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kathyprior4200 · 2 months

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Hazbin Hotel Episode 2: "Radio Killed The Video Star" (Helluva Scribe Remake)

Part One

The Hazbin Hotel building stood on a black hill, surrounded by a few dead trees and old fences. In the center of a circle of stones was a black pentagram design on the ground. Inside the hotel, everyone was worried about the news of the Extermination being moved up.

Charlie paced back and forth in the parlor, hyperventilating and in disbelief that her meeting with Adam had failed so badly. KeeKee the key cat followed her as she paced.

“Okay. So the Extermination is coming in six months instead of a year. No big deal. Just a little setback. Nothing we can’t handle. Just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls? Am I right? And next time when they cut the time in half again, and again, we’ll just handle it, right?!”

Vaggie steadied her panicking girlfriend, grabbing hold of her arms. “Yes. We will.”

“Oh please,” Angel Dust scoffed from the couch. He scrolled through his cell phone with a spider web cover on it. “Ya had less than half a chance when you started this salvation bullshit. And now…” His phone vibrated. “…ain’t no silver lining this time, toots.”

Angel Dust scrolled down as he read messages from Valentino:

“SO I’M THINKIN. YOU AND THREE HUGE GUYS ARE GETTING IT ON AND IT’S REALLY HOT AND OILY AND THEN ITS REVEALED YOUR ON A BOAT AND IT’S SINKING SO YOU ALL HAVE TO CUM AS FAST AS YOU CAN.”

“HAVE YOU SEEN TEMPERATURE PLAY VIDS? LOL CAUSE THERE IS GONNA BE ICE!!!!”

“SO GET THAT FLAT BONEY ASS TO THE STUDIO BABY – AS YOU CAN SEE, THE IDEAS ARE FLOWING.”

“HAHA SO IT’S BEEN THIRTY SECONDS…DON’T BE LIKE THIS BABY.”

“THIS ISN’T CUTE, ANGEL, LEGIT I’M SO BORED OF THIS LITTLE CAT AND MOUSE CHASE.”

“FR OVER IT!”

“FUKIN BITCH! BABE. ANGEL, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU????”

“Sure there is!” Charlie breathed, trying to stay hopeful. “We just…have to look a little harder for it!”

“Well, while you’re lookin’,” said Angel Dust. “…the rest’a Hell’s goin’ nuts. People are already freakin’ out about the news. Look at what’s happenin’ in the Doomsday District.”

Angel Dust showed a video of a male demon wearing a hat who was screaming as flames roared in the background. “New Message From Valentino” popped up at the top of his screen in pink.

“Err, what is a Donkey Show?” asked a puzzled Charlie.

“Aah, heh, nothin’,” Angel Dust said, pulling back his cell phone. “My boss Val is just freaked out about the news, too. Like I said, everyone’s losin’ their shit.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Vaggie pondered, putting her fingers to her chin. “Sinners are desperate.” She grinned at Charlie. “Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the Extermination?”

Charlie gasped as an idea came to her. “This is the perfect time to recruit more Sinners for the hotel! The commercial we made should be of great help!”

“Cute idea and all,” said Angel Dust, waving his phone, “but you really going to go out in all of this?” On the phone screen, a green-faced aquatic demon wearing a black jacket screamed as his eyes bled and more flames burned.

Charlie began. “Well, it’s not like people are just going to show up on our doorstep…”

Charlie screamed and flinched as a sudden blast shook the hotel and created a large gaping hole in the wooden wall by the bar. Outside the hotel, a steampunk black and gold zeppelin blimp hovered menacingly in the air, looking like a large demonic shark with gold sharp teeth. The small eyes were made of pink glass. There were golden windows with moving gears inside the ship. From the large metallic mouth at the front of the blimp were an array of laser guns and weapons pointed at the hotel.

Inside the ship were the Egg Boiz, two-legged egg minions wearing small black top hats and pinstriped suits of gray and yellow with black neckties. The purple walls were in the design of scales near more gears at the windows. Standing high at the controls was none other than the serpent Sinner Sir Pentious. He wore a pinstriped suit with gray and yellow stripes and had a black bowtie in the center. His top hat was large and gray, with a large pink eye and sharp teeth of its own. Steampunk goggles lay on his head. Sir Pentious’ eyes were pink, his fangs sharp, his face coal black with a long cobra hood of more pink hypnotic eyes against yellow. The lower half of his body was serpentine with scales of black and gold with more pink eyes.

“Show yourself, Alasssstor!” he demanded, pointing forward. “Come and face…”

He glanced around and saw Alastor casually sipping black coffee from his red mug that read “Oh Deer!” on it. He was relaxing in a chair at a small table on the hotel balcony.

“Oh, there you are,” Sir Pentious mentioned. Then he finished in anger, “Face my wrath!” He bared his fangs and hissed. His hood stretched out, revealing his additional pink eyes.

Alastor merely grinned. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? Who am I?! I am the great Ssssir Pentioussss! Inventor, architect of dessstruction! Villain extraordinaire!”

Alastor transformed into shadow and materialized in front of the hotel doors. Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel Dust stood beside him.

“Ooh! You tell ‘em, boss!” cheered one of Sir Pentious’ egg minions, small fist in the air.

Niffty appeared on Alastor’s shoulder. “Oooh, he’s a bad boy,” she said with a sly grin. Alastor picked her up with one hand and gently placed her on the ground. Alastor shrugged and mocked Sir Pentious. “Ha. Well, if all that’s true, you’d think I’d have heard of you.”

“I attacked you literally last week!” Sir Pentious reminded him.

Alastor cocked his head.

“We’ve done battle like twenty times?!” Sir Pentious added.

“Well, you must have been really bad at this,” Alastor retorted, twirling his microphone cane.

“Silence!” Sir Pentious yelled. “Now cover! For when I have ssslain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their Overlord equal!”

“Ooh!” Niffty grinned before pausing. “Wait, who are the Vees?”

Alastor waved a hand. “Oh, nobody important. Just a gross moth porn owner, a boxy TV arrogant ass, and a cocky fashion gossip witch.”

“Can I meet them?!”

“No.”

Niffty’s face fell.

“Why do you want to attack us again?” Alastor asked.

“To get revenge on how you defeated me last time! Also to get the Vees approval so I can stay safe from the next Extermination,” Sir Pentious mentioned.

“Good luck with that,” Alastor said with a smug expression. “Feel free to get defeated again.”

“I will not lose again!” Sir Pentious yelled. “Minions, ready the cannons!”

The Egg Boiz aimed the cannons again, but two large black tentacles shot out from the ground in front of Alastor. In a flash they had wrapped around Sir Pentious’ zeppelin…again…a third tentacle breaking a lower window. Niffty clapped and enjoyed the show, while Angel Dust, Vaggie, and Charlie watched in concern.

“Argh! Oh! Please! Stop!” Sir Pentious cried from inside.

Alastor chuckled darkly.

“Um…Alastor! I think he’s had enough,” Charlie mentioned.

Alastor laughed evilly, mouth open, red eyes bulging out.

“Nah, he’s got a few more hits in him,” Angel Dust countered.

Sir Pentious yelled as he tried to cling onto something on the floor of his ship. The zeppelin tilted downward and with a scream, the snake fell out through a hole in a broken yellow window. He landed with a thud and a faceplant on the ground in front of Alastor, the impact creating cracks in the ground.

Alastor twirled his staff. “Thanks for another forgettable experience.” An Egg Boi #23 fell and broke into pieces in front of Charlie.

Sir Pentious’ hand twitched. “Thank you…for letting your guard down!”

With his tail, Sir Pentious ripped off a piece of Alastor’s red suit. He lifted up his head and held the piece of fabric in triumph. “Haha! Yah!”

Alastor’s shadow loomed over him, and Sir Pentious’ face fell. “Oh shit…”

Sir Pentious screamed again as Alastor tossed him high into the air with another tentacle. Sir Pentious’ zeppelin exploded in green smoke, and he soon vanished into the distance. Alastor grinned as he posed with his cane.

Alastor turned around. “Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor!” He was disgusted at Sir Pentious ruining his fabulous outfit. “Best of luck, chums!” He turned around to leave. Vaggie folded her arms.

“Wait, you’re LEAVING?! Alastor! We need your help! We need you to do your job.”

“We need a wall,” Angel Dust added, mentioning to the hole. Alastor turned around again.

“Of course! Can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?!” He snapped his fingers and shadow minions materialized before them as he left. A slender horned shadow grinned while holding a saw. A smaller one held a paint brush. One with a white face and black Xs over its eyes flew and carried a bucket. Another one held a hammer, paint roller, and bucket, and wore a hard hat. Another one also wore a hard hat and floated in the air. The largest one posed with his hands on his hips, one X over his right eye with a small black top hat.

Angel Dust shoved Vaggie aside and swayed as he walked over to the largest muscular demon.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” he giggled. “Whatcha doin’ later? I love me a man with a giant…tool.”

Vaggie facepalmed before marching over and dragging Angel Dust back inside the hotel.

“Hey!” Angel Dust protested. “I was just gettin’ started!”

0 0 0

Before long, the hole in the wall was almost fixed. The shadow demons posed by the wall as Charlie slumped down headfirst onto the couch in exhaustion.

Angel Dust scrolled through his phone. “Sooo, how’d it go?”

Vaggie sighed. “Not a single new recruit.”

Angel Dust shrugged. “Yeah well, who would wanna use their last days not fucking and fighting?”

Vaggie heard a knock on the front door. ‘Not Alastor again,’ she thought. She grabbed her spear and marched toward the door.

Vaggie opened it.

It was Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious held his hat and titled his head.

“Why hellooo, my dear…”

Sir Pentious was cut off by Vaggie punching him in the face. He covered his face with his hands before tumbling to the rocky ground. Sir Pentious cowered as Vaggie aimed her spear at him.

“Wait, wait, wait!” cried Sir Pentious. “I come in peace.” He showed two peace signs with his fingers.

“What are you doing here?” Vaggie asked, suspicious.

“Vaggie, what’s the problem?” Charlie asked, appearing in the doorway. She gasped when she saw Sir Pentious. “Oh! Hello again!”

“I didn’t come looking for a fight,” Sir Pentious said as he stood up. “I heard this hotel was a safe place to stay at for the upcoming Extermination.”

“Then why did you attack it…twice?” Vaggie glared.

Sir Pentious folded his arms. “To get back at Alastor, of course!”

“Great job with that,” Vaggie replied with sarcasm.

“Look,” said Sir Pentious. “I had to endure a long walk all the way back here. I nearly got trampled with all the panic and chaos going on in the streets. I also heard that you’re…uh…helping people, people who want to be better?”

Charlie gasped in excitement. “You heard right!” She pulled him over toward the doors. “Welcome to our Home of Healing, our Resort of Restoration, our Inn of…Innovation!”

Angel Dust glared and blocked the entrance. “Are you fucking nuts?! This chump was trying to kill us like literally six hours ago! And now you wanna bring him in here to live with us?!”

“Absolutely!” said Charlie. “This place is about second chances, and who deserves one more than this slithery…slippery…special little man!” She elbowed Sir Pentious and he grinned nervously.

“Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” Angel Dust asked Vaggie.

“Yes, I am,” said Vaggie. “Listen to me, Charlie, how many times will we have to watch your people be killed if we don’t make headway, defend ourselves right now, and send shady pricks like him away?”

“Please, Vaggie. Give him a chance just this once.” Charlie gave Vaggie round puppy-dog eyes, begging her to let Sir Pentious stay. Vaggie sighed and relented.

“I guess he’s not much of a threat without the war machine…” Vaggie relented. Sir Pentious lifted his head up in anticipation.

“…or even with the war machine.”

Sir Pentious’ cobra head flopped down in disappointment.

Charlie hugged Vaggie, lifting her around. “Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She let go and walked over to Sir Pentious. “Sir Pentious! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”

“Oh no darling! Thank you! You won’t regret this.”

Charlie led Sir Pentious into the hotel as Vaggie reluctantly followed. Angel Dust waved his hands dismissively and followed. “Eh, I give you a week, tops.”

Charlie led Sir Pentious through the parlor.

“So, this is the bar, and the bartender…”

Charlie did a snapping motion of her fingers toward an unamused Husk holding a bottle.

“This is the curtain…” Charlie mentioned to a pink-red curtain upstairs. She pointed around.

“…and this is the new wall after you broke the last one, heh, and oh! Oh! This is the…”

Vaggie grabbed Charlie’s arm. “Babe, you don’t have to show him every detail.”

“Sorry, I’m just so excited to have our first real guest!”

“Uh, what the Hell am I then?” Angel Dust snapped, shrugging.

Charlie turned to Angel Dust. “Well, you’re an important part of our family here, Angel, but you, uhm, uh…”

“Constantly make us look bad, sexually harass the staff, and have literally never once tried to improve?” Vaggie asked Angel Dust bluntly.

“What she means is…” Charlie cut in, “…its’ just nice to have someone interested for once.”

Angel Dust looked upset after what Vaggie had said.

Niffty played with KeeKee with a string. KeeKee hissed at the sight of Sir Pentious and ran off. Niffty turned around to meet him.

“Over here, we have our maid, Niffty,” Charlie introduced.

Niffty gasped in excitement. “The bad boy is back!”

Niffty climbed up and held Sir Pentious’ collar. He flinched back as Niffty stared at him with her giant eye and sharp sadistic smile. “Never leave me again!”

“We’re 80% sure she’s harmless,” Charlie mentioned as Niffty got down. “And over here we have…oh!”

Charlie nearly bumped into a familiar figure. “Uh, Alastor! Our gracious facility manager! You’ve met our newest guest Sir Pentious…hehe…” Charlie backed away nervously.

“Ah yes!” Alastor replied, with narrowed eyes at Sir Pentious. “You’re the one who ruined my coat!” His face turned shadowy and his eyes glowed red. He spoke in a sinister tone, “I definitely remember you now.”

Sir Pentious gulped in fear.

“Well,” Charlie said to Sir Pentious. “I guess this is a great time for your first lesson!” She cleared her throat. “’How to apologize!’ The first step to becoming a better person is to admit when you are wrong. Why don’t you give it a try?” She urged him forward.

“Yes, uhm…” Sir Pentious cleared his throat. “Mr. uhm, Radio Demon, sir, please forgive me for attacking you and ruining your very lovely coat…uhm, here.”

Sir Pentious handed back the small piece of fabric to Alastor. He took it in his hand. “Ah-ho! Not many people have been able to take even this much off me, it must have meant quite a lot to you.”

Alastor grinned and burned the piece of fabric in a green flame with his magic. Sir Pentious and Charlie stood stunned. KeeKee watched the commotion, lying on an upstairs gold railing decorated with eye designs.

The group soon gathered in front of the round fireplace. Charlie stood up, while the others sat down in various spots.

“Now, with a new resident, I think it’s important we all get to know each other! I’ve noticed there’s been a little…tension in the hotel. So, we are going to play a little game. Everyone, follow me.”

“Is this kindergarten or something?” Angel Dust rolled his eyes. Vaggie shrugged, not impressed with the activity, but deciding to follow Charlie along.

“My name is Charlie!” Charlie clapped twice. “I like to sing!” She clapped twice, “and when we get to know each other, it’s the greatest thing!” She clapped twice again. “Who wants to go next?”

“My name’s Sir Pentious.” He clapped twice. “I like to build,” he clapped twice. “…and despite my sssstupid Egg Bois, I think I’m very skilled!” He clapped twice, proud of himself.

Niffty raised her hand. “My name is Niffty!” She clapped. “I’m very swifty!” She clapped again. “I love to kill all the bugs in a jiffy!” She giggled and clapped again, holding her sewing needle weapon.

“Uh…great one, Niffty,” Charlie smiled a bit.

“My name is Vaggie,” she clapped twice. “I speak Spanish and fight.” She clapped twice. “I’ll make sure you don’t harm anyone here, or you won’t last the night.” She glared at Sir Pentious and clapped twice again. Sir Pentious chuckled nervously.

“That’s the spirit, Vaggie!” Charlie beamed. “Anyone else?”

Husk groaned in annoyance, after a long silence. “I am Husk.” He clapped twice. “I gamble and drink.” He clapped. “With the upcoming Extermination, these games are pointless, I think.” He clapped twice.

“Husk does have a good point,” Vaggie mentioned. “We are going to have to figure out how to defend ourselves when the angels come down here.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Charlie stuttered. “But…let’s focus on finishing the exercises first. Who’s next?”

Alastor talked in his radio voice without moving his mouth. “I am Alastor, I am a great radio host. I can’t wait to see which one of you will fail the most.” His eyes briefly turned to red radio dials against black and the background glitched.

“Enough of your creepiness, already!” Vaggie scoffed.

Charlie then mentioned to the last individual, Angel Dust.

“This is stupid,” he deadpanned.

“This is not stupid!” Charlie clapped twice, walking over to Angel Dust. “It’s just the game!” She clapped twice. “Everyone did it well, so please try to do the same!” She clapped twice.

“I’m too sober for this,” Angel Dust responded, hand to his face.

“Well, get used to it and learn to play, this is gonna be your whole day!” Vaggie clapped twice and grinned at the annoyed Angel Dust.

He sighed. “I’m Angel Dust.” He clapped twice. “I love killing, sex and…angel dust.” He clapped twice. “There is no one I trust.”

“Well, that’s something we can work on,” Charlie said.

“Forget it. I ain’t trustin’ no one.”

“Well, how about we work on it in our next session…”

She looked up and grinned. Razzle and Dazzle flew over and hung up a banner that read “Trusting 101” in blue paint near a stage. Charlie winked at Vaggie as they both stood up together in front of the group.

Charlie and Vaggie jumped in the air. “Trust exercises!” Vaggie repeated Charlie a few seconds after her and added, “Ah shit!” as they both fell on the floor. Charlie pulled Vaggie up and sighed. “Vaggie, we rehearsed this.” She then recovered and repeated, “We are doing trust exercises!”

Husk began, “So what’s with the whole, uhh, this?” He gestured to the Trusting 101 banner and stage behind Charlie and Vaggie. “I’m not about to put on some show for these fucking chumps.”

Angel Dust grinned, putting his feet on Husk’s legs. “Oh, I will, but it’s cash up front, and I know that one…” He pointed at Sir Pentious, “can’t afford me.”

Sir Pentious folded his arms in disgust. “Gross! I’d never think of it, ssspider!”

“Right, well let’s get started. Charlie?” Vaggie began.

Charlie moved to the front, clearing her throat. “We will start with trust falls! Each of you are going to share something vulnerable about yourself with the group, then fall backwards, while the rest of the group catches you. Got it? Who wants to go first?”

Vaggie raised her hand.

“Come on up!”

Vaggie stood on the stage. “Charlie is my girlfriend and…I’d do anything to make her dreams come true.”

“Aww,” Charlie smiled as she caught Vaggie in her arms. Charlie then released Vaggie and jumped onto the stage.

“I, I love you guys. Like really, really love you.” Charlie fell backwards and Vaggie caught her.

“Gotcha!” Vaggie smiled.

“That, felt, good! Angel, why don’t you go next?”

“Fine,” Angel Dust groaned. He walked onto the stage and faced the group. “Somethin’ about myself, huh? How about this? I LOVE to suck…”

Husk threateningly pointed a finger at Angel Dust. “I swear to fuck if you say ‘dicks’…!”

Angel Dust smirked. “Popsicles, ya sicko! Get your mind outta the gutter!”

He fell backward and Husk caught him.

“But, you know, dicks, too!” Angel Dust added. Husk dropped him abruptly and Angel Dust groaned, “Ow!”

“Your turn, Husk!” Charlie called after Angel Dust lifted himself up.

Husk slouched forward onto the stage. “Um…back when I was alive, I used to perform magic shows for kids.”

“Oh, how wonderful, Husk! Can you demonstrate…”

“Not now,” Husk growled. He fell backward and Angel Dust caught him.

“Sweet little Whiskers in my arms,” he giggled. Husk struggled out of Angel Dust’s arms and walked off.

Angel Dust looked over to Sir Pentious. “Alright, new guy, you’re up.”

Sir Pentious did a dramatic pose under the spotlight, tears in his eyes.

“I, I don’t want to live without my minions. Nobody catch me!” He fell backwards, landing in Charlie and Vaggie’s arms.

“Damn it,” Sir Pentious glowered.

“That’s great. Wow you are slimy,” Vaggie dropped Sir Pentious in disgust. “Okay, good job. Uh, Niffty?”

Niffty ran up onto the stage and giggled. “Sometimes I kill mother bugs in front of their children as a warning to others!”

Niffty flung herself off the stage and landed with a splat on her face as everyone moved back in horror. She lifted her arms in the air. “Yay! Pain!” She raced up and jumped again, but this time, Alastor caught her with one hand.

“Spectacular performance my dear!” He put her down and materialized onto the stage from shadow. He then spoke in his radio voice again, his smile glowing.

“When I was alive, I loved cooking jambalaya and venison with my lovely mama! She taught me singing, dancing, hunting…but I taught myself how to kill!”

The group stood in stunned silence. Angel Dust, Charlie, and Vaggie moved closer, but Alastor replied, “Touch me and I’ll rip your limbs off.”

He then fell backward off the stage…and into a black portal. He reappeared seconds later from the portal and posed, the background briefly glitching before the radio noises faded back to normal. He hummed and walked off.

Vaggie groaned. “I swear…this guy eludes everyone.”

The last social session was roleplaying. Angel Dust and Sir Pentious were on stage. In the audience, everyone except Charlie and Niffty looked bored and annoyed.

Angel Dust wore a gray trenchcoat and a brown hat with a black middle rim. Sir Pentious was happily licking a round pink lollipop with a yellow bow on the bottom, roleplaying an innocent boy wearing a white sailor suit.

Angel Dust read his lines in a monotone voice, the script in front of him. “’Oh, I’m a bad man on the streets who never got enough hugs, now, where’s an innocent kid I can sell crack to?’ Wow, who wrote this?!”

Charlie grinned. “It’s great, right? Keep going!”

Angel Dust turned away from Charlie and said the next line. “’Hey, you.’”

Sir Pentious faced Angel Dust. “’Who, me???’”

Angel Dust deadpanned. “’Yeah, you look like a kid who could use some…” he looked at the script drawn in crayon by Charlie: ‘devil’s dandruff??’ Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Sir Pentious acted with enthusiasm. “’Not me! I have to go home and ssstudy!’”

Angel Dust deadpanned. “’Come on, kid, it’ll make you cool like me…the crackhead.’”

“Oh, this is shit,” muttered Husk.

Sir Pentious finished with a proud pose. “’The only cool thing here is to sssay no to drugs! Now if you’ll excussse me, I’m off to not have ssssexual intercourse before marriage!’”

A victory “da-da” fanfare tone played from Charlie’s phone. Charlie stood up and clapped. “Yes! Oh bravo! Bravo!” She chuckled and walked over to Sir Pentious. “Wow, Pentious! At this rate, you’ll be redeemed in no time!” Sir Pentious smiled at the positive compliment.

Angel Dust sighed, feeling left out. “I…I’m going to bed.” He began to climb up the winding stairs.

Charlie beamed. “I am so proud of you, Sir Pentious! That was amazing!”

Sir Pentious was amazed and did a little bow. “Thank you! Thank you! You like me! You really like me!”

Angel Dust went into his room and tossed his trenchcoat onto his pink pet pig Fat Nuggets. Fat Nuggets woke up and peered out from underneath. He had small black horns on his head and little black spikes along his back. He also had small eyes, a curly pointed tail, and a small red heart on his body and behind. Angel Dust took off his hat and sadly lay on his side on his bed, pink neon spider webs decorating the walls. He scrolled through the voicemails left by Valentino. The nice-sounding ones showed pink hearts, while the threatening ones had red spikes.

“Angel baby, come home! It’s not the same without you here, I miss you! Come back…”

“ANGEL, YOU BITCH! IF YOU DON’T COME HOME, YOU’LL BE FUCKING GREASY TRUCKERS FOR THE NEXT YEAR…”

“Hey, amorcito, I didn’t mean to yell, but you know how crazy you make me…”

“YOU FUCKING SLUT!”

“Hey, Angie, about earlier…”

“KILL YOUR WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY!”

“Work’s really stressful!”

“LITTLE COCKSUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!”

Valentino then spoke into his head, his hypnotic pink smoke spiraling around him.

“You actually think you can change? Addict trash like you doesn’t change. I’ll see you soon, baby.” The red smoke curled around his chin and disappeared.

Angel Dust sighed and stood up. “Sorry, not now, Fat Nuggets. Fat Nuggets oinked in concern as he watched Angel Dust leave. Angel Dust grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the bar and gulped it down as he walked. It was one of the few ways to numb all the pain.

0 0 0

The next morning, KeeKee the cat purred and slept peacefully on the red sofa. The cat woke up and jumped off. Charlie stood on a ladder as Razzle and Dazzle helped her hang up a banner. The banner read in dark teal: “HAPPY FIRST WEEK, SIR PENTIOUS!” with a drawing of a yellow snake off to the side.

“That looks perfect! Aah!” Charlie gasped in excitement. “I am so excited that Sir Pentious is staying at the hotel!”

“Um, Pentious was just trying to take over the city with his weird steampunk bullshit a few days ago,” Vaggie reminded her from below.

“Well, I haven’t seen him try to pull any of that here,” Charlie responded as she climbed down.

Meanwhile, five Egg Boiz were riding on a giant steampunk cannon in purple and gold that had gears inside of it. The weapon was being wheeled inside the room by Sir Pentious.

Vaggie had her hands on her hips. “What the hell is that?”

“Oh hello, gray moth female,” Sir Pentious smiled, lowering his top hat and taking a small bow. The Egg Boiz jumped off. “It’s my new invention, the Skin Flayer 11,000! I’m really looking forward to shooting the other residents!” He bore a mischievous sharp grin, leaning against his machine and posing with his arms folded.

“What? Why?” Charlie asked, surprised, and concerned.

Sir Pentious narrowed his eyes. “Everyone is being too nice. Obviously, it must be a lie. I can sense that they are planning to kill me, but when? How? I must be prepared!” Then he brightened. “Ooh, the new parts of my machine are here.”

Two demons came in. Clara had dark skin, red eyes, thick white curly hair, and black curved horns. She wore a dark skirt and skirt and wheeled in weapons in crates labeled “Carmine.” Odette strolled in wearing red round glasses, and a white lab coat with a high collar with black trim and black gloves. Her skin was white, as was her hair, which was in a ponytail. She also had black horns. Odette and Clara were the daughters of Carmilla Carmine, the leading weapons dealer in Hell, including angelic ones.

“Sign, please,” Odette told Sir Pentious, holding out a clipboard. He happily took the pen and signed the form.

“Thank you for your business. Enjoy your Carmine purchase,” Odette told Sir Pentious. The two daughters left the lobby, while Sir Pentious happily wheeled in the crates.

Vaggie seethed. “Carmine? As in Carmilla Carmine? You’re buying parts from an Overlord?!”

“Uh, of course,” said Sir Pentious. “She’s the top weapons dealer in Hell.”

“Okay, well that stops right now.”

Vaggie rushed over and wheeled the boxes away.

“Hey!” Sir Pentious protested.

“You absolutely cannot build weapons in this hotel,” Vaggie chided. “No one is trying to kill you. People are being nice because they want you to feel welcome.”

Sir Pentious scoffed. “Oh, really?” He glanced over at Vaggie’s death glare, at Husk flipping him the bird, at Angel Dust flipping him the bird, at Alastor’s red eyes plotting a way to brutally hurt him and Niffty eyeing him with a sinister giggle while dusting a corner of a wall.

“Hmm. I have my doubts.”

“Well, it’s true. You have to trust us,” said Vaggie.

“Well, I don’t. Especially coming from the one who has a spear aimed at me.”

Vaggie sighed at the spear in her hands and muttered. “Well…it sounded more convincing when Charlie told me to say all this to you.”

Sir Pentious hmphed. “I know you don’t believe I’m trustworthy either. Leave it to your girlfriend to do all your things for you.”

Vaggie fumed. “Says the idiot who has eggs as minions and can’t even act cool for your Overlord idols.”

Sir Pentious hissed in anger until Charlie broke up the fight.

“Well then, why don’t we focus on trust for today’s activities?” Charlie asked.

“We already did the trust falls yesterday,” Angel Dust groaned. “I can’t take any more of that.”

“I’m with you on that,” Husk muttered from the bar.

“Do you always stay at that bar 24/7?” Angel Dust asked. “Like, I haven’t seen you leave that spot for much of…”

Husk gave him a glare…Angel Dust shrugged and went back to his cell phone scrolling.

“Before we do anything else, we lay some ground rules,” said Vaggie. “No more building weapons, no more plotting against other guests…”

Vaggie glared as Sir Pentious was about to fire a small ray gun at Niffty, who he had wrapped with his tail. He smiled apologetically and let Niffty go.

“…and you need to get rid of these things,” said Vaggie mentioning to the Egg Boiz. Two of the eggs had a tug of war over one of the lasers. They accidentally fired it, and the blast created a hole in the ceiling. “Uh-oh,” mouthed one of the eggs.

“Oh!” Vaggie snapped, pointing up in anger. “What did I just say? What did I just say?!”

“What? Not my little Egg Boiz!” Sir Pentious cried, pulling them close in a hug. “They do my evil bidding for me!”

“Do you want to stay here and redeem yourself?”

Sir Pentious narrowed his eyes at Vaggie. “Yes.”

“Then no more eggs. And no more weapons.”

“Wait! Can I perhaps…keep my Egg Boiz and weapons safe in my room the whole time?”

Vaggie glanced at Charlie who gave her wide puppy dog eyes again. Vaggie rolled her eyes and waved a threatening finger at Sir Pentious.

“One sound from you and all your things go.”

Sir Pentious smiled at Charlie and looked down at his minions. “All right, eggies. You’ve got to stay in my room or else…I can’t keep you anymore!”

“Okay, boss,” said one of the eggs.

“And clean my quarters this instant!” Sir Pentious demanded as the eggs headed upstairs. Vaggie wheeled the boxes away and Charlie awkwardly pat his shoulder.

Charlie soon felt exhausted as she once again tried to recruit more Sinners from outside. But many of them mocked her, saying things like, “Alastor showed that place as a dump on his commercials!” Or “The king of Hell is a depressed loser. Why should we waste our time with his daughter who dreams up fantasies for attention?” Vaggie managed to pull Charlie back inside before things got too heated.

0 0 0

In Charlie’s small office, Charlie and Vaggie talked quietly. Angel Dust was in his room on his phone with Fat Nuggets, Husk was at the bar, Niffty was hunting for bugs and Alastor was eating his venison dinner in his room, listening to jazz on his radio.

“This is hopeless,” Charlie sighed. “I thought that after Sir Pentious arrived, more Sinners would want to come in. Surely, they must be desperate.”

“Well to be fair, this place still looks pretty dilapidated,” Vaggie mentioned. “And maybe lots of Sinners feel safer…in their own homes?”

Charlie lowered her head. “What if Angel Dust and Alastor are right? What if no one wants to redeem themselves?” She panicked, tears in her eyes. “I’ll never be able to run this hotel in time for the Extermination! Everyone thinks I’m a fool! And my dad and mom aren’t even here to support me!”

Vaggie put a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine. You still believe Sir Pentious can do it, right?”

“Yes…I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Vaggie, how will he fix his mistakes if he’s stuck up in his room all the time? He has to come down and eventually talk about his problems.”

“You can’t force people to admit their mistakes,” Vaggie told her. “Much of the time, they aren’t even aware of their actions. Take Angel for example. He numbs his daily pain through drugs and alcohol. It has become such a habit for him that he doesn’t even think about it. With Sir Pentious…” She sighed. “…it’s the killing. That’s one reason why sending him upstairs was perhaps the next best thing for now…”

“While I’ll admit the killing part’s not good, he could perhaps learn to use his weapons for something more…productive?”

Vaggie folded her arms, coming up with an idea, her eyes then brightening a bit. “If perhaps I could train him to build weapons to defend the hotel against the upcoming Extermination…”

“I keep forgetting about that,” Charlie groaned.

Vaggie put her hand to her face. “I just don’t want him to hurt anyone else at the hotel. Especially you.” She looked into Charlie’s eyes, hands on her shoulders. “Be careful around him, Charlie. I know you like seeing the good in people, but…” she glanced off. “We may have to send him away if he decides to betray us. It takes years to unlearn toxic habits and beliefs.”

“He won’t do that!” Charlie assured her. “I think he just needs some praise and appreciation…from the right people!”

“An alcoholic spider, a psychotic radio showman, a gambler cat, and a shady maid…I don’t know if your people qualify as the right kind…”

“Don’t forget another Sinner like you,” Charlie said. “No offence.”

Vaggie briefly touched her back, glancing at her Exorcist spear. “Yeah, sure…”

“Let’s give him a chance,” Charlie said. “I’m sure he’ll stay in his room and not cause any trouble.”

“Okay, then,” Vaggie said. “But I still have a bad feeling…”

Neither woman noticed a hidden blue square camera from within the nearby bookshelf, recording the whole thing.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Part Two

A panicking Charlie showed up on screen, the video soon going viral. “What if Angel Dust and Alastor are right? What if no one wants to redeem themselves? I’ll never be able to run this hotel in time for the Extermination! Everyone thinks I’m a fool! And my dad and mom aren’t even here to support me!”

A sinister chuckle echoed from the darkness. A pair of red eyes appeared against the black.

“Well, well, well…looks like the little princess brat is not so high and mighty now. All those rumors about her so called ‘Hazbin Hotel,’ and this view from the inside only proves her incompetence! My ratings will skyrocket after broadcasting this.”

A row of glowing white shark teeth appeared. “I can see the headline, ‘Princess’ Passion Project Plumets.’ Perfect! My little spy is doing better than I expected. Once her hotel is disbanded, I shall be praised for preventing the loss of Sinner souls from Hell for the Overlords…not that she ever had a chance to begin with!”

Electricity sparked as demonic laughter erupted. “Oh, how fun it’ll be to manipulate the masses further from the fresh fear of the Extermination! So many Sinners desperate to buy my products! So many delicious souls to collect! Only one thing shall vibrate in their ears… ‘Trust the Vees with your safety and money!’”

The lights blinked on, showing the Overlord Vox, the TV headed demon sitting in his throne-like chair, surrounded by glowing monitors and screens all around him. He tapped the arm of his chair with his fingers. Wires were attached to the back of his flat screen head, giving him more power, and allowing him to broadcast many shows at once. He wore a black suit with teal stripes and a large red bowtie. He had a black top hat with red tipped antennae at the top and teal lines at the bottom that looked like electricity. A black dot and two curves were under his bowtie, looking like TV waves. His shirt collar was teal with red trim. His gloves were dark with teal tips.

Vox was showing the videos from the Hazbin Hotel and advertising a drone at the same time. Vox posed at his desk on a separate screen with an image of the Hazbin Hotel, with “Wow, this is shit!” underneath it in red.

“Breaking news! Charlie’s so-called Hazbin Hotel project is going just as we expected…an utter failure. Here is a live look at what really goes on in that tacky dump. Here you see a princess who…” He chuckled as Charlie’s face appeared on screen, “…has no clue what she’s doing. We have some porn star spider of Valentino’s there, probably looking for crack. We have a drunken cat with wings, some moth chick, a steampunk snake, and a crazed maid. How’s that for redemption! Looks like Charlie needs to see her dear old depressed dad more often…they could cry together as more Sinners fall in the Extermination.” Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench laughed on a separate screen. “What say you, Katie?”

“I mean come on,” Katie Killjoy added. “I’d expect the princess of Hell to not be such a childish wimp! And what’s with the clown makeup on her face and all that red clothing? She looks like a pin-up doll from the circus! Oh look, she’s watching this now and she’s crying!”

Vox laughed as the camera panned to reveal Angel Dust showing Charlie Vox’s video from his cell phone.

“Well, if the doll has a hot spot somewhere, then perhaps I could…” Tom Trench began.

Katie Killjoy poured hot coffee on Tom Trench’s crotch and then shoved him aside. “No one fucking cares about you, Tom!” She smiled back at the camera. “Back to you, Mr. Vox!”

“We’ll be right back to discuss Charlie’s utter delusions after these messages.”

The screen shifted to show a gray drone with the V logo on it, a teal-white V shaped like electricity against red TV waves. “The Vees and VoxTek Enterprises are proud to present our latest product! New VoxTek designer voyeur scopes, peeping on the neighbors has never been more stylish. VoxTek, trust us with your money!”

A crowd of hypnotized demons barged into the store to buy the gadgets.

Another commercial flashed.

“Calling all Sinners! Are you scared for your afterlives about the upcoming Extermination in six months?! Fear no more, friends and fiends, for your safety may just be a click away. Introducing the new VoxTek Angelic Security System coming soon!” The Vox logo appeared now golden with angel wings. “This handy VDX (Vox Directional Xtreme) system will alert you to any Exorcist angel in the area, pointing you to the safest places to hide. Handy for Sinners and Hellborn alike, and only 66 souls a month. Upload the app to your phone and start your premium free trial today!”

And many more…

“This week’s episode of “Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What?” is brought to you by VoxTek, trust us with your entertainment!”

“Trust us…trust us…trust us…..”

Vox laughed evilly as more electricity sparked around him and the mechanical “trust us,” chant grew. “Muhahahaha! Now that’s good television!” The teal line in his larger left eye moved like a wire and the black lines moved like hypnotic circles as more consumers got hypnotized, their eyes turning red and black with hypnotic circles as they watched Vox’s programs. More screens spied on everyday demons on their cell phones and laptops, allowing Vox an advantageous view of Pentagram City. He relaxed in his chair as he drank his morning coffee. Swimming around him in water from the outside were neon demon sharks of various kinds.

Vox was just about to launch another commercial when he spotted something odd. It was coming from a screen that showed the exterior of the Hazbin Hotel. Vox hit replay and it showed a glitching figure walking away after Sir Pentious’ zeppelin got destroyed. Vox had also noticed this glitching figure appear a few times in the shadows in several of the recorded videos from the camera. He paused it and it showed the figure tall with red hair and a red suit.

“Wait…” Vox breathed. “Clearly that can’t be…”

He peered closer. The figure was holding a microphone cane. No other individual could glitch themselves in his videos…

No one, but one.

Vox’s head fizzled in electricity, and he gripped the surface in front of him so hard that his nails made scratch marks.

“That FUCKER is back!” Vox cried in realization. “He was at that hotel with Lucifer’s daughter…and it’s been seven years!”

The Radio Demon was back all right. Vox and Alastor had been rivals for years. Many years ago, Vox heard of Alastor’s unique power and thought he would make a good addition to the Vees. After all, an Overlord able to easily take down so many others…on the Vees team! They would’ve been unstoppable.

But alas, stubborn in his ways, Alastor stuck to the old technology and pursued his enigmatic goals while Vox and his gang endlessly chased trends and updated their powers as society changed.

“The nerve of him to just show up so randomly!” Vox thought. “I thought he was gone for good! He almost beat me, thinking he’s so smug.”

Then Vox grinned at the excitement of a fresh challenge. “It’s been a while since I had some competition. Yes…things have changed a lot since he left town! I gotta send a message of who’s REALLY in charge of things now!”

Vox chuckled and sang.

“Welcome home!

I’m gonna make you wish that you stayed gone!

Say hello to a new status quo

Everyone knows that there’s a brand new dawn,

Turn the TV OOOONNN!”

Vox surged with power as more wires connected to the back of his head after he pressed a button. He spread out his arms as the screens in front of him blinked to life and flickered under his command. The floor below him lit up with white neon wires and electronic designs.

A demon director announced, “Camera, speeds, rolling in three, two…”

Several demons held hanging microphones as square light cameras blinked on next to them. A grinning gray demon wearing a blue jacket with a white collar was operating a film camera with two pink eyes at the top of it.

“Welcome to the show!” chanted a choir.

“BREAKING NEWS” appeared on TV screens against a glowing orange pentagram on a red moon. Vox turned around at his desk, the 666News logo in the teal background. The subtitles read at the bottom: “BREAKING: UNREMARKABLE LOSER BACK FROM FUCKING OFF.” An artist rendering showed a crude stick figure of Alastor with bloodstains on it. The labels pointing to various parts of the drawing read, “gross hoof foot,” “lame stick,” “dildo?” “Smelly probably,” “furry,” “dumb hair,” and “triangle ass.”

More captions moved at the bottom: “SO THE RADIO GUY’S BACK. I DON’T THINK YOU NOTICED. I DIDN’T AT FIRST. I WAS TOO BUSY BEING A MUCH MORE INTERESTING AND IMPORTANT PERSON. BUT FUCK IT. NEWS TODAY IS SLOW I GUESS. I’M TOTALLY NOT WORRIED ABOUT THIS GUY AND NEITHER SHOULD YOU BE. I TOTALLY WRECKED HIS SHIT LAST TIME HE TRIED ME.”

Vox happily announced. “Top of the hour and we’re discussing a certain has-been who has been spotted cavorting around town after a seven-year absence. Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice?” Vox shoved the drawing away. “More on tonight’s program!”

On another screen, Vox appeared and spun around on a tall chair at a desk. The desk had a “VOX-NITE” logo on the front of it. The wall had the Vox wire logo and an array of round stage lights around it. Lounging on a white sofa was another Vox wearing neon yellow shutter sunglasses. He held a dark gray mug with a teal V line and “FUCK ALASTOR” was in red on it.

“So, the Radio Demon is back in town!” announced the first Vox.

“Why is he hanging around?” asked the second Vox.

“What does that mean for your family?” asked the first Vox to the audience. “Well, handily, I’ve got good news!”

Vox appeared on another screen in front of red curtains, beginning his rap.

“He’s a loser, a fossil, and I don’t mean to sound hostile…

But the demon is a coward!”

Vox appeared on many TV screens, with “OBEY-N-PAY” in bold gold letters on the screen. Vox was cosplaying as a priest wearing red robes with teal trim. The stained-glass windows behind him were red with purple Vox Vs, and his pope hat was red with an upside-down white cross on it. He stood at a podium with his logo on it.

“You can take that as gospel!”

Vox then posed with 3D glasses on and a bag of popcorn in his hand and a remote in his other hand.

“Pulling my viewers? Impossible!”

A hanging microphone was next to him.

“I’m visual, he’s barely audible!

Stop giving him the time of day!”

Vox then grinned on another screen with a tropical background. There was a palm tree with coconuts, an ocean, an orange sky, and an erupting volcano. Vox wore a white suit with a white sailor hat and a pink lei with yellow hearts on it. He held an iced martini glass with a purple umbrella in it, a lemon slice, and a purple straw in the shape of a V.

“Don’t listen to a word he’d say!

I hope he had a nice vacay!”

The volcano exploded and the screen turned white. He ripped off his sailor costume, revealing his usual outfit. His face appeared on more screens as he loomed over the audience of demon watchers.

“But he should’ve stayed away!”

“While he hid in radio,

We pivoted to video!

And now his medium is getting bloody rare!”

Vox appeared in a chef’s costume and pulled out a severed bloody black and red deer’s head from an oven. Red blood stained the white tile walls, oven, and counter. Vox held the head on a plate as “VENISON WITH VOX!” appeared to the side, a red arrow pointing to “VOX.”

Vox then posed in the hallway.

“Hell’s been better since he split.

Where’s he been?”

Vox chuckled. “Who gives a shit?!”

Alastor had just stepped out of the tailor shop, pleased with his repaired coat. He glanced over and saw Vox mocking him on all the TVs. He sneered and walked with a newfound purpose back to the hotel. He wasn’t going to let that arrogant ass get in the way of the hotel…or his plans. He was soon back up in his radio tower, holding his magic microphone cane near his mouth. He sat on a flat couch with a pillow of eyes behind him. His coat rack was made of deer antlers and a microphone was in the shape of a red pentagram. In front of him were papers, knobs, and a red cup of coffee. A lamp with eyes on the stand was lit on a side table and a few bayou cattail plants were spaced out through the studio. A few rugs covered the wood floor.

Even after many years, his power still worked! “ON AIR” blinked to life in neon red letters over the tower.

“Salutations!” came Alastor’s smoother cadence singing. His voice was heard on all the radios and speakers in the city. “Good to be back on the air!”

More demons leaned to the left toward the red shop section labeled “Old Crap” with a radio on a table. The bottom of the radio was decorated with sharp white teeth, making a monstrous face. Vox glared from his TV screens. Shadowy arms appeared in the small room and operated the old-fashioned radio on a purple cushion. Several demons watched: a blue demon wearing Egyptian garb, a pink demon with a white tank top, a demon with one eye and a clock head, a teal-gray cat with bat wings, a green female mummy, a purple and white fox, a reptile demon, among others.

“Yes, I know it’s been a while since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast.”

Vox and Alastor then engaged in a heated rap.

“Sinners rejoice!”

“What a dated voice!” Vox snapped.

Alastor continued. “Instead of a clout chasing mediocre video podcast.”

“COME ON!” Vox yelled.

Alastor grinned. “Is Vox insecure? Pursuing allure?

Flitting between this fad and that?

Is nothing working?”

Vox fumed. “IGNORE HIS CHIRPING!”

Alastor smirked, “Everyday he’s got a new format!”

Vox fired back, the screen showing five various Vox faces (including priest Vox and sailor Vox) glaring at Alastor in the center. “YOU’RE LOOKING AT THE FUTURE!

He’s the shit that comes before that!”

Alastor sang, smoother and slower than Vox, his voice coming from more circles of speakers on high poles near the Vee tower. Several demons looked at each other, questioning Vox’s motives.

“Is Vox as strong as he purports?

Or is it based on his support?

He’d be powerless without the other Vees!”

In the Vee tower, Valentino and Velvette smiled evilly at each other as they imagined themselves overthrowing Vox and ruling their own territories. Their cell phones were in their hands, Valentino’s had a moth on it and Velvette’s had a < 3 on it, a large sideways V making a heart icon.

“OH PLEASE!” Vox argued.

Alastor grinned wider. “And here’s the sugar on the cream…

He asked ME to join his team!”

“Hold on!” Vox protested.

“I said no, and now he’s pissy! That’s the tea!”

A furious Vox teleported himself as electricity to the radio in the shop. Vox teleported to Alastor who was lounging on his couch. A blue screen appeared on Vox’s face, flashing white error messages as he glitched and fizzed.

(“A problem has been detected and Vox has been shut down to prevent damage to his systems. The problem seems to be caused by the following file: Alastor.EXE. Vox EXE. Crash – error- eat shit Alastor. Check to make sure all software and hardware is up to date and properly installed. Ask Vox for any VoxTek updates you might need. If problems continue (fuck you, Alastor) please disable or remove any Alastor from the general vicinity. If you need to use “unsafe mode,” reset your VoxTek device or press F6 and select “advanced startup options,” then select “unsafe mode.” Technical information: Stop: AlastorEXE. Old timey prick radio.”)

Vox raged; his fangs bared. “You old-timey PRICK! I’ll show you suffering!”

Vox teleported back to his TV room in the Vee Tower. His screen flashed in rainbow bands and he glitched some more.

Alastor chuckled. “Uh oh, the TV is buffering!”

Vox’s circuits overloaded with electricity as his anger rose.

“I’LL DESTORY YOOOOU YOU LITTLE…”

His signal briefly broke up. He let out an outburst that briefly overloaded and shut down everything in Pentagram City. Velvette’s hair and Valentino’s outfit got sizzled as they sat together in the dark in stunned silence.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost your signal!” Alastor finished in triumph as the pentagram-shaped city blinked into blackness.

No light was visible, save for the eerie red light coming from Alastor’s radio tower.

“Let’s begin.”

“I’m gonna make you wish that I stayed gone!”

His red eyes turned black, save for small red circles. Thick black antlers branched from his head.

“Tune on in.”

He placed his microphone to the side.

He morphed further into his demonic form as he stood up. His long neck extended outward, his yellow fangs growing longer and sharper.

“When I’m done…

Your status quo will know its race is run!”

With a sinister close-up grin, his eyes turned into hypnotic red radio dials. A red x was in the center of his forehead, the fatal gunshot spot where a hunter had killed him on Earth. He sang in a low sinister tone.

“Oh, this will be fun!”

He finished with a chilling evil laugh. “Muhahahahahaha!”

After Alastor’s shadowy figure appeared on the screen, Vox’s signal was cut off and “no signal” appeared on the screens in front of him.

“FUUUCK!” a dismayed Vox cried in the darkness. It took half an hour to restore the power.

0 0 0

After Vox recovered and the power was restored, his screen head vibrated. “Velvette is calling” with her icon on top appeared, a clown horn ringtone. Vox tapped his screen and his face reappeared. He snapped his fingers and electricity zoomed into the screen across from him.

Velvette appeared on the screen; her eyes narrowed. Her face was dark gray, and she wore skull earrings. She wore a pink frilly dress, striped fingerless gloves, and a short black sleeveless jacket with three pink hearts on it. Her hair was pink, with a streak of swirly white and gray in a thick ponytail.

“Hello there, Velvette!” said Vox. “How are you this hellish morning?”

“Oh, cut the shit, Vox. I need you up here now!”

Vox drank from another cup of coffee. “Whatever could be the problem, my dear?”

“Your little boy toy is wrecking my apartment, while I’m trying to pull together a show and…”

Velvette looked panicked as Valentino was heard cussing in the background and throwing items. Several demon workers ran in the background in chaos.

“FUCKING BITCH!” Valentino yelled.

Velvette yelled at Vox. “Just get your ass here! NOW!” She glared off to the side. “Damn it, Valentino!” The screen buzzed off.

Vox sighed, stood up and fixed his bowtie, an annoyed expression on his face. “Oh god, here I go, Valentino. Just another day fucking day with Val…and now Al. Hey, hey, hey. Fuck my life.”

He stood on a round platform with the V logo on it and it rose. An elevator with a smiling Vox with “trust us” opened to reveal a frowning Vox. Several posters advertised a Vox television device costing $9,000 and a “Velvette Love Potion.” Vox put on a smile for a crowd of reporters in the next room. They rushed at him with microphones out.

A demon woman reporter called, “Mr. Vox! What are your thoughts about the new Extermination deadline?”

“My dear people! We at VoxTek Enterprises have always been at the forefront of innovation. And now, with this new oncoming threat, we are shifting focus to your protection. We are pleased to announce…VoxTek Angelic Security is coming soon! Trust us, with Your safety!” The gold V logo with wings appeared on a screen.

Vox hypnotized the reporters with his eyes.

“Uh sir,” said Vox’s manager. His face was light gray, his short hair was teal and black, and he wore red glasses. A clipboard was in his hands, and he wore a red suit. “When did we begin working on Angelic Security?”

“Since I already aired the commercial about it earlier.” He walked off. “Try to get that bitch Carmilla on the books and cancel all my appointments today. I have a fire to put out upstairs and an emergency meeting about a certain radio demon.” Vox materialized into electricity and traveled up through a security camera.

Meanwhile, Velvette’s studio was in disarray. More demons were running around screaming. Several outfits were scattered on the floor and bloodstains were present on the floor and windows. Velvette stood her composure, strolling over to four demon female designers who stood by three tall mirrors, standing on violet rugs with Velvette’s logo on them.

“Ugh,” Velvette mentioned in disgust to a female demon with purple hair, showing her a red dress.

“No,” Velvette commented to a pink serpent showing her red overalls against a purple sweater.

“Unacceptable,” Velvette added to a blonde demon showing her a gray dress.

“You’re fired!” Velvette remarked to a pink demon with thick curly red hair and two front braids. Velvette held the outfit which had purple and white stripes on it. “What is this? WRIST RUFFLES?! Is this 1750? Burn it like the witches who wore it!”

Velvette sent the designers away as Vox materialized behind her from electricity. Vox waved a hand, and flames from various plugged devices went out.

“Velvette! I can see you’re busy. Tell me, where’s our hot-headed friend now?”

“Up in his room, waiting for a flat-faced prince to calm him down!” Velvette barked, hand to her face.

Vox sighed. “And uh, what’s got him so out of sorts today?”

“Who knows?!” Velvette said. “But he tore up my best model! And you know the show can’t wait for that unlucky bitch to pull herself back together!” A cyclops carried the remains of a demon.

Velvette tossed the remains of a pink gloved hand in the air. “Melissa! Get over here!”

A slender female demon stood nervous, wearing long maroon pants and a red shirt. Velvette snapped her fingers and various dresses magically appeared on her.

“No…” The woman wore torn dark jeans and a purple shirt with white hearts on it.

“No…” She wore black leggings and a short magenta dress with purple frills over her shoulders.

“Hideous…” She had on a short gray skirt with a red bowtie on it, a cream-colored shirt, and a long red coat.

“I want to die…Ew…” Now she wore a short red dress and black collar.

Velvette gasped. “Yes! That’s the one!” She smiled at a poofy red-pink dress with white hearts on it and a black trim on the bottom.

“Well since it looks like you’ve got everything under control here, you need to come to an urgent Radio Demon meeting once you’re…”

Velvette seethed at Vox. “Of course, I do! I don’t have time for any meetings right now. Fuck you! Now shoo!” She flipped him the bird. “Take care of the piss, baby!” She turned to her cell phone.

Vox groaned and headed upstairs. Two pink servant demons with long lavender and white hair and feathers on their heads held open the double doors for Vox. They wore black leggings and red shirts with white hearts on them, their hair looking like moth wings.

Vox was inside and the doors closed behind him. The room was filled with pink smoke. There was a couch, a table with a Venus Fly Trap plant, and a large flat screen TV.

Valentino sat up with fury in his eyes, “Fucking FINALLY!” He smashed a drink and turned to the side. “Kitty! Another drink!” The Robo-Fizz zoomed off and reappeared with another drink. Valentino stood up, wearing his robe of red-pink, the white fluffy collar decorated with red hearts. The pimp lord had hidden moth wings, pink sunglasses with yellow trim shaped like hearts and a tall red top hat with a black and white striped middle. One of his antennae on his head was smaller, lacking the white feathery part.

“Ugh!” yelled Valentino. “Can you believe what that piece of shit did? THE UNGRATEFUL WHORE!”

He tossed the drink at Vox. He moved out of the way as the drink smashed against the doors. A nearby poster showed an erotic picture of Valentino posing shirtless.

“Val,” Vox said. “You need to come with me to my meeting about Alastor…”

Valentino, in his anger, wasn’t paying attention. “STUPID WHORE!”

“Uh, which whore are we talking about this time?” Vox asked, clearly bored.

“Fucking Angel Dust! Who the hell else would I be talking about?! That fucking SLUT walked out on me! ME! I fucking made him!” He walked toward the window. “Without me, he’s just a little bag of meat with some mildly entertaining holes.”

“Oh. Angel quit?”

“NO! He didn’t fucking quit! It’s worse! He MOVED!”

He tossed Vox’s phone to the wall, making it shatter in half. Vox waved a hand and the phone repaired itself.

“He thinks he can just walk in here, work, and then go home somewhere else. Can you FUCKING believe that?!” He walked to the closet. “He thinks he can run off and shack up with Lucifer’s BIMBO daughter!”

Vox sighed. “I already know he’s living with Lucifer’s daughter. I saw the people at the hotel on video.”

“YEAH! That princesa bitch Chuckie or Chandler, or I dunno. Something mannish like that. She’s got this hotel and…”

Valentino turned around, holding up two revolvers. “Which of these makes me look sexier?”

Vox glared at him. “What are you doing, Val? You’re not going over there.”

Valentino loaded his guns. “That slippery twink is gonna remember who owns him. I’m gonna FUCK everyone in that rancid shithole I swear to Satan!”

“VAL!” Vox’s distorted voice boomed in his face as Vox’s eye did the hypnotizing motions. He grabbed his collar. “Hehe. Think about it.” He led Valentino toward the windows. “Our brand is perfection. And what do you think chasing whores around town will do for our image?”

“Uh…fuck it up?”

“Right! Do you want people thinking you can’t control your employees?”

“No!”

“Exactly! And hey, you still have him under contract. He isn’t going anywhere! So…you should…”

“Do nothing?”

“No. You should come with me to an urgent meeting. Following my lead…” he pinched Valentino’s cheeks. “Now that’s why they pay you big bucks.”

“Ugh. But I really wanted to shoot someone.”

Vox lit up Valentino’s cigarette holder with his electricity powers.

“Well, lemme call up the lowest earners this month for you to kill.”

Valentino smirked, blowing pink-red hearts from his long cigarette. “Oh, you know me too well.”

Vox sighed. “Now if we’re finally done here, the three of us need to talk about Alastor.”

“Oh, he really is back, huh?”

“Yes! I was going to tell you, but you were yapping on and on. I swear once I get my hands on that radio bitch…”

“Hey,” Valentino shrugged. “Killing Alastor is your kink, not mine.”

“Come on, Val!” Vox snapped, dragging him along. “We’re all meeting up right now!”

In the meeting room, a pink and white jester Robo-Fizz named Kitty placed a glass of wine onto the table. In a large tank around them swam several sharks with neon colors and code numbers on them. They served as Vox’s pets of sorts (He loved feeding disobedient demons to them). The three villainous Vees sat at a round table.

“We have a problem,” Vox began. “Alastor has returned after a seven-year absence, putting my entertainment brand in a conflict. He is also getting close to little princess Morningstar, so our main concern now is ensuring that no deal is ever struck between Lucifer’s BRAT…” He slammed the table with a fist… “and that smiling freak. If it does, they could team up against us. Sinners leaving Hell means less souls and power for us. We need to keep up a steady stream of chaos so more people will be desperate enough to let us influence them.”

“Quick question,” Valentino asked, giving Velvette a gleam. “Shouldn’t I be the main leader of all this? I mean, my Porn Studio is the biggest.”

“How about me? I’m the youngest,” said Velvette. “And more people are into social media than ever before.”

Vox folded his arms. “We’ve been over this. I arrived in Hell first and both of you depend on my TV services for your advertisements. Besides, we are more or less equal.” Vox leaned into Valentino, his red eye moving hypnotically, his voice low. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, Vox,” said Valentino. Velvet narrowed her eyes.

“Good,” Vox smirked, pulling back.

“Well, how exactly are we supposed to stop it?” Velvette asked.

Valentino was putting glue on his revolver, decorating it with glitter and marbles.

“Put something inside them. That’s how I get the bitches to behave.”

Vox rolled his eyes. “Literally fucking others is your specialty. Mine is media manipulation. And Velvette’s is love potions and persuading. This is different. We’re dealing with two powerful people.”

“I meant sending in a spy,” said Valentino.

“Oh, I already did that earlier today. I was checking on their progress when I was interrupted by that radio prick.”

“Is it Angel?” asked Velvette.

“That lanky prick won’t return my calls,” Valentino explained. “I’d kill him like the other demons behind on their payments if he wasn’t so popular and useful.”

“It would be someone Little Miss Bleeding Heart would take in,” Velvette added. “Someone pathetic, desperate with no direct ties to us.”

“I employ every down on their luck loser this side of Hell. Who the fuck is left?” Valentino asked.

Vox scoffed. “I think…I have just the one!” His eye did a hypnotizing gleam and the two sharks moved in to pose behind him. He then pulled from his pocket and placed down on the table…

…an old black and white photo of Sir Pentious.

“Huh?” Velvette and Valentino asked, peering to get a closer look.

Vox grinned. “Genuis isn’t it? This Overlord was so desperate to get praise from us that he was standing outside the Vee tower. He was calling out, ‘Vox! Vox! Notice me!’ He was all tired and was claiming that he was making a long journey back to a certain hotel. What a happy coincidence!”

“What happened next?” Valentino asked, blowing pink smoky hearts from his long cigarette.

“I came out of the tower and was all like, ‘Hey there random citizen! I’ve been curious about the princess’ rehabilitation project. Would you take this camera and digital watch and report back to me?’ And the fool agreed!” Vox laughed. “He had gotten beaten badly from his fall all the way to this part of town, so I healed him and sent him on his way. So then, he was able to get a video of Morningstar crying about how she couldn’t handle the hotel and I got it on the news! Now, I’m waiting to hear back from him to see if she has given up!”

“Uh, Vox,” Velvette glared at the photo and then at him. “You mean to say…that you made me rush through my fashion show for this meeting…AFTER I WAS ALREADY FALLING BEHIND AFTER THAT RAP BATTLE BLACKOUT YOU PULLED WITH THE RADIO DEMON…AND THE BEST SPY YOU COULD PICK WAS SOME STEAMPUNK ARSEHEAD?!” She bared her fangs and banged on the table, spilling a little wine. Kitty wiped it up with a napkin.

Vox held up his hands. “Chill, dear. I was going to tell you guys earlier.”

“Are you sure he’s the right kind of guy?” Valentino added, eyebrow raised. “He looks pretty stupid to me.”

“Val, he’s the perfect one to infiltrate the hotel,” said Vox. “No one will notice him.”

“Um, he did repair his zeppelin and he tried to attack the hotel literally earlier today!” Valentino reminded him. “You saw the video, remember? He’s not exactly a stellar sleuth.”

Vox waved a dismissive hand. “Just you two wait! When that snake comes back with the announcement that the hotel is no more, I will…erm I mean, we will be praised for our efforts!”

“If the Radio Demon is supporting the hotel, he won’t be happy if it’s gone,” Velvette said.

“Plus, my employee is in there,” Valentino added.

“Angel Dust is still under your contract,” Vox said to Valentino. “He won’t be going anywhere. I’m sure you can handle him and get him back. As for Alastor…” electricity sizzled around his hand. “I can’t wait to finish him off myself!”

Valentino smirked. “Still pissed that he almost beat you that one time? And won the rap battle this time?”

“FUCK YOU, VAL!”

0 0 0

Back at the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie buried her face in her hands on the couch. Vaggie comforted her as she cried. They had finished watching the news.

“I…I can’t believe it!” she sobbed. “Just when I thought I was making progress, the news anchors mocked me again! Now all of Hell thinks I’m a fool!”

“Aren’t you going to prove them wrong?” Vaggie asked.

“I…I don’t think I can…it’s too much…”

“Wait…you’re not quitting are you?” Vaggie asked, concern in her voice.

Charlie wiped away some tears. “What’s the point, Vaggie? We’ve tried everything so far. No recruits for the hotel…and look at this!”

Charlie showed several online posts from her cell phone: “#BringDownHasBeenHotel” “#VeesRule” “#VoxOwnsRadioDeer,” “PrincessPassionProjectPlummits!”

“Don’t let those assholes get to you,” Angel Dust said to Charlie, looking up from his cell phone. “But I did warn you that you didn’t have much of a chance to begin with.”

Vaggie glared at Angel Dust. “Not helping.”

Charlie stood up. “I love you guys, and I appreciate all your help, but…I think…I may have to close this place.”

Vaggie gasped softly. Niffty’s face fell. Angel Dust scrolled on his phone. Husk sighed and walked off. “I’ll go pack my stuff.”

“Goodnight guys,” said a sad Charlie. “If we don’t know who’s filming us, there’s no point in trying to stay...it’ll just get worse. You can leave in the morning if you want.”

“Where will you go?” Vaggie asked Charlie.

Charlie looked down somberly. “Back to my mansion with my busy depressed dad I guess.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“Of course!”

“Can I?” asked Angel Dust.

“No!” Vaggie barked.

“Worth a shot,” Angel Dust shrugged.

Charlie glanced at the banner that read “HAPPY FIRST WEEK SIR PENTIOUS!” with the yellow snake on it. ‘We were so close, Sir Pentious,’ she thought. She yawned and headed to her room, too tired to remove the decorations. Angel Dust spotted Alastor and marched toward him.

“Al,” Angel Dust called. “You’re the one who did the commercials mocking the hotel. Did you do the ones mocking Charlie, too?” Vaggie also glared at Alastor, watching Charlie go down the dark hall.

“Nope,” Alastor replied. “I’d never involve myself with Vox and his pathetic picture-box shows.”

“But you used to be Overlord friends!” Angel Dust glared.

“Before he became involved in useless trends and his own ego,” Alastor scoffed. “He was only interested in furthering his company with my powers.”

“And I think you want Charlie to fail for your own amusement!” Vaggie seethed. Alastor just stood with an enigmatic grin.

“You’re the spy, now fess up!” Angel Dust barked.

“You all are a bunch of idiots,” Husk mentioned from the distance. “We know someone was somehow able to film us from the inside. You know he doesn’t like modern technology. Why would he use it to further mock us?”

“Exactly,” said Alastor. He turned to Vaggie. “I told you I was never to be bothered with using such frivolous technology again.”

“Oh…right…” Vaggie suddenly realized.

Alastor materialized into shadow and vanished. Vaggie followed Charlie into her room. She held her hand. “It’s okay, Charlie. Perhaps we can try something else, build a restaurant or something. The Hazbin Inn, how about that?”

Charlie shook her head sadly. “Even though we have Alastor and Angel Dust, it’s still not enough. Let’s go to bed.”

Vaggie relented and sighed, worried about her girlfriend and what they would do next for Charlie’s dreams.

Later that evening, Angel Dust gulped down a bottle of alcohol. He heard something slither in the dark and thought he saw a shadow slip away.

“Huh?” he asked.

Angel Dust peered into Charlie’s office, the door open a crack. Spiderwebs lined several sections of the bookshelves. To his shock, he spotted Sir Pentious with an evil grin setting up the gray square camera on a bookshelf!

Angel Dust slammed open the double doors with all four hands.

“You slippery little shit!”

Sir Pentious turned around and screamed, flinching back.

“You’re working for the Vees?!” Angel Dust asked. He marched over to Sir Pentious, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I fucking knew there was something shitty about you!”

Sir Pentious brushed Angel Dust’s hand away and walked to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He grinned and faced Angel Dust. “Whore bug!”

Angel Dust yelled in anger and rammed himself into Sir Pentious. They fought and rolled on the ground, Angel Dust punching him in the face several times. He rolled him over and caught him in a headlock with his arm. Sir Pentious struggled free of his grip. “Get you’re aggressively average body…OFF OF ME!”

All of Sir Pentious’ eyes flashed hypnotically. “FUCK!” Angel Dust cried, hypnotized and stepping back. Sir Pentious hissed and slithered back. Angel Dust shook his head, snapping out of it. He marched toward Sir Pentious again, fists clenched.

Charlie yawned and she and Vaggie stepped into the room. They both wore their nightgowns. Charlie wore red two-piece pajamas and Vaggie wore a white dress nightgown. Charlie had black slippers on her feet with red flowers on them. Her long blonde hair was untied and messy.

“What’s going on?” asked a tired Charlie.

Angel Dust grabbed one of Sir Pentious’ arms. “This little bitch is a traitor!”

Sir Pentious yanked his arm free. “Preposterous!” He walked toward Charlie and Vaggie. “I would never betray you! You…are my best friends!” He hugged both girls.

“Uh huh,” Angel Dust deadpanned. “Then explain this!” He moved a book to the side, revealing the camera. Vaggie glared at Sir Pentious, her suspicion confirmed.

“Now we know how Vox was able to film us!”

Charlie gasped in shock at the realization.

“You…you almost made me lose my hotel…” Charlie whimpered.

Sir Pentious screamed. “Ah! Ah! Abort! Abort!” He slithered to the window and held up his gray wristwatch. “S.O.S.! Agent Pentious in need of immediate evacuation!” Sir Pentious tried to yank open the window in vain.

Vox’s face appeared on the small round screen of the wristwatch.

“Pentious?” Vox asked. “Wait…you were caught?! It’s barely been a day or two!”

“Please! You’ve got to get me out of here!” Sir Pentious begged.

Vox chuckled and scoffed. “I can’t believe we thought you could handle even something this simple. Do us a favor, if they don’t kill you…” His eye did the hypnotic motions and he spoke lower, “…go ahead and do it yourself! You miserable failure!”

The screen clicked off.

“I…I…” Sir Pentious cried, hurt by the words of his former idol.

He slithered forward, shoulders down, head lowered. “Just make it quick I guess…”

He curled into a ball, awaiting his death. “Not that I deserve it…”

“Gladly,” Vaggie replied, readying her spear to pierce Sir Pentious’ skull.

“Wait,” Charlie said, pushing back Vaggie’s spear. She leaned down and held out her white hand. “Pentious?”

Sir Pentious looked up at Charlie, teary-eyed. Forgiveness and a softness radiated from her face as she began to sing.

“It starts with sorry…”

She helped Sir Pentious up.

“That’s your foot in the door.”

“One simple sorry, spoken straight from your core.”

Charlie placed a hand over Sir Pentious’ heart. He gasped softly. He had never felt any real love or kindness since his time on Earth long ago. She put a hand on his shoulder and made her other hand into an encouraging fist.

“The path to forgiveness is a twisting trail of hearts!”

Charlie slid on a sparkling pink trail in her black slippers that magically appeared near her feet. Smoky hearts swayed and vanished where Charlie danced.

“But sorry is where it staaaarts!”

She spread out her arms to him. Sir Pentious closed his eyes and looked away as he sang.

“Who could forgive a dirtbag like me?”

“I don’t deserve your amnesty.”

Sir Pentious leaned backward on the floor, hand over his heart. Vaggie and Angel Dust gave him menacing death glares. Vaggie had her spear and Angel Dust had two guns in his hands. Sir Pentious scooted backward in fear. Vaggie and Angel Dust stood in shadow, a purple light showing their eyes, mouths, and weapons.

“Can’t we just kill him? Shoot him and spill his blood?”

Charlie stuttered.

“That’s an option you could choose…”

“Works for us!” harmonized Vaggie and Angel Dust.

Charlie bravely walked forward, pushing aside all the weapons.

“But who hasn’t been in his shoes?”

Charlie leaned down and held out her hand for Sir Pentious again.

“It starts with sorry…”

“Sorry.” Sir Pentious began, standing up. Charlie twirled him around in a dance. She pulled him closer to her face, holding his hands in hers.

“Dig down deeper and say one sincere sorry!”

In response, Sir Pentious leaned back in a dramatic pose and chorused, “I’m so sorry!”

“And your journey’s underway!” Charlie smiled as she and Sir Pentious spun around. Vaggie and Angel Dust shared bewildered looks.

In a purple sky background were flashbacks of Sir Pentious’ life in Hell: Sir Pentious grinning on his zeppelin, Sir Pentious with metal binoculars, Sir Pentious surprised at a broken Egg Boi in front of him, Sir Pentious using a square tablet device, eyes narrowed.

He and Charlie began a duet at the same time.

“It’ll take time to uncover your vast multitude of sins…”

“It’ll take time to uncover my vast multitude of sins…”

They both harmonized, “But sorry is where it begins!”

Yellow fireworks exploded the flashbacks and read “SORRY” in sparky letters. Sir Pentious and Charlie smiled as sparkles rained down on them.

“It starts with sorry.”

The song ended with the two of them smiling at each other back in the room. In the doorway stood an unimpressed Niffty in a white-lavender dress nightgown with a pink bow on top.

“I hated that song! Why are you so lame?!”

She stomped over and promptly kicked Sir Pentious’ body. “Not a bad boy!” She folded her arms and marched off. Sir Pentious grimaced in pain.

Charlie sighed. “Good to see things resolved for the moment. We will keep this hotel going! Let’s get some rest.”

“Thank goodness,” Vaggie smiled at Charlie. The gang headed off to their rooms. Vaggie then rolled her eyes and said sarcastically. “The Sir Repentious Arc begins. Yay.”

“Admit it, Vaggie, my song helped him!”

“I’ve told you many times Charlie, life is not a musical!”

“Just…enjoy it Vaggie. I know you do, inside.”

The lights dimmed and in the darkness Alastor’s red eyes and yellow smile glowed. He walked over and picked up the wristwatch.

“WHAT?!” bellowed an angry Vox, before he paused in fear, realizing who it was.

“You’ll have to try harder than that next time, ol’ pal!” Alastor remarked.

Vox bellowed in rage as Alastor crushed the wristwatch with his hand. He dropped the sparking broken device onto the floor and left the room in shadow with a sinister laugh, his eyes and mouth briefly appearing again.

#hazbinhotel

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ducknotinarow · 7 months

Note

[07 RaphVon - i feel like out of everything she could ever say to him, this is the most insulting u_u also im just in general looking for things to send you when i found this xD]

Yvonne stared at him for a moment, before muttering - "You sound like my dad."

| muse interaction

Von was more for wine her self but Raphael? he insisted wine was for wusses. He preferred the harder liquor himself sure he tried wine here and there with her but eh didn't do it for him Mikey might like it more though. Through somewhere between the fifth can on his own and who knows the cup of wine for her. That preference turned into some weird curious needs. Casey may have reason to hold some form of jealously still when it came to Raph and Von, course it would never be for the reasons he once mistakenly assumed years ago. No it was because Raphael always said Von was his favorite person to have a drink with. To better illustrate Von was his favorite person to get drunk with.

As he was sitting down now in her and Don's place. Don was at the lair with Ariel actually something about needing something or another he forgot and didn't care. Summer was off at practice for the night meaning Casey was there. To keep an eye out on this Aspen kid. And Summer to of course, have to support their daughter at hockey after all. Neither parent was truly okay with the apparent start of dating, and liking boys! and worse what comes with that! And who better to talk it all out with than his favorite person to drink with. As he sat and tried his best to settle the bottle of wine on top his can of beer.

The neck kept of course filling with wine so Raph would hand it back to Von to drink some more. No time for glass only wine it seemed. Before he took it back somewhere in his fogged over mind thanks to the alcohol buzzing in his system he felt this was the best way to mix his beer with her wine. Not that Von seemed to point out that a cup would be better. Lining up the neck of the bottle over the opening of his can slow to tip the bottle over so it could flow down and into his can. Finally getting it right as he set the bottle down and cover his can before he started to shake the can a little trying to mix the two together.

"I don' care if it normal for her to start 'noting boys' or whateva" Raph grumbles picking back up the conversation they were in the middle of now as he turned to face her, brown jacket and knitted hat still on because he was only meant to be dropping by and kept saying he be leaving but its been a good while since then. "I get the crush thing jus' fine sure whatevea' she bound to get a crush 'ere an' there an' she's a great kid so sure kids 'ike this stupid punk are bound ta 'ike here to. That's one thing. An' Casey the nut case he is gotta accept that too." Ah yes cause only Casey wasn't handling this well, though to be fair Raphael wasn't the one constantly ready to throw hands with the kid. "But I know what happens next" soon pointing his finger out towards Von. "An' so do youes!"

Moving to take a sip of his little mix he grimaced a little clear he didn't like it but he wasn't going to waste it as he finished the sip before slamming his empty can back to the coffee table now. "The touchin', an' the kissin' and worse! an' my Bug is an angel!" there was a bit of pause well Raph seems to think his own statement over. "Well she more a hellion if anythin' BUT MY POINT STANDS BABE!" Raphael continues on with.

"She ain't allowed to 'ike boys, especially gross boys." It was kind of unfair to Aspen both Casey and Raph knew of the kid he been on the same team as Summer for a bit all he did was commit the crime of liking their daughter and try to date her. Now he was enemy number one, he may beat out Hun and Shredder for them each respectfully for it alone. "No she should..she should stay at home only! not outside influence at all! cause 'han no boys can come 'round her and try nothin' with my baby girl." Raphael continue to speak acting as if that was a very ration statement to be making. Catching how Von was staring at him Raph looks at her annoyed as he rolled his eye behind his mask before tipping his head back and giving a wave of his arm before him.

"I can tell ya got somethin' to say here babe so go on ahead spit it out."

"You sound like my dad."

Raphael let his beak hang a little at that "Excuse you!?" Raphael near about shouts even with how she muttered it he heard it clear as day just then and he couldn't not accept those words from Von.

Considering who said 'dad' was. Bishop of all people to go and compare Raphael to just then and there. Raphael has had a million insults thrown his way over the years of his odd life. BUT this? oh this took the cake he had to admit. Nothing had ever cut or burned him so bad not even Bishop taking his own fucking eye was near as painful as what Von just said to him. "I am not!" he goes on to continue his statement letting his brow furrow up and beak settle in a firm frown over such a thing. "I jus' wanna keep her locked up in the apartment forever so no one can-" okay he starting to under how bad that sounds now.

Of course, he would actually do such a thing, he was honestly glad a kid he and and Casey had was human so they could be out in the sun and such unlike himself. Able to enjoy life so open and freely. So no he would lock her up somewhere where she couldn't well be as she lived now. It was just that damn protectiveness getting the better of him, "I jus' don' 'ike the idea of some creep being all over me kid." He huffs a little turning away as he mutters himself "don' want here gettin' hurt either." Because well that did also come with the dating world. He knew a bit from Casey's stories for one hell his and Casey own had some pains ingainged.

"whatever" He soon states moving to stand up as he looks down to his can he goes to push over, it was empty so nothing split out but he felt it got his point across. "I ain't nothin' 'ike that bastard father of youes babe!" He snaps with as he goes to make good on earlier statements from behind. Straightening out his hat and making sure his jacket was straight so he wouldn't freeze on his way home. He have to walk the streets in his state.

" An I don' gotta stay put and deal with youes tallin' lies 'bout me! Next time I drink it's with Casey!" he maturely tosses out before making his leave.

#muse| hamato raphael #madamkezzie #aflockoffeathers #[ ones trash is another's treasure -aflockoffeathers ]#[ 07 verse]#muse interaction #ic reply #stay queue #tw: alcohol mentioned #((It felt like a drunk reaction for the dramtics just fit best for this betrayal uwu))

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cultrise · 10 months

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How about reader come home visibly worn out from a long day and is just "Hobie I need a huge favor from you please" and it's just she wants to cockhold for like an hour or something

[nsfw ahead !] OMG YEEEEEES. i will go feral with ur reqs

your back hit the armrest of the couch loudly as you plopped yourself on the couch, next to him. looking over to you, he furrows his brows as his hands stop typing the message he was sending — probably something to miguel, along the lines of “not attending that stupid meeting, piss off”.

“what’s up with you today?” he asks as he turns to face you, head resting into the palm of his hand that’s carefully propped on the backrest. the tv buzzes in a low tone, display flashing from the rapid scenes of two guys fighting — whatever action movie hobie wanted to watch.

“i need a favor. please” you say plainly as you get closer. hobie’s eyes look into yours as he tries to read into your thoughts “whatever you need, luv” he says as his palm rests calmly on your knee, caressing it gently. “can i cockwarm you?”

his jaw drops. he’s stunned. he’s seeing stars. you wave your hand before his face “hello? hobie!” you say as he snaps back to reality, an amused chuckle escaping his lips “woah, luv.. you that desperate for my cock it’s now a favour to hold it in ya’?” he teases as you roll your eyes “yes or no? don’t have all day for you games” he smiles, bitting his bottom lip “well damn, someone’s eager. not gonna keep ya’ waitin’ then”

you kinda made him eat his words. his cool, cocky demeanour was out the window as he saw how quickly you got rid of the clothes that were obstructing your plan and just slid onto him. now he was holding you by the hips as you two watched a movie.

your head leaned back on his shoulder as his lips worked themselves along the crook of your neck. soft breaths left your lips as you kept yourself steady, his dick buried deep between your thighs and into your sopping cunt. he couldn’t understand your behaviour. he knew you came home stressed because you had a fucked up day, that part he understood.

what he couldn’t comprehend was how you, the usually whining, pretty little girl of his who loved to be pounded into the mattress as she screamed his name, were now so calm as you sat with your length inside of you. and he? he was going absolutely nuts. especially since you kept randomly clenching onto him, chocking his dick with your walls, making him gasp in frustration.

“ya’ done teasin’ me yet?” he lets out an almost begging remark “teasing? i’m not teasing you, love. i’m just watching tv” you respond mindlessly as you push your hips down on him. hobie groans in frustration as he hides his face into your hair “you’re gonna actually kill me, babe” you chuckle at him, his hips desperately pushing up into you.

“i asked to sit on your dick because it calms me down” you state as he lets out an irritated laugh “yeah? torturin’ me calms ya’ down?” you grin. he was starting to feel so pathetic, hands desperately gripping at your skin. “please.. let me fuck all of that stress outta’ ya’” he says as he kisses you behind you ear, making your face light up red.

you bite down on your lip as you nod “fine. but you’re not pulling out afterwards. i wanna feel you inside of me” you turn to him, pleading. he smirks “oh, please. nothin’ could rip me away from this pussy, luv. not for anythin’” he laughs as you roll your eyes.

he grabs your hands, holding them back as he starts moving his hips into you, sending a fire-like sensation throughout your whole body. your back arches as he desperately ruts himself into you, like a dog in heat. “fuck.. you feel so good” hobie lets out as your moans get caught in your throat.

truth be told, he was right. fucking him was already helping you relive stress. you pushed your hips down, meeting his defined thighs. the apartment soon filled with the sound of claps and you were sure the neighbours were already pilling at the door, waiting to complain about the noise. neither of you cared. you were too cock-drunk to care and hobie was.. well.. hobie. he never cared. especially not when he greeted said neighbours wearing only a towel that hung lowly from his slender hipbones.

shivers were sent through your spine as you felt a pair of big, soft lips kiss along your back. you arched it even more, hissing at the cold feeling of his lip piercing on your heated skin. hobie pulls away, grunting “fuck me, luv.. you’re gonna make me cream like ’m a fuckin’ schoolboy” he says with a grin as you chuckle. “jesus..” he lets out as he watches you ride him faster, wanting to make him cum.

you can feel his cock twitch inside of you as his lips part, letting out a small whine as he lets go of your wrists, nails digging into the flesh of your hips “look at the way you’re sucking m’cock in… fuck.. ’m gonna lose it” he says as he leans back, putting one hand over his mouth. you steady yourself by placing your sweaty palms on his knees “come on, babe.. i want you to fill me up” you say, almost begging, as hobie rolls his hips into yours.

his body starts to shiver as he orgasms, coating your walls white. “fuck.. you made a mess outta me, luv” he says as he watches you slowly slide on him, fucking his own cum back into you. “don’t i always?” you smile as you slightly turn to him, a grin taking over his lips. his arms find you torso, hugging it tightly as he presses loving kisses on your shoulder. “you sure you don’t want me to eat you out? i think it might help with your stress” he purrs into your sweaty skin as you smile.

“not now, hobie. i’m too tired” he hums understandingly at your response. with one swift move he takes you by your hips, sliding both of your bodies down on the couch, without pulling out from you. after all, he was a man of his word. sliding his arm under your head, he places kisses in your hair, humming some tune that makes your eyelids go down little by little.

“hobie”

“mm?”

“i love you”

a soft chuckle.

“you’re not gonna say it back?”

“don’t think i need to say it out loud for you to know how much i love you”

you smile as you let your droopy eyelids close.

“i love you” he says in a low tone, kissing your head softly as he closes his eyes.

#𐙚 — pages.#𐙚— dreamscape.#across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie #hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader smut #hobie smut #smut

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sunshineistyping · 2 years

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I just have to start saying I loved how you wrote everyone so far in FNAF SB, and I’m amazed how you can jump between “that’s so sweet” with Sun/Moon/Freddy and “oh thats dangerous and hot actually” with Monty. They both so good, I kept smiling like a fool while reading.

If it’s alright can I request another romantic like Human Monty x Reader? (If you cool writing afab but if not gn is cool too) I kept thinking about Monty piercings and how would he react to Reader getting a tongue or lip piercing (but again feel free to ignore that extra if you prefer to write something else).

- 🐚 I’ll give myself the sea shell if no one has claimed that one yet

Awww thank you so much! I can 100% write that for you 🐚!

Pretty Girl

Pairings: Montgomery/Monty x Fem!Reader

Established relationship

Au: Human AU

Warnings: Suggestive Comments

———————————————————————

“You haven’t been very talkative, what’s wrong Sugar?” You turned your head to see Monty. So he noticed your lack of speaking after all. It’s not really that you didn’t want to talk, it was more of the fact your tongue hurt. You’d gotten a tongue piercing only a day ago and it was absolutely killing you. It wasn’t swollen just yet but it definitely hurt and having to swish around a cup of salt and water multiple times a day was not fun. However, you got this piercing for two reasons. One, you’d wanted it for a while now. Two, you wanted to look as cool as your boyfriend did. He had all kinds of piercings and always encouraged you to take the leap if you wanted something new on your body. Even going as far as to give you ideas for tattoos and things, though you always turned them down. Of course that was until you fell in love with the idea of a tongue piercing.

“Nothin,” you mumbled and only curled slightly closer to his body heat. He shook his head and tried once again.

“I’m not letting you avoid me just like that, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I got a tongue piercing.”

“You what?”

“I got a tongue piercing.” He blinked once then twice and then a few more times in shock. He thought you didn’t want any piercings so it was a surprise to know you got one. Let alone the kind of piercing that he said he wanted to see on you. He meant it too, knowing his sweet girlfriend had a tongue piercing? Damn.

“You gotta let me see it.” You nodded and Monty gently grabbed the side of your face. His thumb brushing gently against your lower lip, his sharp nails making you almost shiver. He slid his thumb down to your chin ever so slowly, pulling your mouth open all while tilting your head back just to get a better view. His thumb then slid back up to the corner of your mouth as he pulled it back just a bit. You slid your tongue farther out of your mouth so he could get a good look. The second his eyes hooked on the glistening metal he let out a deep purring noise, a low rumble that reminded you of a cat.

“Damn, you’re so fucking pretty. You should’ve gotten this forever ago. I mean, I knew you’d look hot, but fuck.” He laughed lowly. His own tongue flicking out and licking his lips. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive and you weren’t sure if you liked it or not. You slid the appendage right back into your mouth once he released your jaw, a small smirk on his face. You’d been checking him out while he’d been doing the same, it’s not hard for you both to see it. Every girl he’s ever been with liked the split tongue he’d gotten, why? He’s not entirely sure but he knows the girls he dates go absolutely nuts over it. Though your reactions were significantly more tame he saw your wandering eyes.

“You know Babe, the piercing is going to make kissing you awfully interesting.”

“You don’t shove your tongue down my throat so I’ll be fine.”

“I haven’t so far, but I might if you ask.”

“Pervert.”

“Oh really? You find it hot but I’m the pervert for offering it?”

“Shut up Monty.”

“Yeah yeah, make sure you go wash your mouth out. We don’t want that piercing infected now do we?” You shook your head lightly kissing his cheek before you sat up. He wasn’t wrong, you needed to wash your mouth out multiple times a day. You’re happy he reminded you, dating a guy who has tons of piercings and background knowledge definitely helps. That and you got an excuse to flirt with him now.

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#fnaf x reader #security breach x reader #female reader #female reader insert #fnaf au #human au #monty gator x reader #montgomery gator x reader

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ren1327 · 3 years

Text

Close to Me

A Huskerdust/Angelhusk tumblr exclusive fic based on Ellie Goulding's "Close to Me" feat. Diplo and Swae Lee.

Part of the Light up the Night storyline

CW: Lots of cussing, mentions of sex and bullying Moxxie

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

SLAM!

Charlie jumped when she heard a door upstairs slam, then a hard pounding on wood before a frustrated yell had her on her feet.

She nearly ran into Husk as he stalked to the bar, grabbing a bottle off the shelf and uncorking it, taking several large gulps.

“Um…Everything good, Husk?” She asked.

Niffty suddenly hopped past, whining softly to herself as she leapt into the kitchen, hearing pots and pans banging.

Charlie looked at Husk, who had started on a second bottle and quickly followed the cyclops girl.

“Hey, Niffty?” Charlie asked.

Niffty was quickly measuring out flour and muttering to herself as she grabbed some eggs.

“Sad brownies?” Charlie asked as Niffty grabbed a block of fudge, then turned a grabbed a second.

“Sad brownies.” She said and turned to tie her hair in two short pigtails and wash her hands.

“What happened?” Charlie asked when Niffty gave her a bowl and whisk.

“Oh, Miss Charlie…” Niffty sighed and started chopping nuts. “It was awful!”

EARLIER...

“Dance with me, Husk.” Angel teased as they walked past a club, Niffty peeking inside and grinning.

“We gotta get this stuff back to the hotel, Ang.” Husk said. “Some other time, okay?”

“Fiiiiine!” Angel huffed and reached for Husk’s hand.

Husk pulled his fingers away and crossed his arms.

Angel blinked. “The fuck?”

“Not here, Angel.” Husk said and looked at an old poster of Angel in drag.

Angel’s eyes followed his and he scoffed.

“Are ya serious?” He asked and stalked ahead, Niffty looking from Husk to Angel before hopping to the former’s side.

“Husky, what’s going on?” She asked.

“Nothin’, Niff.” He grumbled.

The walk back was tense and silent as they all made it back into the hotel.

Angel dropped his things on the counter and went up to his room, Husk cursing and following after his boyfriend once the groceries had been put away.

Niffty cocked her head and leapt up the stairs, hearing muffled shouting.

“…fuckin’ scared to be seen with me?”

“…know damn well I don’t give a shit!”

“Be honest Husk!” Angel yelled as Niffty placed her ear near the door. “Ya think I’m disgusting or somethin’? Think I’m too much of a slu—”

“Shut up!” Husk yelled. “I just…I don’t think…Ang…we’re…not good enough to been seen together…”

Niffty squinted her eye, Husk voice very low.

“Good en---Good enough?!” Angel yelled and there was the sound of glass breaking.

Niffty ran behind a plant as Husk ran out, a perfume bottle smashing behind his feet as he turned.

“Angel…I didn’t mean it like that…Angel!” Husk yelled as the door slammed. He pounded on the door before yelling in frustration and going down the stairs.

NOW...

Niffty sighed. “I think I get what Husk meant. I hear him talking with Mimzy when she’s over."

“Oh?” Charlie asked as they waited for the brownies to bake.

“It’s not Angel isn’t good enough.” She looked up at Charlie. “It’s Husk. He thinks he’s not good enough to be seen with Angel.”

“And so Angel…oooooh.” Charlie said. “What should we do?”

“Brownies and milk.”

“Right! Any alcohol will make Angel spiral!” Charlie said. “He’ll lose all his progress!”

“…No, milk just taste better with brownies….” Niffty said with a frown.

“Right, right, right…” Charlie laughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”

Niffty huffed and heard the oven ding, taking the brownies out and letting them cool as she set up a tray.

“Ya know, Miss Charlie, sometimes we just gotta do what’s best for people in their own way.”

“But Angel staying clean is best for him—”

“Angel, not the hotel.”

“I…I think I have an idea. But I might need some help.”

She grimaced as she took out her phone and shot a text.

“Okay, Niffty, we might need a few more batches of brownies…” Charlie said. “And some of the good liquor I know you stowed away for this kind of situation. Let’s move all this to the home theater. And make sure the front room is clear.”

“Why both rooms?”

“That’s such bull!” Loona said as she downed another shot.

“How can he imply he’s better than you?” Octavia added.

“Yeah, Angie, you’re like, the fucking best!” Cherri said and stuffed another brownie in her mouth.

“Thanks gals.” Angel said, sniffing and taking another tissue from Millie. Then another shot.

Niffty sat on one of the sofas, a weird cartoon playing on the screen no one was paying attention to. She quietly excused herself and hopped to the other side of the hotel where Husk was drinking from another bottle as Blitzo chattered away.

“Listen, they all throw fits, but just have really rough angry se—”

“Sir!” Moxxie interrupted. “The best response is proper communication. As a happily married man, I can say with confidence—”

“No one cares about your boring married life!” Blitzo said and pushed Moxxie off his stool.

“Blitzy Dear…” Stolas cooed. “Aren’t we in a committed relationship?”

“Well I mean, yes.” Blitz said with a blush. “But! Marriage makes it less…sexy.”

“I see. But being my consort is much more…enticing?” Stolas purred, leaning against his partner.

“Uh…”

“Fellas!” Mimzy chided. “This isn’t helping.”

Husk was sobbing now. “I fucked up again…”

“Oh, Husker…” Mimzy said and rubbed his shoulders. “Alastor! Can’t you help us?”

The Radio Demon looked up from his drink, cocking his head. “Oh, I’m trying, my Love.”

“Tryin—Alastor! What are you up to?” The shorter demon asked her lover.

Niffty chirped and gasped, running back to the theater.

She burst in to see the same scene she had just escaped from.

Husk blubbered.

“He’s so fuckin’ beautiful, Mimz!” He said. “Like, look at ‘im! Hic! ‘Den look at me! He’s too good fa’ me and I hate…”

Angel’s eyes were transfixed on the screen.

“Hate how people look at us. ‘Dis tall fuckin’ babe and his shlubby boyfriend!”

“You’re not shlubby—” Mimzy said.

“Yes, I am!” Husk said and hiccupped. “I’m an ugly old man and he’s just! Just!”

“Just what?” Mimzy asked, side eying Blitzo and Stolas escaping into the hall to a bedroom.

“He’s fuckin’ perfect! He’s pretty an’, an’ has a nice voice…His cute widdle snore an’ man! Can he shoot, Mimz! He’s so fuckin’ vicious when he wanna be!” Husk said, waving his bottle around. “He looks so happy when he’s mowing down fuckers! Yeah, I snap at ‘im. But he can always tell when I’m bullshitting ‘im. We get in our little back and forths an’…he does dis little pout that melt me, ya know?”

Angel chuckled.

“His laugh…” Husk continued Mimzy carefully took the bottle. He mixed his drink with a smile. “Fuckin’ infectious. An’ he always smells so fuckin’ good. He looks at me like…like I’m da best damn ting in da world, ya know?”

He smiled into his glass.

“When Angel is…well, if anyone makes it outta here…I hope it’s Angel…I want ‘im happy.” Husk said. “I love him—”

Angel tackled him on screen, and everyone was shocked to see Angel had sprinted down the halls to kiss Husk's face.

“Love ya too, Husky!” Angel yelled happily, kissing the cat demon's cheeks and lips over and over.

Husk clutched him tight in a hug. “I’m sorry, Baby.”

“I know, I know, Husky.” Angel whispered. “Let’s get ya sobered up, Baby. Then we can cuddle with Nuggs.”

“Love Nuggs.” Husk mumbled as Angel picked him up, his wings dragging behind them.

“Aw~” Millie cooed as the girls joined the rest of the group in the front.

“Well, it’s late.” Charlie said.

Vaggie placed her hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Feel free to stay the night.”

They suddenly heard pounding from Blitzo and Stolas’s room.

“Ew.” Loona and Octavia said.

“I just fixed that damn wall!” Vaggie huffed and shook her head.

Niffty offered her the last brownie, the taller demon smiling at her as they dispersed.

Angel rubbed the base of Husk’s ears as he purred into his chest fluff.

“Ya wrong, Baby.” Angel said.

Husk moaned sleepily.

“We good.” Angel said, pulling the other into a kiss. “Together.”

“But…”

“Shut up.” Angel chuckled. “Just stay close to me. And love me like ya do, okay?”

“Love ya, Angel...” Husk agreed.

“Love ya too, Husky~”

#hazbin fanfic #huskerdust #angelhusk #alastor x mimzy #stoliz #moxxiemillie #m and m #chaggie #feat.#hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin charlie #hazbin niffty #hazbin cherri bomb #helluva loona #helluva octavia #hazbin fat nuggets #tumblr exclusive

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obeyme-kaidii-writes · 3 years

Text

Smile

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3545

Content warnings - though nothing is actually depicted, there are quite a lot of references to, and implied, emotional/verbal abuse that happened while MC was a child. a decent amount of angst, but lots of comfort too, post Lesson 20

Prompt/Inspiration - none

Summary - You and Mammon take a trip to the human realm to visit your family, where he soon learns why you prefer to keep your distance from them.

AO3

Mammon was excited. Nervous, but also excited. It had been awhile since you had arrived in the Devildom, and you had requested special permission from Lord Diavolo to go back to the human realm to visit your family for your mother’s birthday. And Mammon was getting to come with you.

This was his chance to make an amazing first impression with your parents. Humans that had no idea who he was, or his reputation. And he’d be with you and you alone - none of his obnoxious brothers hanging around to put ideas into your parents’ heads, or find ways to humiliate him.

You had been somewhat anxious about introducing Mammon to your family, but his enthusiasm was contagious and it was hard not to smile seeing him fidget nervously in the passenger seat of your car, as you were parking on the street in front of your parents house. You knew he was looking forward to this, and the thought warmed your heart. He could be doing anything else right now, but instead he was spending his time with you, wanting to become part of your family like you were a part of his.

Your father was who you had to truly worry about. He was...how could you describe it? Well, it wasn’t until relatively recently that your relationship with him had improved enough to begin to call it friendly. Growing up, he was strict, and critical, and it didn’t help that he was smarter than average and liked to think that made him somehow superior to the plebeians around him. As an adult, you were now able to put your foot down and enforce your own boundaries, and since you weren’t living at home anymore, he was forced to accept them. Which he did, albeit after much grumbling.

But now that you were coming back for a visit, and bringing Mammon with you, you were concerned about how exactly your father would behave. You saw this going one of two ways - either he loved Mammon and adored his quirkiness and sense of humor and infectious energy, or he absolutely detested him and would spend the entire visit reminding him of his “place”.

“Just reminding you again that if my father is an asshole, don’t take it personally. I’m pretty sure he’d self-destruct if he didn’t pick a fight with someone at least once a day,” you said, pausing on the front porch to your parents home.

“Ya got nothin’ to worry about. The Great Mammon’s got this. It’ll be cake,” Mammon replied, slipping his arm around your neck and pulling you to him so he could kiss your cheek.

“Well, The Great Mammon should probably not refer to himself in the third person while he’s here or my father will never let him live it down.”

“Alright, alright. Got it,” Mammon laughed. He was determined to show you just how easily he’d be able to impress your parents. By the time the day was over, you’d be so proud of him that you wouldn’t stop bragging about him to anyone that would listen. Yeah, today was going to be a good day. He just knew it.

DING DONG

Taking a deep breath, you slipped your hand into Mammon’s, waiting for someone to answer the door. When the door finally opened, your younger sister was who greeted you, immediately flinging her arms around your waist.

“Oh thank god you’re here! I thought it was going to be stuck with them, alone, all day.”

You returned your sister’s hug, relieved to see that she was already here and you’d have another person on your side.

“Oh Mammon, this is my sister,” you offered him a brief introduction after seeing the look of confusion on his face.

“Oh.my.god. I forgot you were bringing your boyfriend,” your sister said, releasing you and checking out Mammon, from head to toe, “He’s really hot isn’t he?” she whispered, though you were sure she intentionally said it just loud enough that Mammon was still able to hear. Mammon’s face flushed scarlet, sending your sister into a fit of giggles.

“Alright stop it. Leave him alone. Let’s get inside before someone comes looking for us.” You shoved your sister back inside the house, Mammon following behind you, your hand still securely in his own.

“She’s almost as bad as you,” he whispered, once he was sure she couldn’t hear.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

You heard Mammon snicker behind you, and turned to smile at him. Things were going to be ok, you just had to believe that. You all would sit down, eat some cake, talk, and then leave and everything would be fine. There wouldn’t be any drama. No fighting. Just a nice, quiet afternoon with your family. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

————

Your mother fell in love with Mammon almost instantly. He was just too charming to resist, as far as she was concerned. And you had to admit the two of them got on pretty well. Seeing him all smiles while he talked with your mom gave you some relief and helped you relax a little more. So far, things were going well.

Mostly.

As expected, your father was a tougher nut to crack. He’d occasionally asked Mammon an oddly personal question, probing him and trying to get a feel for what he was like. But your mother was always swift to interject her own thoughts, which would lead to her and Mammon rambling on for a good while. There was never really much time for things to get more serious, the conversation staying light and carefree.

When your mother got up to get herself and your father another slice of birthday cake, you didn’t think anything of it. Mammon turned his attention towards you, beaming. Things were going way better than he had hoped. Talking with your mother, he could easily see where you got all your bright, cheerful energy from. You gave him a grin in return before resting your head on his shoulder.

“So son, I don’t think we’ve talked about what it is you do for a living yet,” your father said, breaking the peaceful silence. You sat up immediately, eyes laser focused on your father, whom you were sure was about to do something you wouldn’t like.

“Oh, um, I’m a model actually.” Mammon could feel you tense up beside him, and he wasn’t sure why. The question was innocent enough wasn’t it? It’s not like you were embarrassed by his job or anything, right? So why were you acting so bothered?

“A model? Is that so…”

“Dad…”

“What? I’m just getting to know your boyfriend. That’s why you brought him here isn't it?”

You glared at him. There wasn’t anything you could say to that, not yet. He was still playing innocent, and even though you had a horrible feeling in your gut about how this was going to play out, there was nothing else for you to do.

“I guess being a model you don’t have to be very bright, do you? It’s just one of those jobs where looks and effort matter more, huh?”

“Err...yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“Heh, well you definitely have the looks, so I guess you don’t have to worry too much.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“Mammon, can you come help me with something in the kitchen?” you said, standing up suddenly, looking at him with pleading eyes. Please just come with me , you thought.

“Yeah sure, babe.”

Mammon didn’t understand why you would need his help with anything. Wasn’t your mother already in the kitchen anyways? He figured between the two of you, you could get whatever it was taken care of. So why did you interrupt him when he was finally getting a chance to talk to your father?

Instead of leading him to the kitchen, you pulled Mammon down the narrow hallway that led to the garage and the laundry room. You just needed a moment with him, that’s all. Just so you could explain yourself and warn him. Because as it stood, he was playing right into your fathers hands and you did not like the thought of that.

“Ok, here’s good,” you said, stopping and standing in front of Mammon before taking his hands, “Please listen to me. It might seem like it, but my father is not being nice right now.”

“What are you talkin’ about? He’s just askin’ about my work.”

“I’m telling you those are not friendly questions.”

“He’s just ribbing me a bit. It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” Mammon replied, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“No, I’m serious. You’ve got to listen to me. This isn’t going to end well.”

“C’mon, I know the difference between bein’ teased and being mocked.”

“With your brothers maybe, but I know my father.”

“What, you think I’m too stupid to be able to figure it out? Is that it?”

“Woah! I did not say that at all!”

Mammon was getting irritated now. Did you really think he couldn’t handle himself? He wasn’t a child. He had centuries more experience than you, especially when it came to dealing with people trying to insult him. Didn’t you have any faith in him? Or did you just not want him getting close to your father? Was this your way of keeping him out of your family? That thought stung.

“Then stop doubtin’ me. I ain’t a child.”

“Mammon...that’s...I just...ughhhh,” what were you even supposed to say to that? Of course you knew he wasn’t a child. But you still wanted to protect him. You loved him more than anything and didn’t want him to get hurt.

And you knew your father. You spent your whole childhood learning his ways, the keywords he’d use just before he’d turn on you, the trick questions he’d ask so that he could twist your responses. You had to learn these things, it was a matter of self preservation. Why couldn’t Mammon just trust you on this? What did he think he had to prove by going through so much trouble to befriend your father?

“Whatever. I’m goin’ back out there. Don’t come back until you’re ready to let me handle this,” he snapped, leaving you behind in the dim hallway as you fought back tears of frustration.

Why wouldn’t he listen to you? Did he really think that you saw him that way? Like he was some overgrown child you were stuck looking after that couldn’t be trusted to tie his own shoes? Nothing could be further from the truth. You believed in him more than he believed in himself. Did he not realize that?

Just as you had decided to stop feeling sorry for yourself and head back out to the family room to at least witness the conversation, even if he didn’t want you intervening, you heard raised voices and then a full belly laugh from your father. You hurried down the hall only to have to stop dead in your tracks to prevent yourself from colliding into Mammon, as he stomped past you to get to the front door. When you looked back from where he came, you saw your father wiping tears of glee from his eyes, while your mother and sister looked at you absolutely horrified.

“What did you do?!” you yelled, entering the family room once more.

Your father was too busy laughing to answer, so you turned your sights on your mother, who now was refusing to look you in the eye. Your sister finally spoke up, trying to explain what happened.

“Dad…”

“Shut up.” Your father had stopped laughing now and was glaring at your sister, who immediately snapped her mouth shut.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing. I was just teasing your boyfriend and he couldn’t handle a joke. That’s all.”

“Whatever you did wasn’t teasing. I tease him. That was not what that looked like.”

“Well, I guess he’s just a bit of a pansy then isn’t he? If he can’t handle a good joke, that’s not my fault.”

“You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You were an asshole. That’s all I need to know. Sorry for leaving early, Mom,” you said, holding your hands up in mock surrender as you left. Your father wasn’t worth your time. You knew this song and dance. It was one you were intimately familiar with. You had more important things to worry about now, like finding Mammon.

————

You hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to find him, seeing as your car keys were still in your pocket. And you were right. As soon as you opened the front door, there he was sitting on the step leading to the porch, elbows resting on his knees.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting down beside him.

“Hey.”

“Why are you here?”

“...I was going to get in the car but then I remembered I didn’t have the keys. So…”

“Oh.”

“Bet you really want to say it now huh? ‘I told ya so!’”

“Mammon...no…” you gripped his arm closest to you, giving it a reassuring squeeze. There was so much you wanted to talk to him about, but this wasn’t the place for it, “Come on, let’s go sit in the car.”

He didn’t object as you tugged him to his feet and led the way, though he was a bit confused when you opened the back door and motioned for him to slide in beside you. He didn’t feel up to arguing about it though, and took his seat before closing the door.

No sooner had he closed the car door than you had wrapped your arms around his neck and slipped into his lap, all in one smooth motion. The only thing he could do was hug you back. He was so stupid. He yelled at you. And for what? So he could impress your father? It wasn't worth it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, burying your face into his neck, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is. I should have been there. I should have made him stop the first time. I should…”

“You tried. This was me. I was stupid. I shouda listened. Shoulda known better than to think I could do this…”

“No, no, no, no, no,” you pulled away so you could hold Mammon’s face in your hands, “Please, please don’t say that. This had nothing to do with you. This is my father. He’s an awful, miserable person. Don’t you dare let him make you feel bad about yourself. Please.”

You were looking right into his eyes, begging him to believe you. How could you make him understand?

“You talked to my mom didn’t you? She really liked you, I could tell. That’s how it’s supposed to work when you talk to a normal person. My sister liked you too. YOU are not the problem here.”

Mammon offered you a weak smile. You were right in a way. Your mom and your sister did seem to like him. And he enjoyed talking to them too. But that didn’t change the fact that things had gone horribly with your father because he was too stupid to see what was right in front of him.

“Mammon, this is what he does. He makes you doubt yourself. And if you call him on it, he plays it off as a joke and implies it’s you that has the problem. But it’s not you at all. It’s never you. Please believe me.”

You pulled Mammon close to you again, kissing his cheek, before burying your head in your arms. Growing up, you had thought that being on the receiving end of your dad’s verbal abuse and manipulation was bad enough. But nothing could have prepared you for how excruciatingly painful it would be to watch someone you loved be subjected to the same treatment. All while you were powerless to stop it from happening.

“...is that what it was like for you…?” Mammon asked. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He sorta figured that a father would treat their own child better. You had told him stories, sure, about what your childhood had been like. But saying “My father is an asshole” is still pretty vague and open to interpretation. He couldn’t have imagined that how he was treated today would have been normal for you.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He tightened his arms around your waist now, wanting to hold you as close as he could manage. You had to deal with that? Every day? For years? And all while you were still a child? He was used to his brothers giving him shit, but he was at least an “adult” by human standards, so he was able to defend himself if he wanted or ignore them altogether. But as a child, you wouldn’t have been able to do that. You would have been helpless but to listen and to take it.

“...’m sorry for yellin’ at ya and not listen’...”

“It’s ok,” you said, snuggling closer to him. Some very old wounds of yours had opened up again this afternoon, and you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about a small fight with Mammon right now. You just wanted to hold him and to be held. You needed that reminder that you weren’t trapped anymore.

As Mammon started to rub your back, you finally began to cry. You usually did a good job of compartmentalizing things, but watching how your father was with Mammon brought back too many vivid memories that you would have rather forgotten altogether. And you were surprised at just how much they still hurt too.

“I love you,” you sniffled, “So much. I’ve never once thought of you as a child. Please, please believe me…”

“I know babe, I know,” he replied, rubbing your back, “You were just lookin’ out for me right?”, you nodded in response, it was all you could manage right now, “Then it’s ok. I got ya.”

What had you done to deserve such an amazing partner? When you first arrived in the Devildom you were certain that it was just your bad luck acting out again. But after getting to know everyone, especially Mammon, you quickly realized it was the best thing to have ever happened to you. You felt like you had a family again. A real family. The sort of family you would want to see on holidays and would go out of your way to spend time with. Not like the toxic mess that was your childhood home.

It wasn’t that his family didn’t have problems of its own, but in the short time you had known them, they had all worked hard to improve their relationships with one another. What did it say about your father, you wondered, that a bunch of literal demons had better relationships with their siblings than he did with you? That they could make you feel more loved and more valued than he ever did?

As you cried into Mammon’s neck, he continued rubbing your back soothingly, occasionally turning to kiss your cheek or neck (whichever was easiest to get to). He had never seen you this upset. Even after everything with Belphegor and the times Lucifer literally tried to kill you. You handled those situations with grace he didn’t think possible. Though he guessed it's different when a family member intentionally attacks you on a daily basis than when a pissed off demon tries to retaliate. Not that it made those things any easier for him to deal with.

After awhile, your tears had finally dried and you tried to move off Mammon’s lap to the seat next to him, but he wouldn’t let you go. You smiled at him as you wiped at your eyes and dried off your face. And he just watched you, the softest look in his eyes. The sort of look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Sorry, I think I got snot all over your jacket.”

“Eh, it’ll wash. If not, I can just buy another,” he said, eliciting a small laugh from you.

“Are you ok? I came out here to check on you and I ended up being the one crying.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I got someone more important ta worry about than a grumpy old man.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, so long as you’re ok, I’m ok.”

His response made you smile even more, and you pulled him into a quick hug before pressing a sweet, soft kiss to his lips, one he was all too happy to return. Just like you thought meeting him was the best thing to ever happen to you, he felt the same about meeting you. He couldn’t imagine his life without you, without your smile, in it now. And knowing what your family was like made that smile all the more precious to him. He might not be able to go back in time and prevent you from ever being hurt in the first place, but he could protect your smile now. And he would, for many, many years to come.

#gn!mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me angst #mammon fanfic #mammon angst

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365days365movies · 3 years

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Sports September I: Bull Durham (1988) - Recap (Part One)

I really want to get more into baseball.

Which is a weird statement, I know. If I like it so much, why am I not already into it? Well, I’ve only just recently started showing an interest in the sport. After all, I’m an American. And there are few things more stereotypically American than the “America’s greatest pastime”.

And I’ve been surrounded by baseball my entire life. My uncle is a huge fan of the Mets; I’m living in a Red Sox state, despite being Yankee trash; I played baseball as a middle school kid, and I genuinely enjoyed it, now that I think about it; and one of my absolute favorite films as a kid (and as a nostalgic adult) is The Sandlot. I mean, of course. Ain’t nothin’ as iconically nostalgic ‘90s as The Sandlot. And yet, as a kid, I knew about as much as the sport itself as Smalls did.

Sure, I know a bit from playing and watching movies like The Sandlot, The Kid, and Angels in the Outfield (almost forgot about that one, holy shit). Nine innings, three strikes and you’re out, bunting the ball, catcher, pitcher, innuendo (in-your-endo), outfield, infield, home run, three bases, me getting hit in ear when I was up to bat that one time because a kid from my old school was going up against us and kept distracting me while I was up to bat, but I got a goddamn walk from it, so IN YOUR FACE BERNHARDT (not his real name)

So what turned me around on the sport? Why do I now want to learn more about one’s of this country’s oldest and greatest traditions? And the answer is easy:

BASEBALL HISTORY IS CRAZY AS FUCK

Now, there’s a LOT of baseball history. Hell, documentarian Ken Burns made a critically-acclaimed and long-ass PBS series about it (that I have yet to watch, but REALLY WANT TO). So, there being some weird-ass shit in the history of the sport isn’t exactly a surprise. But, like...baseball concentrates it somehow. Don’t believe me? Here are some of baseball’s greatest hits PUN ENTHUSIASTICALLY INTENDED:

The high-five was invented (INVENTED) by Dusty Baker and Glenn Burke of the Oakland A’s in 1977, after celebrating Baker’s 30th home run on the field. Burke was a gay African American man, the first openly gay baseball player in MBA history. And as a result, the high five gained its initial prominence as a way for the LGBT community to greet each other. YEAH! How’s THAT for a fun fuckin’ fact?!? I love it

17-year old pitcher Jackie Mitchell was the first female pitcher in professional baseball history, and was so fucking good, she struck out both Lou Gherig AND Babe fuckin’ Ruth!

Jackie Robinson was NOT the first Black American major league baseball player. Nor was Moses Fleetwood “Fleet” Walker, often called the actual first Black baseball player. No, that would actually be William Edward White, who played for the Providence Grays as a substitute pitcher in 1879. He was also the only baseball player to have been a slave. YEAH.

Enough history, time for the crazy shit. Bill Veeck was a baseball team owner who LOVED sensationalism. He would give away live animals to random audience members, ranging from chickens, to lobsters, to FUCKING HORSES. He gave anyone named “John” a free ticket for a game. He hired the first little person as a pitcher...although that’s a little on the shittier side, given the context, but I digress. He was HATED by other owners, and this culminated in the absolute clusterfuck that was 1979′s Disco Demolition Night. It began with a promotion for free tickets if you brought a disco record to be destroyed. It ended with a riot, the visiting team fleeing in fear, and a crowd that contained 30,000 more people than Veeck expected, most of whom were fucking SMASHED. It’s a fucking glorious moment in baseball history, and I’m BARELY covering the chaos here. Check it out, it’s fucking NUTS.

You want some chaos? I WILL GIVE YOU CHAOS. In 1974, the Cleveland Indians held a promotion known as Ten Cent Beer Night. You now know part of the problem. The other problem was that there was a limit imposed on how many beers could be bought in a single purchase...but not how many purchases one could make. The result? Streakers, mooning, a middle-aged woman walked onto the field and flashed the pitcher like a confident queen, and EVERYBODY rushing onto the goddamn stage, causing the players to beat them off WITH BASEBALL BATS. Jesus Christ, how could this get crazier?

Yankees Pitchers Fritz Peterson and Mike Kekich...switched wives and kids. I’m not even gonna elaborate on that, THEY SWITCHED FUCKIN’ FAMILIES. It...it gets crazier, but I have somebody else to talk about...

The best for last. There was a man, a beautiful majestic man, named George Edward “Rube” Waddell. My man “The Rube” was one of the greatest pitchers in baseball history, TO THIS DAY. He was also A WALKING TORNADO OF WHAT THE FUCK.

Rube Waddell chased fire engines. Yeah. If he was on the mound and a fire truck drove by, he left the mound (IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GAME) and chased that fucker down. He wore red clothes beneath his uniform just in case, despite never being a firefighter.

Fans of rival teams caught onto this, and were able to draw Rube off the mound with puppies and shiny objects. AND IT WORKED. AND I AM NOT FUCKING JOKING. This behavior almost ended his career. Well, that and...

He would sometimes disappear, only to be found bartending at a bar nearby the stadium. He did not work at these bars; he just spontaneously tended at them. He would run into the stadium, then change into his uniform while going through the stands! I’m gonna credit him with inventing streaking.

He wrestled alligators as a job in his off-seasons.

At some point during the off-season, he was bitten by a lion, A FUCKING LION, and NOBODY KNOWS HOW OR WHY. WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK I LOVE THIS MAN

And, again during the off-seasons, Rube once saved 13 people from drowning IN A SINGLE YEAR. This dude was ridiculous, and somehow also a hero. And this heroism would eventually lead to his death from pneumonia in 1913, exacerbated by the previous year of saving people during a catastrophic flood.

NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

...Oh, right, Bull Durham.

This movie, directed by Ron Shelton and starring walking, mumbling piece of cardboard Kevin Costner, is considered one of the greatest sports films of all-time. It’s also potentially based on a true story, which just fuels my interests more. I just watched The Battered Bastards of Baseball on Netflix last night, so I’m super into historical baseball films at the moment!

With that, let’s go! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap: Part One

youtube

We’re treated to a Ken Burns’ style introduction, as we’re brought into the fold by baseball fan and groupie Annie Savoy (Susan Sarandon), who loves baseball SO MUCH that she makes an effort to fuck every baseball player she can, provided that they’re actually good. Yeah, there’s a whole diatribe about this, and her worship at the all-hallowed Church of Baseball. And honestly...I’m already sold. It’s very effective, and I’m ready for some worship.

At this Church, in this case being the Durham Bulls Athletic Park, in North Carolina, we’re treated to the dancing and clowning of fuckin’ Max Patkin, the Clown Prince of Baseball, and a real actual baseball clown, performing for audiences since the 1940s. Yeah, didn’t know baseball clown was fuckin’ thing, didja? God, I love this shit. Patkin even worked for Bill Veeck, AS THE COACH FOR THE CLEVELAND INDIANS! Also, that team really needs to change their name, but anyway. Genuine piece of baseball history here! Fantastic!

Making his debut in the stadium that night is Ebby Laloosh (Tim Robbins), a rookie pitcher with a fantastic fastball, and a lackadaisical nature. He’s late for the game, as he’s having a bit of a romp with Millie (Jenny Roberston), daughter of the owner of the stadium. She’s friends with Annie, and she helps to measure the speed of balls thrown by the pitchers.

The game against the Peninsula White Sox commences, and Ebby...Ebby is an absolutely shitty pitcher, holy shit. His speed is extremely high, but his accuracy is non-goddamn-existent! He throws the ball into the stands, the announcer’s booth, the mascot’s fleshy body, a batter’s ass...it’s not a great experience, or demonstration of his skill. Annie and Millie watch this, with Annie passing notes to the coach of the team, Joe “Skip” Riggins (Trey Wilson).

At the end of the game, Skip and assistant coach Larry Hockett (Robert Wuhl) summarize the game, and Laloosh’s unrealized potential, saying he has a “million-dollar arm with a five cent head”. At this point, they’re greeted by disaffected twelve-year veteran Lawrence “Crash” Davis (Kevin Costner), whom they’ve brought there to try and reign Laloosh in, while teaching him some semblance of accuracy. However, David is REALLY disaffected, and refuses at first...until immediately agreeing to come in as catcher.

That night at the bar, Max Patkin is talking to Annie, and introduces her to Crash Davis. Now that Annie has begun her pathway towards Inevitable Love Interest (because that’s obvious), she also gets introduced to Laloosh. They briefly scuffle over dancing rights with her, until Annie just ends up dancing with Max instead, as it should be.

Even then, Laloosh prompts a fight with David outside, like a proper dick. But Davis dares him to hit him not with his fists, but with a ball. He guesses that Laloosh is going to miss, even at that range, and he guesses correctly. An enraged Laloosh goes up to hit him, only to get fucking LEVELED by Davis immediately, and he FINALLY introduces himself as the teach catcher. Not bad, Crash.

Although, I have to say one thing...Kevin Costner is still Kevin Costner. He’s...not not the most emotional actor, y’know? He’s actually the exact opposite, and remains one of the driest actors I’ve ever seen. How he’s been successful this whole time, I have no idea. And, like, Max Patkin’s not exactly a great actor, but he’s at lest more convincingly emotional than Costner is at any point. I...I might not be Kevin Costner’s biggest fan. I mean, he’s not bad in The Untouchables, and I guess he’s fine in Dances with Wolves, but...have you SEEN Waterworld? Jesus.

Anyway, after learning lesson number one (”Don’t think.”), they head back inside. Annie invites them both to her place, setting up what is definitely not going to be the source of future conflict. By the way, this is a good time to mention that Annie has this thing she does. See, she selects one specific player to be with throughout the course of a baseball season. And by all indications, her selection progress is, uh...thorough.

As she details this to the pair, and the fact that they’re the two prospects for the season she’s chosen, Crash shows doubts. He leaves, but not before challenging Annie’s beliefs with his own beliefs about matters of the heart.

I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman’s back, the hangin’ curveball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a Constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, softcore pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. Goodnight.

...Huh. That’s a hell of a speech. Annie agrees, and asks him out on a date formally. He refuses, which intrigues her further, and bids tonight to her and Laloosh, whom he calls “Meat”. As he goes to walk through the town, Annie ties Laloosh to the bed under the pretense of having sex, then just reads Walt Whitman to him. which is, for the record, goddamn hilarious.

The next morning we meet a few more of the ball club members, including the devout Jimmy (William O’Leary) and the Santeria practicing Jose (Rick Marzan). Laloosh comes in to the locker room and reveals both that they didn’t have any sex that night, and that he has a new nickname given to him by Annie: Nuke. Nice name, honestly. Soon after, we get to see the team in action. At bat, Crash has some difficulties at the bat, which we also hear him his inner monologue. Makes sense that he understands Laloosh’s problems, given his own internal monologue. However, he ends up getting struck out, and this is noticed by Annie, who tells him what he’s doing wrong with his swing. He replies with a note of his own, and the two meet at the batting cage the next day.

At the batting cages, Annie seems to have chosen Nuke for the season, with Crash having had his chance. Crash is a little frustrated by this, and tells her off a bit, but the two become friends. This is directly followed by Nuke and Annie having sex, only for her to accidentally call him “Crash”. Yeah, ILE status incoming.

The season progresses, and we get to know more of the team, as well as see some stunts on the field, like dropping money from a helicopter that a bunch of little leaguers are sent to grab. Some real Bill Veeck style shit, which I can dig. All the while, Crash tries to help Nuke out (and tells the opposing batters what pitches he’s throwing specifically to teach him a lesson), but the arrogant Nuke doesn’t listen at first. But eventually, he starts realizing that Nuke actually knows what he’s doing. And he starts improving...slowly.

The Bulls head out on tour, during which Crash reveals his 21-day stint in “the Show”, AKA the Major Leagues. As always, the arrogant Nuke tells him off, taking taking umbrage both at Crash’s advice, and his repetition of the nickname “Meat”, the origin of which is still unrevealed. They get into a fight on the tour bus, which is quickly broken up.

Crash’s comment about Nuke wasting his Major League potential is true, though, as his pitches keep getting hit, and the team keeps up a losing streak as a result. Dude really needs to get his shit together and listen to Crash and Annie. As a result, the team’s morale is low, and Nuke’s morale is especially down. One night, Crash takes a group of the players to the stadium, with a plot to get a rainout for the game the following night. He does this by breaking into the stadium and setting off the sprinklers a bit to early, flooding the field.

That night, Nuke has a dream of the entire stadium laughing at him on the mound, as he’s only wearing a jockstrap and Annie’s garter belt, which she gave him to wear for good luck (and to take his ever-present mind off his pitches). This is on the way back home after their less-than-successful foray out of Durham. In a reunion with Annie, he reveals his frustrations, and she tries to give him advice of her own. And for once, he actually takes it, as well as Crash’s advice. He even wears the garter belt, but goes through a bit of straight guy panic.

But even that has the desired effect, as Nuke actually has a good game! In his own head, he’s even calling himself “Meat”, despite not knowing the origin of the name. As does Crash, although he’s been doing well the entire season, unsurprisingly. Even still, he cant resist sabotaging one of his pitches one more time. But with that, the winning streak begins.

Great place to pause! See you in Part Two!

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beetlebitchywitch · 3 years

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So hi! I wrote this fic back in December as part of a Secret Santa with the Dante’s Inferno AU crowd, and I got @neitherworld! And since some people are being RUDE and claiming self-shippers are just too cowardly to ship Beetleb@bes, here’s the fic I wrote of her OC Bambi and Movie Beej on a special night at Dante’s to show how fun of a character she is. Enjoy!

WARNING: Mild nudity, some sexy stuff, I’d say rated M but not fully NSFW

Like any normal night at Dante’s, the bass was thumping so heavily Bambi could feel it rattling her posture collar. Her eyes scanned the show floor, catching Madame’s gaze for only a moment before she was off to scold a random ghoul for getting too handsy during his lapdance. Up on the stage, Mal was winding around the pole in a way that enchanted everyone in attendance, though the way Lorelai’s wings glittered under the spotlight as she danced her famous “feather fan” number drew just as much attention. She grumbled good naturedly under her breath as she turned back to face the bar- honestly, those two had such natural moneymakers, and here she was stuck with a stupid jello neck. Whatever, her tits made up for any lack of “exotic” flavor. Speaking of flavor, the bright pink cocktail on the bartop was calling her name, set down gently by Niphera with a soft smile. Bambi squealed, bringing the drink to her lips before pausing for a moment, sending them a sly smile.

“NiNi, what’s in this exactly?” she asked, thrumming her perfectly manicured nails against the bartop. She knew how much her...electric personality could overwhelm them, so she tried her best to keep her energy to herself while holding a conversation with them.

“Nothing that will get you too drunk for your next set,” they chuckled, wiping down a glass absentmindedly. “You know Madame doesn’t like it when you perform after drinking too much.”

“Oh, what does she know?” she huffed, the cocktail sloshing a bit as she crossed her arms. “I happen to think that a little liquid courage makes my performances even better!”

“Perhaps. Or it could be like the time you yakked in a mafioso’s lap and had to use a week’s earnings to pay for his dry cleaning.”

Just the memory made Bambi pout even harder.

“Stupid prick, demon earns 20 times what I do shaking my ass by dealing in some shady shit and he has the nerve to take money outta my paycheck? And now I have to get cut off like some little baby impling.” She sighed deeply. “Whatever, this shit looks tasty anyway. Thanks, bubs.”

“Anytime,” Niphera said softly, getting back to pouring their next order of drinks. “Besides, it’s the least I could do on your birthday.”

Bambi’s eyes widened above the rim of her glass, which she excitedly put down with a beaming grin.

“My birthday? Goodness, how ever did you know about that?”

“Well, let’s see,” Niphera said with a sarcastic, but good natured bite. “Could it have been the notes under all of our pillows reminding us of your birthday? Or perhaps the sash you’re wearing right now that says ‘Birthday Girl’?”

Ok, so maybe Bambi could be a bit over the top. So she wanted a little extra attention on her special day, ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!

“Well, I’m glad my gentle reminders worked! Because today is my day and if I wanna celebrate it by getting wasted on Netherbooze and taking my top off, then that’s how I’m gonna do it!”

“Your top’s already off, Bam.”

She looked down, and then paused.

“...So it is...my bottoms then!”

With a heavy sigh, Niphera moved to the other side of the bar without a word, an unspoken cue for Bambi to leave them alone. Their relationship was odd, but Bambi did her best to make it work and respect their boundaries...most of the time. Sighing, she turned back to her drink, taking a few messy gulps and giggling when she could feel rivulets of booze trickling down her neck and between her tits. If anybody was watching her, they were sure getting a good show.

“Well hey there, little fawn. Ya sure seem to be enjoyin’ yourself.”

Bambi froze, her happy grin immediately turning to a small scowl. Of course he would be the one to show up looking for some tail and interrupting her night.

“What do you want, Juice?” she asked absentmindedly, “Can’t you see I’m a little busy?”

“Oh yeah, sure as hell can, sugar tits. I gotta admit, of all the fine specimens in this place, you sure do have the nicest rack,” he rasped, pulling out a slim cigarette and lighting it by setting the tips of his fingers on fire. He took a deep drag, holding it for a moment before letting out a hard cough, not even hiding his amused smirk when the smoke blew into Bambi’s face, causing her to break into a coughing fit. She glared up at him even as her lungs spasmed, questioning whether a slap to the face or a knee to the nuts would be more fun for her.

“Well,” she interjected, letting out her last few coughs. “You sure know how to treat a lady, don’t you?”

“Come on now, babes, I don’t see no lady here,” he said with a grin, taking another puff of his cig and thankfully blowing it behind him. “But I do see a smokin’ hot broad in need of a good time.”

“Since when do I have a good time with you?” she retorted, sticking her tongue impishly. She was exaggerating, of course- her and Beetlejuice had plenty of fun teasing and playing cat and mouse before retiring upstairs for a quickie, but tonight she was not in the mood. She was tipsy, she looked drop dead gorgeous with her tits out and smothered in body glitter, and she felt like a bad bitch, so she wasn’t about to let some shambling corpse turn her into his pet for the night. She turned back to her drink, fully intent on ignoring him completely until he went off to hump some other unlucky girl’s leg. After a few moments, when she could still feel his presence behind her, she grunted in annoyance, turning back around. “Ain’t anybody ever tell ya it’s impolite to stare, stunad?”

“Ooh, I didn’t know the little deer had claws,” he laughed, only infuriating her more. “Besides, ya ever known me to be polite? Remember who you’re talkin’ too, babes.”

God, she was getting so fed up with this conversation. She was not gonna let some lousy, rancid, good for nothin’ ghost ruin her big night. She turned her stool towards him and shot him with a withering stare, which infuriatingly only seemed to amuse him further. She was about to give her a piece of her mind when- “Well, would ya look at that. Didn’t realize I was talkin’ to the birthday girl.”

Her eyes widened, them flitting down to the sash practically crushed between her tits.

“Yeah…what’s it to ya?” she asked warily. Her and Beetlejuice had clearly never been fond of one another, so she doubted he had anything good up his sleeve for her, and goddammit she just wanted to enjoy her fucking birthday! “I swear to Satan, Juice, if you pull any funny shit I won’t even have to call Ivan, I’ll rip that pencil you call a dick off from between your legs myself.”

While she hoped she sounded even the tiniest bit threatening, she was met with a bellyaching laugh from the ghost with the most, causing her to pout and cross her arms indignantly.

“One helluva performance, dollface, but ya don’t gotta worry. Not even I would pull any tricks on a lady’s birthday. In fact…”

She watched with a difficultly admitted curiosity as he began to rustle around his filthy coat, cringing only slightly when puffs of dirt floated to the floor as he aggressively searched his multiple pockets. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he rustled around for a few seconds more before pulling out-

Oh.

“Holy smokes,” Bambi murmured in awe, staring at the absolutely stunning diamond ring clutched between Beetlejuice’s fingertips. With a high pitched squeal, she bounced up and down on the stool, reaching out to snatch the ring from him and slide it onto her finger. “A little snug, but damn that’s one helluva rock! Juice, what-”

“Least I could do, since it’s your birthday and all, kid,” he said dismissively, looking...sheepish? Bambi smirked, grabbing onto the lapels of his coat and pulling him in close, noticing how his eyes immediately fell to her exposed tits now that there was only a foot between them, wide with shock that she was actually seemingly coming onto him.

“Is that all you wanted to give me for my birthday, BJ?” she asked sweetly, her words so laden with honey that you’d think they were in a beehive. Immediately, his demeanor flipped from shock back to his typical shtick, growling softly beneath his breath as he wrapped both arms around her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin.

“I can think of a million things I could do to that pretty little body that’d make this birthday one you’d never forget, little fawn,” he growled softly. This close, she could smell the musty dampness of him, though it never perturbed her, letting out a tiny squeal of a giggle as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Just one question, Juice,” she whimpered teasingly, letting her tongue drag lasciviously across her lower lip. She could feel the ache in him as he held her close, but it was always her MO to tease before letting him have her...if she would let him have her.

“Anything, doll,” he assured her, clutching her waist tighter with desperation. “Ya wanna go topside and wreak some havoc? Come home covered in blood and fuck while we’re all messy? Come on, babes, say the word and I’ll have ya back before Madame can notice yer gone.”

“Mm, that does sound nice,” she mused, sliding one hand down his cheek and chest before walking her fingers back up slowly, daintily, feeling his need for her increase with every gentle touch. “But BJ, I gotta know…” She cupped his jaw and pulled him in close, her lips hovering above his ear as she spoke with the softest whisper. “...Is the rock real?”

She had her answer just by the way he stiffened in her arms. Fucking cheapskate.

“Now hold on, babes, ya don’t understa-”

Before he could even finish his sentence, she was out of his arms and grabbing the last half of her drink, splashing it in his face without a care. God did it fill her with power to see him standing there, floundering with booze dripping down his skin and suit and taking a layer of grime with it. She smirked, hopping down off her stool with her typical bounciness.

“Find some other pussy to give herpes to, Juice,” she quipped happily, as if she hadn’t just threw her drink in his face. “If ya wanted a cheap slut, you shouldn’t have come knockin’ on my door...I’m keepin’ the ring though. It may be fake, but hey, so is half of me!”

And with that, she was back off to the floor, sliding up a pole without a care in the world as the crowd cheered around her, and Beetlejuice just continued to stare. She knew he’d get her back for this someday, but for now, she had to say that, either living or dead, this was the best birthday she’d ever had.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice fanfiction #Beetlejuice x oc #dante’s inferno #Dante’s inferno au #beetleb@bes dni #I mean it #I’ve got more important shit to do than argue about fandom discourse so don’t even try

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muchadoaboutbucky · 4 years

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Baby, Just Say Yes

Bucky keeps asking you to marry him… but you want him to do something before you say yes.

PAIRING: Bucky x Native American!Reader

WARNINGS: fluff, implied smut

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. My prompt was: “I want to do something for her… but what?” / “Well, there’s the usual things: flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep…” -Beast and Cogsworth, Beauty and the Beast

become a patron for just $3

Bucky has no idea how he’s gone two years without marrying you. It’s been sweet and charming, being able to wake up next to you every morning, nestled in soft, warm sheets and dot each other’s cheeks and lips with sticky kisses. And then to make love in the same bed hours later and fall asleep entangled in each other’s arms. It’s been two years of that, living as lovers destined to never grow apart, and you’ve been happy.

But Bucky wants more. He wants rings, a white chiffon dress, a black tux, a pretty bouquet of flowers, a three-tier cake, the words “I do...”

No matter how many times he jokingly hints that he wants to marry you, it always gets brushed aside. He understands why—weddings are expensive and anything could throw a wrench in your plans. Missions, injuries, the nightmares of moving too fast, babymaking, baby raising… ugh, fuck.

He’s been trying for a while, playing with the little jokes: “you know, if we got married we could…” and “the Bahamas look like a good honeymoon destination.” Each time you play along, working into his fantasies only to push them away for the right time.

After six months of playing around proposals, too scared to go for some huge romantic gesture that might pressure you into saying “yes,” Bucky’s stuck. He has no idea what he has to do to get you to marry him, and it’s driving him nuts.

He finds you in the library, curled up on one of the large couches with a cup of coffee and a heavy astronomy book Thor had brought from Asgard that you’ve been infatuated with for weeks. With you being one of the few non-Asgardians able to read the text, Bucky makes sure to praise your intelligence every opportunity he gets, taking pride in being able to get in on the who-has-the-better-girl thing that Thor and Tony always have going on.

“Hey, smarty-pants.” He plops down next to you, leans in to give you a smooch on the cheek, and takes a peek at the symbols etched on delicate paper. “What’s going on?”

“Reading some deep-space astronomy facts.” You turn to face him, smiling wearily. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” Bucky slings his arm across the couch behind you. “I was thinking, if we got married we could have our cake made with all these little symbols on it.”

“That would be so tacky,” you giggle, “they’re pretty, but they don’t belong on a cake, babe.”

Bucky groans and drops his head on your shoulder. “You could design the cake, then?”

“What if I want pie?”

“Who has pie at their wedding?”

You lean forward to set the book on the coffee table. “My aunt did.”

“Blegh.” Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck and kisses the sensitive spot that always makes you squirm. “Nothin’s better than cake. This bakery in Brooklyn used to make this vanilla spice cake with buttercream. I bet you’d never taste anything better.”

You laugh as he leans forward, pressing you down into the couch and sitting himself on top of you, hips lazily slotted between your thighs. “I don’t know, the cupcakes Wanda made the other night were pretty top notch.”

“Maybe she could make our cake.” Bucky kisses you, long and deep, not stopping until your palms press against his chest. “What do you think?” he continues, “chocolate or vanilla?”

“Why do you want cake so bad?” You giggle when his fingers creep under the hem of your sweater. “I think there’s still some cupcakes left.”

Bucky grumbles. “I want wedding cake. Probably as much as I want you to marry me.”

“Babe—”

“What do I have to do to get you to marry me, honey?” Bucky gazes down at you, pulling the best puppy-eyed expression he can muster. “Please, just tell me.”

You cock an eyebrow, gazing up at him with the mysterious, wicked gleam in your eyes that he loves so much. “I think you’re smart enough to come up with something.”

Bucky frowns. “What?”

“I trust your imagination.” You rub your foot along the side of his thigh.

He lowers his head to bury his lips against the side of your neck. “You’re playing with me.”

You giggle in his ear. “I’m not.”

Lifting his head, Bucky rakes his eyes over your face. There’s the playful tease there, of course, it always is, but there’s something else… desperation, maybe?

“Hmm.” He kisses you again and pulls away. “What kind of surprise d’ya want?”

“Any kind.” You reach for your book and flip back to the page he’d interrupted. “Pizza for dinner tonight okay?”

He nods. “Definitely. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

***

He finds Tony an hour later, busy in the lab with a new piece of technology for Pepper’s suit. Tony barely glances up as Bucky enters, but sets down the tools in his hands.

“Your arm need fixing, again?” Tony casts a quick glance at the black and gold glint of Bucky’s left arm.

“Not this time,” Bucky replies. “I, uh, I need your help.”

Tony reaches out in front of him, swiping through the suspended display hovering over his work table. “Y/N giving you trouble again?”

“A little,” Bucky replies with a nervous chuckle, “I need to get Y/N to marry me.”

Tony chuckles. “She hasn’t said yes yet? You’ve only been asking her for the last… how long has it been?”

“Six months.” Bucky tucks his hands into his pockets. “All I did was ask her what I have to do to get her to marry me, she said to surprise her, so… I want to do something for her… but what?”

Tony pulls a heavy leather glove off his right hand and rummages in a half-finished bag of trail mix. “Well, there’s the usual things. Flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep…”

Bucky sighs, shaking his head, and braces his hands on the worktable. “I don’t know what she could want. Not a car, we have one that we barely use… maybe a vacation?”

“Well, the Bahamas are nice,” Tony suggests. “You can always use the jet.”

Bucky bows his head, racking his brain for all the little hints you could have made. Sure, you’ve made hints about wanting a vacation someplace nice, or mentioned staying abroad the next time you went on an international mission… maybe you’re tired of being around people almost twenty-four seven. Maybe you want a place to call your own, where you and Bucky can be as messy and loud and as free as possible…

“A house.” He steps back, flexing his fingers by his sides. “I should build her a house.”

“Then build her a house,” Tony finishes. “Lemme finish this thing for Pepper, then we can talk. I got some old blueprints for safehouses I never finished.”

“Got it.” Bucky steps back as Tony picks up his tools to resume work on the piece of armor in front of him. “D’you mind not telling her? I wanna keep this a surprise.”

“No problem.” Tony waves him off. “See you ‘round, Barnes.”

***

It takes almost two weeks to get everything organized. After a long night of indecisiveness, Bucky settles on plans for a two-bedroom cabin and starts flipping through catalogues of furniture. It becomes a little easier to spread things out and organize when you and Natasha head off on a weekend getaway to the city.

By the time you return, Bucky’s got everything settled. Steve and Sam jump on the bandwagon to help get the place built just a little faster, and Tony works on constructing a false month-long mission, just as an excuse to keep you and the others unaware.

As usual, you wake Bucky early the day he’s supposed to head out, kissing him long and slow as he slowly flickers into consciousness, one hand working on his morning erection until he flips you over and settles inside with long, slow strokes that have your toes curling. After the third alarm goes off, you finally stumble out of bed and into the shower, where you spend more time kissing and touching than actually showering.

“I don’t want you to be gone a whole month.” You perch on the edge of the bed, hair wrapped in a towel, one of Bucky’s henleys shrouding your torso. “Not fair that Tony didn’t ask me to come along.”

Bucky smiles, bending down to kiss your forehead. “Just think ‘bout how much fun we can have when it’s over?”

“You’re only making it worse.”

“Mmm.” Bucky hikes his jeans up around his waist. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

***

It takes the better part of their given month, but the moment the final stone on the front steps is laid into place, Bucky’s heart soars. The house had come along much better and faster than they’d expected it to, and the construction crew had been more than happy to have the help of two superhumans to move heavier materials into place.

With the crew finally cleaned and gone, it’s down to the four men to set up the furniture. It takes the better part of the day, but eventually the empty house is left full of brand new furniture, the greatest piece (in Bucky’s opinion, at least) being the massive bed perched in the bedroom. Tony had graciously contributed a plush foam mattress as a housewarming gift, complete with soft linen sheets and pillows large enough to serve as backrests for the couch.

They head back to the tower after proclaiming the house fit to live in, and Bucky pockets the key to the front door with a smile on his face.

You spring into his arms the minute he steps off the Quinjet, peppering his cheeks with kisses as he cradles you against his body.

“How was your mission?” You cup his face, stroking the growing beard on his cheeks. “You haven’t shaved.”

“Mmm.” Bucky leans in to press a scruffy kiss to your lips. “Lemme take a shower and I’ll tell ya all about it.”

***

The following day is spent mostly in bed. Bucky doesn’t have a care for anything in the world other than reconnecting, and you only leave the privacy of your bedroom to grab snacks from the kitchen. Bucky admires the way your nightshirt falls to cover the tops of your thighs, but he can’t wait for you to not have to dress at all.

When the sun begins to set, Bucky swipes the keys to his personal car from the hanger by the door and slips the little black velvet box into his back pocket. He finds you in the kitchen, bickering with Sam and Steve over the best way to prepare the sauce for spaghetti night.

“Babe.” He winds an arm around your waist and presses his lips to your temple. “Get your shoes on.”

“Why?” You turn in his arms, watching him give Steve and Sam pointed looks. “These guys don’t know how to prep sauce, I’m trying to teach ‘em.”

“I wanna go for a drive.” He pats his metal hand against your ass. “Let’s go.”

You grumble and step into a pair of flip flops, following him obediently down to the garage. The Mercedes Bucky had bought the year before sits in the furthest stall, holding three months’ worth of dust on the silver paint and tinted windows.

“Where are we going?” you ask, sliding into the passenger seat. “You hate driving in the city, are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“Nope.” Bucky lowers himself into the driver’s side and slides the key into the ignition before rummaging in his jacket pocket and handing you the sleep mask he’d snagged from your bedside drawer. “Put this on.”

You giggle, accepting the blindfold and slipping the band over your head. “I wanna know where we’re going.”

“It’s a surprise.” Bucky leans across the console to kiss you and tugs the blindfold the rest of the way down.

“Well, how long do I have to keep this thing on?”

Bucky glances down at the ETA on his phone. “An hour. I’ll let you know when to take it off.”

He waits for the garage door to open and watches traffic almost instantly come to a stop behind the automatic red lights Tony had build in front of the tower. The city’s still wildly lit, and he clenches his fingers on the steering wheel as he turns down the road, heading to the closest highway onramp.

***

He pulls onto the newly paved driveway just over an hour later, heart pounding hard in his chest. The lights in the house are off, and he parks far enough away for you to not hear the sound of the front door opening.

“Stay right here,” he directs, “and no peeking. Got it?”

“Got it.” You duck your head down, overcompensating for the no-peeking rule, and Bucky climbs out of the car, jogs up onto the porch, and unlocks the front door as quietly as he can. The lights flicker on in each room, and he makes his rounds to check for cleanliness before coming back out. You’re still hunched over in the passenger seat, and he opens your door, reaching in to help you out.

“I smell grass,” you remark, “don’t tell me you’re gonna kill me and bury my body out in some field. I deserve my own mausoleum.”

“I would never.” Bucky pecks your cheek and pulls you back, standing far enough away from the house to get a full view. “There we go… on three, you can take your blindfold off.”

You giggle and bounce excitedly. “I’m beyond ready, get to counting.”

“Okay.” Bucky wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. “One… two… three.”

Lifting the mask off, you blink several times to let your eyes adjust, and then you let out a little squeak and cover your mouth.

“Is this…” you gasp, fanning your face excitedly, “holy shit, Bucky, is this….”

“Our new house?” He hums and lets you turn in his arms. “Definitely. You really think we went on a month-long mission?”

Tears bloom in your eyes, and you cup his face, stretching up to kiss him. “I can’t believe you built a house, babe.”

“Well, I did,” he replies proudly, reaching into his back pocket. “Laid each stone on that porch myself. And since I got that out of the way…”

You let out a sniffle as he drops to one knee, flipping a little box open to reveal the small silver band nestled inside. “Oh, Bucky…”

“I’ve loved you for the last two years of my life,” he says, “I wanna spend every minute I have left with you as my wife. Will you marry me?”

You nod, and Bucky breathes a sigh of relief, slipping the ring onto your finger and discarding the box on the ground as he rises to scoop you into his arms. “I love you so goddamn much, honey,” he murmurs as you bury your face in his shoulder, your body trembling with sobs. “Wanna go inside?”

You nod excitedly and squeal when Bucky hoists you up, carrying you bridal style up the stairs and over the threshold. He turns, gives one last look at the darkened sky, and kicks the door shut, sealing you alone in a brand new chapter of your perfect little life.

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MARVEL TAGS: @beefcakebarnes @breezy1415 @cosicas-cuquis @daughterofthenight117 @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @suz-123

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky x reader

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alarajrogers · 3 years

Text

Why Autistic Women Have Issues With Gender

“27 Things Every Woman Will Recognize and Hate”: not me. I guess I’m not a woman? Last I checked, cis, has vagina, I think that makes me a woman...

“Ladies, don’t you hate when your man does--” oops. That’s me. I’m the one who does that. Mea culpa.

“35 Things That Happen While Shopping That Every Woman Will Relate To”: um. If I squint real hard I can pretend the one about “the really nice top you found says ‘Boobs, Brunch and Babes’ on the front” is instead “the really nice pretty notebook you found has a Bible quote on the front”, but aside from that... I got nothin’.

And nobody mentions as a problem “you found one really attractive thing that fits you, so you go to buy the same thing in all the other colors, but either they don’t have your size in any other color or the cut is slightly different and so the other colors don’t fit you, so now you have to go through the hell of looking for another thing instead of being done like you thought you were.”

Or “it’s a beautiful piece of clothing but the tag makes you want to scrape your skin off where it touched.”

“It’s a problem when your man always wants you to find everything” -- my man is blind. Wait. Am I not supposed to take this completely literally? Because I’m thinking I’m supposed to take it completely literally and therefore throwing out this complaint as it applies to me.

“Ugh, issues with makeup!”: if the issue is not “it feels disgusting so you don’t want to wear it but your mom is bitching at you that you should”, then it’s not my issue.

It became so much easier when I became a mom. I can read “10 Things Your Kid Does That Drive You Nuts” and laugh and go “wow, so relatable!” because apparently I am not really a woman, but I am really a mom.

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monsterlovinghours · 4 years

Note

Could I get something with Beetlejuice having ... Let's say "unconventional" genitals because demon shit and all and him, despite him being thirsty 24/7, actually being pretty self conscious about it and worried he will scare reader off for good when he finally whips it out? Fluff and reassurment and FILTHY xeno nsfw pleeaaase? I leave it to you what exactly our dear Bugman has down there. Prehensile dick? Tentacles? Vagina dentata? IDC! Go nuts

-He’s all talk and no show when you two first become an item. He leers, gropes, makes suggestive comments, but you never get beyond making out before he pulls back with some comment about you not respecting him in the morning.

-One night, after a particularly intense kiss that had his hand up your shirt, you pulled on his suspenders and pressed your hips up against his. Immediately, he jerked back, all but scrambling off the bed and into a far corner.

-You want to be annoyed, sitting up with a sigh, but then you notice his face...he looks worried, almost afraid. You tug your clothes back into place and cross to hug him.

-”Beejie? It’s okay, honey, we don’t have to...” Self doubt, cold as mist, creeps in, and you shrink against him, clutching him tighter. “Is...is it me?”

-”No!” He’s quick to refute that, wrapping you in an embrace so tight it knocks the wind out of you. “No, no, babes, it’s got nothin’ to do with you! You’re so sexy and I want you more than anything, but...”

-He trails off, burying his face in your hair. You rub a hand up his back to encourage him. “But?”

-”But...I’m not exactly...it’s not...normal.”

-You look up, confused. “What do you mean?”

-He sighs, dropping his arms from around you, and you take the hint and step back to give him some space. “I’m not human, babe! I’ve never been human. One could even go so far as to say I’m inhuman. My junk ain’t human either.” He slumps against the wall, running a hand back through his hopelessly disheveled hair.

-You sit back on the bed, watching him sympathetically as he continues. “I haven’t...y’know...not with a breather, anyway. ‘Specially not with someone I really like.” His cheeks tinged green in an otherworldly blush. “I don’t wanna...yknow, scare ya off.”

-His hair was turning a despairing shade of blue, and you couldn’t sit back any longer. You surged across the room and took his hands in yours, kissing at the corner of his mouth. “Lawrence,” you whispered, and he stiffened at the sound of his name. “I don’t care what you’re packing. I want you, and if you want me too, then we’ll figure out something that feels good for both of us. Okay? I know you’re tops at scaring, sweetheart, but I’m not gonna be run off so easily.”

-He smiles and kisses you back, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. “What did I ever do to deserve a breather like you, huh?” He lets you tug on his hand and lead him back over to the bed, where you sit him down and kneel between his legs.

-The striped, prehensile tentacle-like appendage that writhed between his legs definitely surprised you, but it wasn’t nearly as frightened as you were prepared for. You smile; this was what he was worried about? This was a cake walk!

-When you hold out your hand, it weaves itself between your fingers, exploring you. Give it a gentle pet, and Beej will let out a soft breath. “Feels good,” he confirms, and you give him another stroke.

-You notice that the more you handle it, the thicker and longer it becomes, beginning to secrete some kind of slippery substance. It feels a lot like regular old KY jelly, so it doesn’t bother you much. As you continue to stroke, smaller appendages begin to appear, these more like feelers, gently nudging along your wrist and forearm.

-You lower your head and guide the tip into your mouth, pleasantly surprised to find that he tastes vaguely sweet. He wriggles a bit in your mouth but you can tell he’s trying to keep as still as he can, not wanting to hurt you or scare you. The feelers stroke along your face; if you close your eyes you can almost mistake them for fingers.

-You’d be content to get him off this way; he’s making such pretty noises, whimpers and groans and high-pitched keens. But he pulls you off, his hair a bright pink and his chest heaving. “That feels amazing, sweets,” he says in a rough purr, before his hands clamp around your waist and throw you up onto the bed. Before you can blink, you feel something wriggling its way through your folds, something warm and thick, and soft nudges, like kisses, on the inside of your thighs. “But I wanna fuck you proper.”

-Well, who are you to argue?

-The moan you let out when he slips inside of you is nothing short of pornographic; no one you’ve ever been with, no toy you’ve ever used has ever felt so good. The way he writhes inside you, twisted and rubbing, leaving no inch of you untouched, makes you pant, makes you see stars.

-His hips begin to rock, and with each forward buck, it sought out that sweet spot and stroked it, pressed against it, making you keen and arch. Those smaller appendages left off their exploration of your thighs and came to focus on you.

-Got a vagina? They’ll rub and swirl around your clit. Have a dick instead? They’ll stroke it while you’re getting fucked.

-You’ll be lucky to remember your own name by the time he’s done with you.

-Be prepared to be absolutely drenched in cum, because they all ejaculate. You’re gonna be dripping with glowstick juice from the hips down.

-”You really thought I wouldn’t like that? I should kick your ass for not doing this sooner.”

-”Sure babes, as soon as you can walk again, you go ahead and try.”

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #tentadick #was i inspired by hoodoo's fic this morning?#perhaps #regardless this was fun to write and it got away from me a little

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enniewritesathing · 4 years

Text

Part 6

Previous ⏮

(It’s been days since the talks with his uncle and mom, and John continues to plot the proposal. He’s kept himself cool and normal as possible, but he still thinks back to the night on the roof. Missed opportunity, but that’s alright.

Today is the day.)

(He’s parked at the kitchen counter after cleaning up a late breakfast-- or would it be brunch?-- and putting away the dishes from the dishwasher. Gave him more time to work out his nerves.)

(He watches Brian knitting. Yarn this, gauge that. He didn’t quite understand the terminology or how he was able to even make anything. It’s kept his hands busy, his thoughts of work at bay. He’s already made socks... for the cat anyway.)

Brian: (mumbles) “Ah dammit, don’t tangle up on me.”

(John sighs. What to do, what to do? He runs fingers across knuckles. He has worn the ring around his neck. Brian’s taken notice of it and even asked about it, but nothing has pointed to him knowing or putting it 2+2 together.)

(C’mon, he tells himself. It’s 4. And each time, he wants to drop to his knee. But, no, he keeps brushing it off as something he just wanted to do. “Because.” It’s the same excuse he tells when he wears a collar.)

(”Are you trying to tell me something?” he hears Brian’s voice. Yeah, absolutely, I just love the feeling of being a little choked out--)

Brian: “John, did you say something?”

John: “Huh? Oh, nothin’, I was just talking to myself.”

(Smooth. Real smooth.)

Brian: “What are you doing way over there? C’mere.”

(Brian continues to fiddle with the yarn. Almost got it... there!)

John: “What?”

Brian: “What do you mean, ‘what?’ I wanted to see you.”

John: (scoffs) “You can always do that.”

Brian: “Alright, smartass. What are you plottin’ over there? Don’t think I noticed during late breakfast.”

(John laughs.) “I’m not plotting anything.”

Brian: “You were not into that bacon as much. And you only had... three pancakes.”

John: “Got me there.”

(John sits down and observes.) “What are you making this time? More socks for the cat? Or maybe a sweater?”

Brian: “I am working on a scarf. Or something. I’m playing it by ear. I just might give it to you.”

“You never did tell me what you’re plottin’.”

John: “It’s not plotting!”

(Brian slows down the needles.) “Oh?”

John: “I was thinking... maybe we can go on a date tonight.”

Brian: “I gotta hear this. What’s your plan, big guy?”

(Ahhh, a date! Yes, yes, that’s good, John thinks to himself.) “That’s the plan. A date.” (Noooo, that’s terrible!)

Brian: “Yeah? Where to?”

John: “I... don’t know? I mean, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Couple of months? Where would you like to go?”

Brian: “I dunno. You’re usually the one with the plan.”

John: “Dinner and a movie?”

Brian: “We can do that here.”

John: “What? No!”

“A date date. An outdoors date. Go out and do things... like, I don’t know, skating?”

Brian: “Honey, you know I can’t skate. It’ll be embarrassing!”

John: “What? Then I’ll teach you! I’ll do you better -- I’ll teach you how to ice skate.”

Brian: “I didn’t know you can skate?”

John: “I haven’t since I was a kid, but trust me, it’s not that hard.”

Brian: “Do we have a ice rink?”

John: “I’m sure there’s one around here somewhere... maybe all the way out in San Myshuno, I dunno. Holidays are almost here, so there’s bound to be a pop up rink.”

Brian: “Okay, but what about the weather?

(John changes the channel to the local weather network.) “Ah, just in time!”

TV: “Beginning this week, some residents in the Tri-County area will see some form of snow activity, with highs starting in the 50s and falling to the 30s by nightfall. Willow Creek can expect trace amounts, followed by Magnolia Promenade, New Crest, and Windenburg. Just in time for Harvestfest!”

(The TV then goes on to commercial advertising a winter themed pop-up park, with a large ice skating rink, an area to build snowpals, and the good ol’ fashioned snowball fights. John pays close attention to the address. It’s in Newcrest and almost right off the interstate. Apparently, it’s the 15th year of business.)

John: “Well? Is it a date?”

Brian: “I dunno, John... maybe you can do a little more convincing?”

(John leans over and whispers.)

“First, I’ll...”

(Brian listens to every word.)

(Brian laughs, and even snorts a little.) “John, no!”

John: “Yeah?”

Brian: “Honey. Don’t do that.”

John: “It’s not a bad idea though!”

Brian: “It’s not but... no. That’s how you get ants.”

(John huffs.) “Fine. One day, Brian, I am gonna do it.

Brian: “Ugh! I feel sticky now. I’m gonna go freshen up first. You wanna join? Get the party started?”

John: “That sounds like an after party. I’ll decline. You go ahead.”

(Brian leaves, but not before giving John a peck on the cheek.)

(That didn’t go so bad at all, even with a few fumbles. Good! A date at the skating rink. Outdoors, even! Ah, just thinking about being under the crisp fall air with the love of his life, holding hands... now he’s just gotta concentrate on just finding the right time... damn, this is going to be a good night!)

John: “Hey, Brian?”

Brian: “Huh~?”

John: “Think I should shave?”

Brian: “Shave wha-- oh! No, don’t shave.” (John swears he can hear him smile.) “I like it~”

(John leans over to see Brian’s outfit.) “You’re wearing that? Thought you were gonna wear something cute.”

Brian: “Of course I am wearing this. It’s practical. I haven’t figured out how to balance cute with trying not to freeze my nuts off. Besides, we’re skating.

John: “Aw.”

Brian: “What about you? You gonna dress handsome with that ring of yours?”

(You mean, ring of yours. John realizes he spoke outloud again as Brian looks at him with a raised eyebrow.) “H-huh?”

Brian: “Dress smart, John. Don’t want your tits to freeze.”

John: “Quit callin’ them that!”

(He was right though... gotta dress smart. John fished through the closet and found some long sleeved shirts and jeans he hadn’t worn since last winter. Sure, the shirt was slightly too snug for him, it still fits.)

(John looks at the ring one last time as it sits perfectly on his chest. Tonight’s the night. There’s no going back from this.)

Brian: “Oh, look at you strutting out like a model.” (He sniffs the air.) “And the Burberry!”

(John grabs Brian’s hands.) “Well, thank you. You look ravishing yourself.”

Brian: “Oh, please.”

John: “I’m serious.”

(He holds his hands, marvelling how long and slender Brian’s fingers are -- and the small calluses on his palm.)

(John lifts both to kiss them with such softness that he hears Brian take a tiny gasp and an “oh.”)

Brian: “Oh, you are laying it thick, huh, John? What are you up to?”

John: “The sooner we go out, the sooner you’ll know.”

Brian: “Then let’s go!”

(But first, another food break was to be had when they reached Newcrest. Newcrest is an hour’s drive from home, depending on how much traffic there is. This particular day everyone and their mother seemed to be in town. John wonders if there was a big event somewhere. In any case, he takes Brian to the local food stall park and set him loose until choosing between the Sulani food stall and the Salvadorian stall.

When the vendor shows how much food they’ll get for absurdly small price, they made the decision to pick up a plate of Mua Kalua Pork; and left the vendor a generous tip.)

John: “Damn, this is delicious. I know we’re supposed to be on a date, but...”

Brian: “...you can eat this all day? Yeah, same.”

(Brian wafes his hand to get more of the smoked meat aroma. There’s so many spices!)

(The shine in Brian’s eyes are delightful and marvelous. Have they always been this bright before? It’s probably outside, but, maybe it’s been a while--)

Brian: “John, you okay? You’re kinda staring.”

John: “Huh? Oh! No, I’m just... taking it all in. This food is delicious. That and you look really cute.”

Brian: (slyly) “Uh-huh. So, ice skating.”

John: “Listen, you’re not gonna be embarrassed. There’s other people who don’t know how. Little kids, adults, old people... no one’s gonna be like, an Olympic figure skater. And if they are, they’re showing off. You don’t have to be perfect. Not for me.”

“I’ll hold your hand and everything. I know you didn’t get to do all that stuff as a kid, but... now’s a pretty good time to learn, right? Together. It’ll be fine.”

Brian: “Okay. But do you know what else we can do together?”

John: “What’s that?”

Brian: “We need to get a to-go box!”

(Naturally, after all that eating, the pair walked it off with some sightseeing, lingering long enough for the sun to go down and the city lights and buildings to light up the skyline.)

(Brian watches John as he laces up his skates. Maybe it’s the air or the lighting, or the cologne he’s wearing that’s making him feel giddy.)

Brian: “Johnny?”

(John feels his heart skip a beat. The way Brian calls him that -- soft and sweet.) “Yeah, babe?”

“Can you... tie my skates for me? I wanna make sure it’s right.”

John: “Yeah. Gimme your leg.”

(Brian offers his foot and places it gingerly on John’s leg.)

John: “So, how are you feelin’?” Nervous? Excited? Cold? Still full?”

Brian: “Everything. Maybe a little overwhelming.”

John: “Really?”

Brian: (sing-song) “But I got you~”

(John chuckles. It’s been a while since Brian has acted so... carefree.)

John: “Alright, I’m done. Ready to stand up?” (He offers his hand, and slips it into a grip.) “You might be a little shakey.”

Brian: “Shakey?” (He blows a raspberry.) “Watch this.”

(John pulls him up, and Brian stands up. His legs buckles under the skates and John catches him in time.) “Careful! You alright?”

Brian: “Yeah, I’m...”

(He pauses. Woah, when did... John’s shoulders get so broad and firm?)

(His eyes linger on the necklace more than his chest. He tilts his head. Are those... words in there?)

(He feels John’s stare and looks up.)

(Brian swears there’s a smirk on his face.)

John: “You okay?”

Brian: “Y-yeah. I’m cool.”

John:��“Alright, let’s go.”

(They walked -- John walked and Brian wobbled -- to the ice rink. John effortlessly entered the rink and did a small twirl before facing Brian again.)

John: “I’m gonna warm up with a couple of laps. I’ll come back to get you. You can hang out here.”

Brian: “What? And look like a doofus?”

John: “Yeah!”

Brian: “John! Johnnn!!! You jerk!”

⏭Next

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 story #oc: john #oc: brian #oc pair: healing hands #story tag: the proposal #bonus cat

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

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For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask. Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah? Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians. He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

#winter writes #900 Followers #dr!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Rogue Gallery #dc comics #dickjaytim #I'm so proud of this fic #I can't even tell you #bad ass civilian tim #my fic #my writing #long post

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