 852 Washington Street at Ross Alley on June 8, 2022.  Photograph by Doug Chan

“Toymaker Off Ross Alley”  Oil painting by Mian Situ.  This historically-inspired painting by Situ depicts a street artist working under the faded signage of a pawnshop in front of a building façade (blending elements from the Hung Hai Art Co.’s Washington Street store frontage and the Ross Alley streetscape) from pre-1906 Chinatown. Although purporting to depict old Chinatown, the artist’s juxtaposing children with a deteriorating pawnbroker’s sign foreshadows the decline of a business sector which had served the old bachelor society and the concurrent rise of fully-formed families in the community.  

With the dramatic growth of the Chinese population and families in Chinatown, the neighborhood’s once-ubiquitous pawnshops no longer play as prominent a role in the micro-economy of the once-segregated community.  The pawnbrokers have faded from view, their functions assumed in large part by institutional lenders and the jewelry stores.  They remain, however, an integral part of the colorful and historical past of San Francisco Chinatown’s.

“Arrest in Chinatown, San Francisco, Cal.” (c) October 25, 1897 by Thomas A. Edison, Inc., from the collection of the Library of Congress. “This film shows the arrest and conveyance of a Chinese man in Chinatown, watched by a crowd of onlookers. The precise date of this film and the arrest charge are uncertain. It is possible that the arrest was connected with the smuggling of illegal immigrants from China. By mutual agreement between China and the United States, a small quota of merchants and students was allowed to immigrate yearly, but few legal immigrants actually were of these professions, and illegal immigration continued. One of the San Francisco residences for new arrivals was located at 830/832 Washington Street, the general location from which the arrest[ed] party ascends at the start of the film. . ..”  The signs of the pawnshops can be seen in the background.

#Pawnshops of San Francisco Chinatown #Chinatown pawnbrokers #Sign of the Pawnshop #Arnold Genthe #I.W. Taber #Hang Lee & Co. #Hung Hai Art Co. #On Wing #Horn Hong Company #Kung Wo pawnshop #Washington St. #Jackson St. #Ross Alley #Bartlett Alley #James Wong Howe #Mian Situ

[dankusner]

Dallas still needs Interstate 345

The freeway that divided Black neighborhoods now connects to economic opportunity.

Carpenter Park, center-left, and I-345 east of downtown Dallas on Wednesday, Oct. 19, 2022.

Talk about removing the freeway ignores the negative effects to huge sections of the city and region, Mike Grace writes.

Discourse regarding I-345 has been largely academic and disproportionately focused on a small part of Dallas.

This ignores impacts to huge sections of the city and region, and squanders the attention of the city’s nascent urban development brain trust and real estate development community.

As with the construction of I-345, its removal is being sold as a means to create economic prosperity.

However, freeway removal has an eerie echo of the decision-making vacuum that led to its construction in the first place.

Construction of I-345 and resulting destruction of neighborhoods populated by the city’s Black residents contributed to increased economic inequity, air pollution, cost of living, traffic, lack of access to services, white flight and more.

Proponents of highway removal champion the possibility of “reconnecting” long-gone neighborhoods, “restitching” the urban grid together, and “restoring” the health of the city.

Unfortunately, the voices of many who would be impacted by such decisions are not centered in the discourse.

Its removal will be detrimental to those who now rely on the highway to get from large residential neighborhoods in southern Dallas and adjacent suburbs to job centers in northern Dallas.

Many of those commuters are Black and brown.

This fact continues to be overlooked.

Dallas is a maturing city, evolving into a more fully realized 21st century version of itself, including its economic and physical landscape.

This requires a new economic development paradigm centered on long-range and strategic planning, public policy and urban design, which will mean reimagining the city from a holistic perspective.

This must be driven by effective leadership as well as new partnerships among the city’s economic development and planning departments, its economic development corporation and the developer community.

To create a city and region that do not need I-345, Dallas must resolve its land development density, gentrification and housing problems.

Any decision to remove such an important economic and transportation link must also resolve the impact to the city’s large and growing importance as a logistics hub.

The city, its new economic development corporation, the political class, neighborhood groups and real estate developers all must come together to resolve issues of this magnitude — and in a genuinely inclusive manner.

Not taking these steps will disconnect people from opportunity, worsen housing challenges north and south and increase Dallas’ cost of living and economic disparity.

To facilitate these outcomes, the real estate development community must also evolve.

Strategies to create new mixed-income and mixed-use live-work-play districts, as well as strengthen existing ones, should become priority.

This approach supports efforts to attract jobs, place people closer to them, and creates a more sustainable city.

This process will require challenging and sometimes controversial evolution of the urban fabric.

Unfortunately, this process will take time — possibly lots of it.

Until then, neither the city nor the region is in position to withstand the impact of removing I-345.

Dallas is already battling population loss.

Without a dramatic evolution in our capacity for change and ability to drive equitable growth throughout the city, high-end residential development is the most likely outcome of removing I-345.

That is an inequitable, narrow and short-sighted game that does not generate significant population gain.

Let’s refocus our energies on creating economic opportunity and a better-designed city.

Then it might be time to consider removing freeways.

Mike Grace is managing principal of Metro Development Consulting/MetroCon Development.

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