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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #social engineering #phishing #ai #swiss cheese security #infosec #finance #fraud #carding

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some-bunniii · 2 months

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My Charming Red Savior [2]

・❥ Two odd visitors and a mugging. Can’t you stay out of trouble?

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

x: he’s back!! a little longer this time, 8k words. enjoy!

That evening after meeting Alastor, you sat at your friend’s dining table, your mind racing.

Your finger aimlessly twisted that gold ring he had magically placed on your digit, as you explained what happened. The creep harassing you, Alastor swooping in to save you. All of it laid out for your friend to digest. Which she wasn’t taking it very well.

“I mean, I'm glad that demon helped you out of that, but you should have gotten away as soon as possible! Haven’t you heard what he’s done, what kind of deals people have made with him?”

You sighed, feeling a bit frustrated with your friend's skepticism. "Look, I get it, you're worried. But Alastor isn't what everyone makes him out to be. He helped me when I needed it most. Besides, who are we to judge someone solely based on rumors?"

Your friend leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the ring adorning your finger. "What about that? What if it's some sort of trap he set for you?"

You instinctively pulled your hand back, a protective gesture. "Don't be ridiculous. Alastor wouldn't do something like that. He's... different."

"Different? More like dangerous," she countered, reaching out to grab your hand. "Come on, let me see that ring. We can take it to someone to see if it’s been magically altered."

Dangerous? He saved you from someone dangerous! Yes, he was a demon. A sinner, who probably did some bad things, and most likely continues to do bad things. Except, for the fact he didn’t leave you, a defenseless nobody, to be taken off and.. you couldn’t even think about it.

You jerked your hand away from her hand, the ring glinting in the lamplight. "There’s nothing wrong with the ring, you’re just being paranoid. It’s.. comforting, actually."

Your friend sighed, frustration evident in her voice. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. Please, at least consider what I'm saying."

You softened, realizing she was only looking out for you. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’m not a child, I can make my own decisions."

Your friend relented after a moment, sinking back into her chair. She nodded slowly, agreeing with your statement.

At that moment, your friend’s husband had entered the room. A large pot of steaming foodstuff in his oven-mitt protected hands as he walked.

“I hope you guys are hungry!” He said cheerfully, the tension in the room easing with his upbeat demeanor. You quite liked him, he had some good jokes and cared about those around him.

You smile gratefully, welcoming the distraction from the intense conversation. “Absolutely starving,” you reply, grateful for the opportunity to shift the focus to something more light-hearted.

Your friend’s husband sets the pot on the table, filling the room with the delightful aroma of home-cooked food. “Well, dig in!” he encourages, serving everyone generous portions.

As you take a bite, the flavors dance on your palate, and your eyes light up as you eat.

“What is this?” You turn to her husband, who looked up from his bowl, face stuffed with food.

“Crawfish Étouffée! A popular dish from New Orleans, back on Earth. Do you like it?”

You nodded vigorously. Is this what Jambalaya tastes like? If so, you really needed to try it. Maybe, you’d see Alastor again, and he could give you that recipe he had mentioned?

As your thoughts drifted back to the red demon, your finger began to twist the ring around your digit once more. Why did it bring you such comfort? You had no idea.

Sometimes, if you put your hand to your face, you could smell faint traces of his scent, that you had first memorized when you walked side by side with him. It smelled like an old cologne, something that you couldn’t quite recognize from your days. Maybe, it was back when he was alive?

Lemony, hay-like and grassy. A whiff of licorice. Something peppery too? You couldn’t quite place it. But every deep inhale sent you into a lull. A trance, almost.

Your finger still mindlessly caressed the golden band a while later, during the early hours of the morning. You had been sweeping the front doors to the formalwear store you worked at, tidying up before it would be opened for customers.

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, did you get pulled back into reality.

“Pardon me, miss. Are you guys open?”

Turning around to address the voice, you find no one. It wasn’t until you looked down did you see the demon man. He resembled that of an imp. Dark red skin with thin, striped horns that peaked out of the top of his head.

He wore a white turtleneck, with long white hair that curled around his chin. His eyes were unreadable, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. They were Ray-Burn glasses. You could immediately tell from the bridge, which were curved to resemble a half-circle rather than an oval.

You also knew how high-end that brand was, and it wasn’t easy getting a pair either. The wait for those was no joke. And, this style was from their newest collection, which meant that he had to be of some importance to get one so soon.

His posture also struck you as odd, especially for an imp. He stood tall, shoulders back, head held high. Despite being a part of one of the lowest social classes in Hell, the demon regarded everyone and everything around him with an air of confidence and assertiveness.

It was also odd that he was wearing sunglasses so early in the morning, there wasn’t really much light to need protection from. Maybe he had some bat genetics in him?

You smiled at him, but shook your head. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed right now. You’ll have to come back later.”

The imp visibility deflated at your words, a frown etched on his face. You could see his eyes through the shades just enough to show them flicking down the streets.

“Oh, okay. That’s fine, I guess. Thanks, I'll just.. have to figure something else out.”

He backed away, as he scanned the nearby stores again. He muttered to himself, too quiet for you to hear, but his tone sounded scolding. As if he was berating himself. The demon bit his lip, as if he was contemplating something.

A pang of sympathy hit you, as you watched him become more anguished. It seemed like he really needed whatever was inside, and you didn’t have a reason to deny him business other than to follow the official hours of operation.

Placing the broom against the brick wall, you pulled out a set of keys. The demon turned slightly as he heard its jingle, and you met his shaded gaze.

“There isn’t really anything else I need to do before opening though, so I suppose it’s not a big issue letting you inside.”

The imp perked, a smile blooming on his lips at your words. You bent to turn the lock with a click. Pulling the door handle, you pulled it behind you, allowing the demon to follow you inside.

“That is so kind of you! Truly, you don’t get to meet many kind and considerate people in this place.”

Well, it was Hell. Being friendly to strangers was not a common occurrence. You just weren’t one of the, well, bad ones. Sure, you had some flaws, you weren’t a resident for no reason. But, you prided yourself in having a reasonable moral code.

“Don’t worry, I know what I need. I’ll be quick!” The imp promised, as he passed through the entryway. The large room was dark, besides the morning light casting through the windows.

You flicked on the lights, and the overhead lamps lit the interior of the store. There were mannequins lining the dark-blue walls, styled in different tuxedos and dress shirts. Next to them were rows of shelves, each specific to a type of garment. There were dress pants, vests, shoes, and smaller accessories like ties and belts.

As you walked behind the black-granite countertop, the imp had hurried over to a mannequin facing out of a glass display. He reached down near its feet, a small shelf lifted from the floor. A pile of red suits was neatly tucked next to the display.

Gingerly, he lifted to the top piece, examining it thoroughly. After a few moments, he brought it closer to his chest, before turning to you. Your hands tapped against the display of the digital cash register, readying it for service.

You looked up just as he placed the garment on the counter, your eyes scanning the suit. Strange, he was still wearing those shades. You simply smiled at him, before pulling the item closer to you. Carefully, you unfolded it, examining its form.

It was a beautiful red tuxedo, with golden lapels. Dark-red buttons, with white cuffs. It was a women’s suit, which was rare for you to see, since the store mostly marketed towards men.

“What a wonderful piece!” You exclaimed, your tone dripping with customer-satisfying professionalism. “Getting this for a special someone?”

The imp nodded. “For my daughter. She runs a hotel a few blocks away, up the hill. The Hazbin Hotel, if you've heard of it? She needed a new suit, and this was the perfect fit.”

The hotel that was supposed to help sinners with redemption? You’ve heard bits and pieces, mostly when you watched that disastrous interview with Katie Killjoy. You couldn’t recall who ran it, though.

“A little, but you sure do have an eye for style!” You nodded, grabbing the small tag from the sleeve to input the information into the register.

“Well, it was my sweetheart who picked it out first,” the imp gushed, “I can’t take all the credit, I'm not good at these sorts of things, anyway.”

“Do they have a background in fashion?”

“No, they’re an artist,” the demon beamed, his voice growing softer as he spoke of his lover, “I can promise, you’ve never seen a real painting until you’ve seen theirs. If it were my way, I'd fill every billboard with them, instead of those.. repulsive pornography ads they have downtown.”

The imp held a look of pride and admiration as he spoke, obviously having full confidence in his claim. You pulled up the item on your screen, and read him the price. It was not a cheap suit, but the demon had no reaction to the total and simply pulled out his wallet.

“Is business running smoothly at the hotel? Do you guys get a lot of guests?”

The imp contemplated for a moment, before pulling out a large sum of money, placing it gently on the counter. You reached for it, before licking your finger and counting through the bills.

“Not entirely. It just opened recently, and, with the demons it caters to? Hah, there’s not many around here with the mindset of redemption. But, I'm going to be helping her out, supporting her with the work.”

What a nice father, helping his daughter out like that. If only someone like that had helped you when you were younger, maybe you would be stu-

“Especially when it comes to keeping an eye on some of the.. colorful characters she calls staff. Like that Radio Demon.” As the imp spoke, you could hear the disdain in his tone, as he uttered that name. Your head shot up from the bills in your hand at his words.

Radio demon? Alastor? Alastor was working at the Hazbin Hotel?

“As in, the tall red guy with deer antlers? Carries a staff around with a microphone on it?” You questioned him, excitement lacing your voice.

“Yes. Do you know him? Word of advice, stay away from that demon. He’s nothing but a self-serving, pompous show-off.”

That couldn’t be true, could it?

Quickly, you placed the bills into the cash register, pulling out change to hand to the imp. As he took the money in your hand, you found it right to defend Alastor.

“He helped me out of a tough spot awhile ago, practically saved my life, actually.”

The demon regarded you for a moment, eyebrows raised as he took in your words. He didn’t argue, seemingly trying to leave as fast as possible. Back to the hotel presumably. “Hmph. Well, just be careful, you never know with demons like him.”

You were about to wish him farewell and turn away, before his hand lifted once more. Looking down, he held another stack of money in his hands, you could faintly read ‘100’ on one of the bills alone.

“For your kindness,” the demon stated simply, giving you a wink, “I enjoyed our short chat, there’s not many people down here I'm interested in talking to. Go treat yourself.”

Your eyes widened at his words. How did he have so much money he could just.. give it away?! You almost wanted to reject his offering. But, money was money, so you took them from his grip.

“I-I don’t know what to say, but thank you! This is very generous of you.”

He only shrugged, sending you a charming smile. “I am indeed a very generous person. Just don’t spend it on drugs, or anything like that.”

As you handed him the small pink bag, his shaded gaze landed on the ring on your finger, and he leaned in just an inch to get a closer look.

“Boy, that is a fine piece of jewelry you’ve got there! Very nice, was it from a lover? It really makes a statement! Just curious.. do you by any chance know where you got it from?”

You tilted your head, wondering why he wanted to know, was he planning on getting one himself? You just shook your head, you couldn’t really tell him it magically poofed onto your finger by the same demon he held negative feelings for.

He nodded, muttering something like ‘that’s fine’, before pivoting away from you towards the door.

“Adios!” He called, a hand in the air in farewell as he strolled to the exit. The bell above the door jingled as it closed behind him, and you saw him step near the curb, away from your view.

Suddenly, a flash of gold illuminated the small window on the door. Crossing the room, you peeked out the large display window. There was no one on the street, even when you cranked your head to both sides of the street. It’s like he just.. vanished. Strange.

You flipped the large sign on the window from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’ before returning behind the counter. Your fingers still holding the money he gave you, your mind elsewhere as you waited for the day to begin.

Your thoughts were still on that encounter when the assistant manager walked up to you a few hours later. He was a rather short, plump man with small horns protruding from his head. His skin was a pale blue, his figure resembling that of an ox. Alan was his name.

You weren’t very fond of him, he always threw flirtatious comments and jokes at you. Always insisting to join you behind the counter, or lean right over your shoulder when you worked. He reminded you too much of that creep from the streets, which made you uncomfortable.

What was up with you always attracting the questionable suitors? Maybe your friend at the cafe was right, you weren’t going to find ‘The One,’ you’d just have to settle for less.

Alan would always try and pry into your personal life, asking if you had a lover, or kids. You’d simply change the conversation as smoothly as possible. If you told him we’re single, he’d no doubt try and court you. Which made you nervous, he didn’t seem like someone who could take a rejection.

You weren’t able to say, ‘why yes, I have a hubby of my own!’ because you never had proof. Without a ring, and the rest of your co-workers aware of your singlehood, you knew lying to him would have consequences.

Not to mention, he was your boss. He had power, and unless you wanted to end up homeless on the street, you had to keep a friendly facade with him.

Luckily, he wasn’t around much. Except today your manager had meetings out of town, and he was the substitute. So, for now, you were stuck with him.

“Hey, you still know how to use that sewing machine in the back, right?” He asked you after you had finished assisting a customer near the large display window.

You nodded, curious about his question. In truth, being a tailor sounded much better than working for customer service. You had spent late nights slowly practicing the craft, on that ancient sewing machine in your basement. Maybe, you’d use that money the imp gave you to buy a new one.

“Well, Darlene just called in, which means I got no one as my seamstress. We’ve got a few pieces in need of mending, you think you can handle that?”

“Oh, sure! I can do that, no problem.”

It was then you heard the bell above the front entrance jingle slightly and the creak as the door opened, which caused you to turn sharply to greet the newcomer. Except.. there was no one there.

That was strange. There were other customers milling about, but you were standing in a position that made it impossible to miss anyone exiting the building.

“Must be having strong winds or something.” Alan remarked, and you turned back to him. As you moved, you noticed the corner next to the doorway was more shaded than usual. As if a large black shadow had taken residence there. Perhaps an overhead light went out? You’d have to check on that later.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something,” Alan started, a flirtatious smile on his lips as he lowered his voice, “I’ve got VIP access to a new club that just opened a few blocks down. I was thinking you and I could get some drinks and have a little fun, whatcha say?”

You groaned internally. Not this again. How were you going to say no this time?

“Well, I mean, um- you see the thing is…”

Your eyes went down to the ring on your digit, that little A shimmering in the light. Maybe, you could use this.

“… I’m already taken!” You exclaim, your hand shooting up to give Alan a front row seat at the prize on your person.

“You are?” He asked incredulously.

“Mhm!” You nod your head vigorously. “As you can see, this is my wedding ring. I eloped not too long ago, hence why it’s not common knowledge.”

Hopefully, he would buy your lie.

Alan stood there, his eyes flicking from you to the ring. Was he going to try and fight your claim? It seemed like he wanted to. Before you even gave him the chance to, you whipped towards the door being the counter to start mending.

You had only used the machine in the back a handful of times, but you were trying to become more familiar with it. Nodding, you quickly slipped into the back room. The hum of the old sewing machine greeted you like an old friend as you fired it up and began to mend the pieces in need of repair.

The rhythmic clacking of the needle against fabric filled the air as you lost yourself in the task at hand, the radio beside you playing soft old-timey melodies in the background. You continued this calm pace for a few hours, thankful to be away from Alan and the bustling state of the store.

Until a familiar static-laced voice broke through the music.

“Hello, sir! My, what a hellish morning it is!”

Your foot instantly moved off the pedal nestled under the table, the vibrations from the machine ceasing as it stilled. You strained your ears, is that who you thought it was?

“Oh, why hello there! How can I assist you today?” You heard the loud, boisterous voice of Alan as he welcomed the newcomer. Quickly, you left your seat, and peaked through the small crack in the doorway.

Your breath quickened as your eyes landed on the tall, red demon. Alastor. How did he get in here? You didn’t hear the loud bell jingle at his entrance.

He sported his usual red coat, with his staff resting lazily in his grip as he stood before the demon. He had a large smile on his face, but his eyes spoke differently. He looked absolutely bored, disinterested in the man before him and his surroundings.

“I’m simply here to adjust some wear-and-tear on my suit,” he remarked, “as you can see, my sleeve has taken quite the nasty wound.”

He lifted up his arm, displaying a tiny piece of missing fabric from the cuff. It was a clean slice, as if someone had taken a knife and barely nicked it. Nasty wasn’t exactly how you’d describe it, more like itty bitty.

“If I may..” Alan leaned in slightly, reaching out to inspect the tear.

Alastor only pulled his arm back, rejecting the gesture with a subtle yet firm movement.

“I prefer to handle my own attire, thank you,” Alastor stated, his voice carrying a hint of disdain as he withdrew his sleeve from Alan’s reach. His smile widened further, as he stared at the demon.

Your boss recoiled slightly, taken aback by Alastor’s abrupt refusal. “Oh, of course. My apologies,” he stammered, attempting to regain her composure, “but not to worry, sir! We’ve got fabrics that match and a seamstress to do the work. Let me go grab her for you, I'll be right back!”

You saw Alan turn in your direction, and you backed away from the door. Your heart raced as you realized you were going to actually be face to face with Alastor again. How would he react to your presence?

You shot into your seat, spinning around towards the machine. You stepped on the pedal, and the machine hummed to life once more. The door opened, and Alan poked his head in.

“Hey, there’s a customer who needs some assistance. Get out here.”

His head disappeared from view, leaving you alone once more. Exhaling a large breath to ease your nerves, you rose from your seat. Quickly, you walked over to the door and gripped the handle tightly. Another deep breath, and you pulled it open gingerly before taking a step outside.

Your boss was back beside Alastor, who towered over the man. As you slowly entered the room, Alastor’s eyes moved to you. They lit up with interest, the smile seeming to shrink slightly. The crooked edges on his smile softened too, appearing more genuine as he regarded you.

“Ah, there you are, my dear! I was hoping to find you here.” Alastor called to you. He stepped right past Alan, completely ignoring his presence as he strode up to you.

As he closed the distance, you became awfully aware of how fast your heart was beating inside your chest. That smell of lemons and licorice hit your nose as he stood before you, and it eased your nerves as you took a quick inhale of breath.

He turned, allowing Alan to see both of your faces as he slowly reached out to take your hand. His thumb gently grazed against the gold band and it spun slightly. Your breath hitched at his touch.

“It is so nice to be able to visit my dear wife at her place of work,” Alastor started, his gaze shooting to Alan as he spoke, “and, to meet her lovely coworkers! A pleasure indeed.”

Did he hear you telling Alan about your ring? He couldn’t have, but there seemed to be no other reason for him to bring up the whole marriage farce.

Alastor turned back to you, finger still softly caressing your hand as he turned his attention to his sleeve.

“It appears I’ve gotten into another miscommunication with an overly confident adversary, similar to what I spoke to you about before. Would you care to assist me, my love?”

Your eyes momentarily snapped to Alan, who had turned a paler shade as he watched Alastor’s actions. Now, he was finally seeing who your ‘husband’ was. It appeared to be quite a shocker for the demon.

Your gaze flicked back to Alastor, who stood next to you. That grin of his hiding whatever emotions he was feeling as he slowly released your grip, indicating for you to lead him away.

“Thank you for coming to visit, Alastor. I can stitch that up for you, you’ll just need to let me take it for a bit.” You smiled at him, doing your best to play the part with professionality. What, were you supposed to just start calling him pet names like ‘honey’ and ‘babe’?

“I think I'd prefer keeping it on.” Alastor said curtly, adjusting his collar.

He wanted to still be wearing it while you fixed it? That meant you couldn’t use the sewing machine, without risking injury to him.

“… I suppose you can just follow me, then.” You replied, turning away as you beckoned him towards the back room.

Alan didn’t follow the two of you, maybe Alastor’s comments threw him off. You hoped they did, you had enough of that guy for one day.

You opened the dark gray door, pulling it wide so Alastor could follow behind. The back room was a cozy nook from the busy establishment, half of it transformed into a makeshift tailoring nook. A small step stool nestled among tall mirrors allowed a multi-angle look for customers getting a fitting.

Rolls of fabric lined orderly shelves nearby, accompanied by an array of sewing essentials. In the corner, a small table and chair housed the ancient sewing machine. You walked forward, before realizing

“Oh, i’m sorry, I don’t have another chair. Let me go get one!” You pivoted to go find a spare, but Alastor only lifted his hand in a sweeping motion, brushing off your attempt.

“Not to worry, my dear! I’ve got it under control.”

He reached a hand forward, gripping the air like he was grabbing the top of the backrest of a chair. He tugged at the air, and a plume of green smoke wafted from his fingertips as he pulled a wooden chair from the smoke.

You stared, mesmerized as he dragged it next to your seat. He gingerly lowered himself, and plopped into the chair. That had to be powerful magic, for him to be able to produce such an object easily from thin air. Just like he did with the seasoning.

Quickly, you gathered the necessary essentials to begin fixing his garment. A couple of needles, some dark red thread, and multiple fabrics that you seemed the closest to his suit’s color.

While you collected the items in a small bin, Alastor sat comfortably behind you. His nails clicking against his cane rhythmically as the music from the radio filled the room.

He hummed softly along to the melody, obviously familiar with the tune playing. You had heard it before, a classic rendition of ‘Once In A While’ by Lennie Hayton. It was a softer tune, and an orchestral piece that allowed you to drift into a comfortable lull.

As you carried the bin back to your seat, you nestled in beside him. There was a small distance between the two of you, your knees a few inches from grazing each other.

“May I?” You asked, holding out your hand to take his sleeve. You thought Alastor was going to react negatively to the gesture, like he did with Alan. Instead, he carefully reached out his arm, allowing you to pull his sleeve down to the surface of the table.

You tried very hard not to touch his skin, as you adjusted the tear on his cuff to face you. Grabbing a few pieces of fabric, you began to hold them next to his sleeve, attempting to find the perfect match.

“So, what happened this time? Surely, not that snake demon from before.” You spoke, trying to spark conversation with your ‘husband’.

“Ha, I’m glad you do remember our last conversation! I was worried you'd forgotten as the days went by.” Alastor started, sinking deeper into his seat. He placed his cane against the table,

‘Of course, I'd remember,’ you thought, ‘I can’t get you out of my head, no matter how I try.’

“I had found myself in a rather lively discussion with a particularly vexing imp. Tiny thing, but full of mischief and malice. Managed to get itself tangled in my grip during our little altercation.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I must say, it put up quite the fight for something no larger than a rat. But fear not, I emerged victorious, albeit with a few battle scars.”

Alastor gestured towards the tear on his sleeve, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You smiled at his words, a small chuckle coming from your throat as you pulled another piece of fabric to his cuff.

Finally, you found the color that matched his attire, and you carefully began cutting a large piece from the roll.

“I’m going to have to hand sew your tear, is that okay?”

“Of course, my dear! Just try not to poke me, hm?”

You nodded with a smile, before plucking the small needle from the table.

With nimble fingers, you carefully align the edges of the fabric, pinching them together to ensure a snug fit. Holding the needle firmly between your thumb and forefinger, you begin to weave the thread in and out with practiced precision, creating neat, tiny stitches along the seam.

“I have been meaning to ask, how did the seasoning I gave you fare?” Alastor spoke, his eyes filled with intrigue as he waited for your response.

“Oh! It was fantastic!” You beamed, your mouth watering slightly as you recalled the wonderful dinner from that night. “They made Crawfish Étouffée, and it was very delicious.”

“Ah! Yes, that dish was a staple back in New Orleans, when I was alive. Folks would gather all over to get a taste of my mother’s own twist on the delicacy. She was quite the cook, and her skill never faltered.”

As you listened, you realized his voice softened quite more when he spoke of his mother. That static in his tone seemed to disperse as he mentioned her, and you caught a glimpse of his true voice behind that radio overlay.

“Well, now that I've gotten a glimpse into such an art. I really am interested in trying your Jambalaya.” You spoke genuinely, your fingers still delicately lacing the thread across his sleeve.

“I am pleased to hear that,” Alastor hummed, “I’ll have to bring you a sample the next time I'm in the area.”

Silence filled the room, other than the music that wafted from the radio’s speaker. You continued to adjust and stitch together his sleeve, very close to finishing the mending work.

Even though there were no words spoken between the two of you, the silence was not awkward at all. The two of you simply sat comfortably in each other's presence.

Behind you, the slight crack in the door allowed you to hear the loud voice of Alan, as he spoke to another customer. Alastor’s ears twitched slightly as he heard the demon speaking, his body tensing momentarily.

“Has that wretch been bothering you often?” Alastor spoke after a moment, the static in his voice growing thicker as he spoke of Alan. His claws slightly dug into the table, a faint trail embedded in the wood.

“Well, he doesn't treat me like that succubus did. But, he does not drop the subject of us becoming romantically involved. It gets.. uncomfortable, I guess.”

You sighed as the words slipped from your tongue, a frown forming on your lips as you thought of his many attempts to swoon you. Alastor’s head tilted at your words, that smile cracked even wider as you continued to carefully slip the needle through the fabric.

“Would you like me to ĐɆVØɄⱤ Ⱨł₴ ₴ØɄⱠ?”

You jerked your head up at his words, surprise etched on your face as you turned to him. His voice had changed, the last bit of his sentence distorting into pure static, and you almost didn’t catch his words.

The room crackled with energy, causing your hair to practically stand on end. It was chilling, and you shivered subconsciously at the feeling. The room seemed to darken as Alastor stared at you, his pupils shrinking to resemble radio dials.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, your tone never faltering from its original octane. Which surprised you, since this powerful demon was looking at you with such murderous intent.

‘It’s not you he wants to murder.’ the voice in your head whispered. Which made your heart flutter, was Alastor wanting to kill for you? That was.. unconventionally sweet.

Is that what he did to the succubus the other night when you weren’t looking?

“If the little oaf can’t keep his words to himself, then there is no place for him to continue to sour your mood.” Alastor explained, his eyes taking their original form slowly as he spoke, and the distortion in his tone subsided.

The shadow festering around you slowly shrank away from your seat, illuminating the room once more. That cold feeling that gripped at your shoulders vanished.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling that left you, even if it smelled of darkness and destruction. It felt almost.. comforting to you. Like the shadow was pulling you into a protective hug, the chill cooling your heated skin into a soothing embrace.

You only shook your head, “He doesn’t need to die for something like that. And, he’s my boss. Without him, the store wouldn’t run as well.”

Alastor only huffed, leaning back into his seat. His claws left the table, and were instead enclosed into a fist, as he rested his chin atop of it.

“At least the poor bloke ceased in his courting when he realized another had already taken that place.” He shrugged, his eyes glancing down to the gold ring on your hand.

You halted, the needle hanging in the air mid-stitch. How did he know about you and Alan’s conversation? More importantly, what were his feelings about you still wearing the piece of jewelry?

“Oh, right. Yes, I’m sorry for still wearing it, I know it was just for that moment and it was stupid for me to think I could keep it-”

“Nonsense! Do not fret, my dear.” Alastor interjected, brushing off your worry. “Think of it as a small gift to rectify the situation you were forced into that night.”

A gift? He wanted you to keep the ring?

“You could even go as far as to perceive it as a good luck charm, ha-ha. Trouble seems to never escape you, and if this ring can even give you an ounce of protection, why not keep it on to ensure nothing like that night happens again?”

You smiled at him, your eyebrows raised as you listened to his words. A tiny ring, protecting you? You doubted it.

“Well, thank you, Alastor. It is really nice to know someone cares in that way.”

Alastor hummed softly in response, his toothy grin softening into a lipped smile as he turned his attention back to the music playing softly.

The thread tightened snuggly between the two fabrics as you finished the final stitch, your other hand reaching to the small scissors next to you. Carefully, you snipped the thread as close to the sleeve as possible, and you leaned back to take a look at your work.

It looked perfect, like the garment had never taken a hit in the first place. Alastor pulled his arm back slightly, turning it over to inspect it thoughtfully.

“I must say, you have such talent with a needle and thread! When you told me you worked as a door girl, I never expected knowledge of tailoring to be in your resume as well!”

Your cheeks heated as his compliment, and you began to slowly stand from the seat. For a moment, you wished there was something else wrong with his coat that you could fit. If only to keep him here a little longer.

What a selfish thought. You silently reprimanded yourself for such thinking, Alastor had no doubt better things to do than sit here and chit chat with a powerless nobody like you.

Alastor also left his chair, and he adjusted his collar. He gripped his cane, straightening his posture as he turned to you.

“It seems every time we’re together, our conversations are never dull. Thank you for assisting me, I’d love to continue our talks but it appears I have other business to attend to.”

“Back at the hotel?” You asked, as you walked with him to the doorway.

Alastor stopped in his tracks, his eyes widened slightly at your words. He tilted his head at you. “Forgive me, my dear, but I do not remember telling you such a thing. Where did you hear that from?”

Fuck. He never had told you about his place of work, and you writhed slightly under his stare as you tried to come up with an explanation.

“Oh, it’s just an imp had come in this morning, buying a tuxedo for his daughter. He said she ran the Hazbin Hotel. He also said you worked at the hotel too.”

‘And he doesn’t seem to like you.’ you added silently.

Alastor’s grip around his cane tightened, and his smile widened as he thought for a moment. A small chuckle escaped his lips, it sounded dark.

“Are you sure it was an imp, my dear?” He asked slowly.

You nodded, recalling the conversation. “Yes, short with white hair and red skin. Sunglasses too, weirdly. He was quite nice, actually. He gave me some money for helping him, nobody has ever done that for me.”

“Ha! What a kind soul he must be. Did he say anything else to you, by chance?”

You shook your head, “no, not really.”

“A surprise, really. That imp has a knack for using his charm to bend others to his whim. I'm sure that gesture of his was nothing more than to sweep you off your feet for his antics. I’d keep your distance from demons like him, if I were you.”

Was Alastor.. jealous? He couldn't be. But, it seemed like the feelings between the two were mutual with the way he spoke with disdain.

The imp seemed like he had someone he cared deeply for, anyway. You were sure his gesture wasn’t anything more than kindness. Although, you didn’t think Alastor would believe you if you told him.

“But, as you previously mentioned, yes,” Alastor changed the conversation, for his sake it seemed, “I do reside at the hotel in exchange for my services. Redeeming sinners is no easy feat, it needs special hands to mold such a dream into reality.”

“Well, I'm sure you’re doing a great job.” You spoke, doing your best to voice your support for him.

Alastor smiled at you, before nodding in agreement. He pulled the door open, and stepped through the doorway. You followed him, stopping at the threshold as he turned back to you.

He lowered himself slightly, a small curtsy in your direction. As he lifted himself, he leaned closer to you.

“Until we meet again, my wife.” He spoke loudly, most likely for the others in the vicinity to hear. His voice was like honey to your ears as that faint hiss of static dispersed from his tone when his lips settled on wife.

You really did like his voice, and hopefully, you’d hear what it really sounded like more often. His eyes settled on you for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say more. He didn’t, instead turning towards the register across the room.

Leaning against the doorway, you watched Alastor stroll to the cash register. Alan stood behind the counter, and he seemed to shrink slightly under the taller demon’s gaze.

The sharp edges of Alastor’s smile returned as he watched the demon quickly ready the digital display for check-out. His pupils dilating slightly, eyes narrowed as he waited.

You had watched him leave the store, watched him stroll down the street without a glance at anyone else. That mild boredom taking over his features, like it had when he had first arrived.

For the rest of your shift, as you sewed buttons back into place or trimmed stray threads that stuck out of garments, your thoughts continued to stray to events earlier in the day. To that imp, to the ring on your finger, to Alastor and those fluffy little ears on his head.

You were still deep in thought when you clocked out, your feet carrying you out the door as your path led you to the bus stop a few blocks down.

It was a small blue sign, with the symbol of a bus engraved into it. There was no one around, the empty streets quiet as you plopped onto the bench to wait.

Your hands reached into your bag, pulling out your phone from its pocket. You scrolled through your notifications, before clicking on a message from one of your friends.

You were so deep into the screen in front of you, that you didn’t hear the quiet footsteps approach the bench. You didn’t see the knife pointed directly at your face, or the masked man who’s gaze traveled down your form.

“Hey, you!” A voice coated with malice addressed you.

Your head shot up, and you reeled back at the large knife right in front of your nose. Your heartbeat quickened as you scrambled off the bench, the man only keeping pace with you as you backed away.

“You seem like a nice young lady, and I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. Just give me everything you’ve got, and we can go our separate ways.”

“I don’t really have anything for you to take!” You said breathlessly, your hands shaking as you pulled miniscule items from your bag. He only ripped the entire thing from your grip, throwing it behind him.

“What about money? Hand everything over, sweet cheeks.”

You grimaced, before pulling the stack of bills the imp had given you from your person. He ripped them from your grip, before stuffing the money down his pocket.

“That’s all I have, I promise! Please let me go.” You begged, your back hitting the wall of an abandoned building behind you.

You prayed for someone to come to your rescue. Alastor graced your mind, that he’d swoop in to save you once more to save you. He was right, trouble never seemed to leave you.

This time, you’d let him tear this guy apart.

“What about jewelry, huh? I see that ring on your finger, it must cost quite a pretty penny.” The thug sleazed.

Instinctively, you brought your hand to your chest, trying to shield the band from his stare. The demon only closed the distance between the two of you, his mask grazing against your chin as he abruptly yanked you forward.

“Don't fight me, you bitch! Just give it to me, don’t make this difficult.”

His rough hand encircled around your wrist. It was harsh against your skin, and you winced in pain.

“Let go of me! I’ve already given you enough, just leave me alone!” You screamed, hoping someone would come to your aid.

He raked his hand down your finger, the ring slowly moving down your digit as he tried to dislodge it.

It was a snug fit against your skin, and it took him a few moments for him to begin pulling it off your finger. Tears pricked at your eyes as adrenaline pumped through your veins, but you dared not to move with the knife slightly pressing into your side.

Another tug, and the ring grazed over your nail as it was pulled harshly. It wasn’t able to make it past before something strange happened.

The ring ignited in a green flame, and the thug’s hand shot away as he yelled in pain. It licked at the tip of your finger, but you felt no heat from its touch.

You barely had time to blink, or scream before the ring exploded. It burst into a large cloud of green smoke that engulfed your figure. Shielding you from your surroundings. Energy crackled in the air, paired with a chill that made your breath visible as you gasped.

It felt like someone had reached out and gripped at the collar of your top, and you felt a much gentler tug and you were pulled backwards.

The smoke seemed to vanish, and you were drenched into darkness. You felt your feet lift off the ground, as if you were floating.

The problem, you had no idea where you were. Your heart felt like it was going to burst as you squeezed your eyes shut. It felt like hours went by, but in truth, it was only a matter of a few seconds that darkness surrounded you.

Just as quickly as it started, it ended, and your closed eyelids were hit with a ray of light. There were voices surrounding you as your feet touched on solid ground, the floor softer this time, like carpet.

The chatter stopped abruptly as you settled in place, and for a moment you felt like curling into a ball and hiding from whatever scene you had been thrusted into.

“Ah, there you are!” A familiar voice exclaimed next to you, static dripping from their words. “I was wondering how long it would be until you showed up!”

Wait a second, was that Alastor speaking? Was he responsible for whatever the hell just happened?

Your eyes slowly opened, revealing a large room covered in dark red wallpaper that cracked with age. Gold framed the edges, and lights mounted on the walls illuminated a few paintings that filled the empty space.

It looked like a lobby. Couches nestled in a corner around a small box tv. Next to that was a small bar, bottles of liquor stacked on shelves behind the counter.

Your eyes trailed away, before they landed on a small group of demons in front of you. Your breath quickened in fear, as you quickly scanned over their figures.

There was a woman in a red tuxedo, her mouth slightly parted in surprise. Long platinum-blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail as it traveled down her back. Beside her, a tall snake held a hand to his chest as he leaned back slightly, as if he was more afraid of you than you were of him.

There were a few others too, but your mind was racing so fast you weren’t able to get a settle on their frames before you eyes were bouncing around for an exit.

It wasn’t until you felt someone’s arm snake around your elbow did you whip your head to the side, Alastor’s large smile greeting you as he laced his arm with yours in comfort, no doubt noticing the way your knees were about to buckle.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my dear!” He exclaimed, as if your arrival was expected and totally-not-strange whatsoever. His eyes were soft, doing his best to calm you with his familiar presence. You opened your mouth to speak, even though you weren’t sure exactly what to say.

“Who the fuck is that?” The fuzzy, pink spider demon piped up from the shocked onlookers. A pair of hands on his hips as he regarded you with confusion.

Your lips upturned into a faint smile, and you lifted your hand for a half-hearted wave.

“Um, hi..?”

I hope you enjoyed part 2! Sorry for that cliff hanger 😭 i hate doing that but had to end it somewhere haha

and.. hold up yall…

for real?! i did not expect this my first month on this app, nor at all really 😍 what started as “just this one luci one-shot..” became so much more!

Thank you all for the support and love you’ve given me, lowkey itching to buy a computer just for writing (yes, all my fics have been written with sore thumbs haha)

HUGE thanks to @spoiled-slutt for being my beta reader and helping me brainstorm ideas for this part! They’ve been an amazing help, and you should definitely check out their works if they interest you! <3

have a great day, my swans! 🦢

—

taglist:

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @wonderlife974 @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #alastor

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gardenianoire · 2 months

Text

so my last post fell off so I'm remaking y'all I am so close to being rid of my terrible roommate and back to being on my own and being thirty flirty and thriving. I found a better and slightly cheaper apartment in a safe (enough) part of town close to public transportation and a grocery store the property manager even offered to let me move in early but I just need help paying this deposit. I missed three days of work for a mandatory mardi gras break (I'm a preschool teacher all schools are off the lundi gras mardi gras and ash wednesday in new orleans it wasn't my choice and I'm still within my 90 days so no paid holidays) so my psycheck will be short and I won't be able to handle rent, deposit, moving expenses so I am begging my tumblr community for any kind of relief

there's all $0 and three cents in my checking account. also if I don't raise this money I will have to choose between living on the street or going back to my emotionally abusive parents in ohio and losing my job, my mental health progress, my friends, probably more than likely killing myself

my goal is $800 for the deposit to secure my housing

cashapp: jocedun94

paypal: [email protected]

venmo: xandrachantal

no forreal I'm trying to keep it light but I'm going to level with y'all I'm mental ill like the scary cluster b meets depression and general anxiety, I'm Black, a woman, bisexual it's almost my birthday I need help please at least reblog this my roommate calls me outside of my name everyday and I can't exactly punch her in the face because assault charges are real but also I have poor impulse control so I might I just need to leave immediately

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bunnypeew · 2 months

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Hiya!

So I have this request thing for Alastor!

Alastor x Fem!(if that's ok) co-hostess and they like knew each other when they were alive and were co hosts!

Mon ange - Alastor x Fem!reader

That sounds so cute!! yes I can definitely give it a shot, I'm guessing she was the co-host to his radio show :3c

She has been looking for a job for a couple more days now since her last job didn't end up very well. She heard of this Hazbin Hotel was something about rehabilitation, so she thought that maybe she could find a job there as a hostess, the same job she had when she was alive back when. So that she did, it was quite some time till she found the way to it but when she did it was a pretty swell walk, arrived at the hotel she knocked on the door awaiting a reply. This blonde opened the door with an excited face

''Oh my god! hi! I'm Charlie welcome to the hazbin hotel!! How can I help you,,

she says in an eager voice grabbing Y/n hands to give them a shake, she then gives her time to reply to the question she posed

''Oh right. Em, I'm not sure if you are looking for employees but I kind of was looking for a job, if that's okay,,

this made Charlie even more excited, which Y/n thought was impossible but there it was. With a little gentle push, Charlie made her come inside the hotel to see the lobby where a bunch of other demons were hanging out. A spider demon was sitting at the bar with a cat demon, on the other side a girl with an x over her eye was holding up an angelic spear and looking at Y/n, and finally near them now there was another rather tall demon, his aesthetic being mostly composed of red and a little bit of white on his collar, Y/n eyes made their way up to the mans face seeing he had a rather sinister smile, something about that was quite familiar to her but she couldn't put a finger on it

Charlie started presenting every demon to her, Angel Dust, Husk and Vaggie, waiting for this creepy guy to get presented

''And this is our hotel Host Alastor!,,

hearing that Y/n froze giving him another look from head to toe to see if this person was actually her Alastor the one she had known her entire life and with whom she co-hosted the radio broadcast most of New Orleans was listening to at the time. She walked a little closer to him, her hand reaching for him a little bit

Memories started to flow in as she heard that name, memories from when she was still alive, 1930s New Orleans, Louisiana. She had been quite the charmer when she was alive, not exactly to attract men but in general she had a charming personality. She hadn't really found anyone she actually liked for years, not being one for relationships anyway but it was when she went to this speakeasy for a couple of drinks that she found her someone, at the time they were just talking to each other each and every night about all kinds of stuff, especially cooking, since Alastor was a real foodie and loved to talk about some of his mother recipes sometimes, But it was not until one night where she went to visit him at his home near the forest that she found out about his hobby of killing and eating people, at first she was quite scared about it but she knew that he wouldn't hurt her for the world, so she felt safe around him even for what he did. At that time, Alastor suggested she become his co-hostess for the radio show he put up, and since she was kind of head over heels for him she accepted. they would put up shows almost every night talking about all kinds of stuff and playing mostly jazz music, sometimes the occasional love song Y/n would put into giving a hint to him, It took a while for Alastor to realise what was going on in her mind, he could tell something was bothering her but he couldn't put a finger on it, it was not until you actually confessed to him one time before a broadcast that he understood what was going on

''Oh mon ange you should have told me sooner, you know I'm quite rusty when it comes to romance, but I do accept your heart as mine~,,

He said that the night before he would be found dead in the forest near his house, shot through the forehead by some hunter who mistook him for a deer, their relationship ending there and then leaving Y/n heartbroken and alone.

''Alastor?,,

she mutters out loud looking him in the eyes, his smile falters ever so slightly looking at the shorter woman, some sort of confusion in his eyes as this person seemed to know him, and then it finally clicked in his head

''mon chéri? Y/n is that you?,,

he speaks in a soft but firm voice, reaching out for her hand, taking it in his looking her up and down once before realising it was in fact her, the co-hostess he had on his radio show, not to mention, his chéri.

''Oh my stars Alastor it's actually you, I thought I'd never find you again!,,

she says going for an embrace, and surprisingly to everyone Alastor accept it right away, putting his arms around her shoulders and squeezing

''so you two know each other?,,

Charlie says out of nowhere looking at them with a 'You guys were an item at some point and I know it' look on her face

''yeah, we both hosted his radio show when we were alive! I was the co-hostess, it was such a pleasurable time for us both, and yes we were kind of a thing.. which I hope we could still do...,,

she says turning her attention fully to the deer demon before her. with a soft smile on her lips and a gentle touch on his hand. Alastor looked her softly in the eyes, himself wanting to be closer to her once again in another lifetime, or deathtime. He wanted nothing more at that right moment.

''Of course mon chéri, I would love nothing more, hell you said you were looking for a job, how about getting your old one back! my dearest you are fit to be my co-hostess once again ha!,,

he says with a power-filled voice, his gaze still soft on her, taking her hand now and placing a kiss on it.

''Mon ange,,

A/n: here it is!!! I actually loved writing this one Im so soft for Alastor speaking french istg, hope you enjoyed this one shot :3c

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #oneshot #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #viziepop #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin

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merlucide · 1 month

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What’s their taste in music?

notes: playing around with sizing hehe-

characters: Barou, Sendou, Chigiri, Bachira, Reo, Oliver, Hiori, Otoya

barou shoei

classical music 100%

Cmon my dude mediates- how obvious does it needa be? I feel like piano would be his favorite but also really likes cello or other deep string instruments. He normally just puts on the default classical music playlists lmao. Though I do think he would like Red hot chilli peppers for some reason. Definitely hard no on metal or anything really with intense drums. He can’t stand the loud aggressive music, he thinks it’s unhinged and frenetic.

sendou shuto

sendou listens to rap cus he thinks it makes him cooler💀 I can see it so clearly omg-

Listens to Eminem obviously, and his favorite song from him is rap god. His hype song is NEW ORLEANS by BROCKHAMPTON. He feels so badass listening to it lmao. Though what he really likes is pop, Brittney spears, Dua lipa, Lady Gaga, etc etc.

chigiri hyoma

Okay I can see Chigiri liking a few types of music for like different moods yk.

I think he’d like XXXTENTACION, he listens to his more ‘intense’ songs when he runs. He likes YuNg BrAtZ, when he wants to listen to depressing music he likes Orlando.

He’d like rock too, The white stripes and Nirvana would be his go toos.

When he’s getting really into his workout he puts on Disturbed and occasionally SlipKnot when he’s tryna push himself.

ALSO I CAN 100% SEEING HIM LISTENING TO SLEEP TOKEN?!? OMG YEAH???

(RIP XXX.)

bachira meguru

Hear me out okay.

Voicaloid.

IK IK- I think Bachira would really like the fast pace and excitement in their songs. He just likes Hyperpop, it’s like an energy boost he don’t need anymore energy

His all time favorites are Rin Rin Signal and Poppippo.

ALSO THE LIVING TOMBSTONE. UGH HE WOULD LIKE THEM RIGHT???? Discord would be on loop 24/7 are u kidding me

mikage reo

I think that since he grew up classy n rich he’d listen to classical music and such. he really likes Violin/Viola. Listening to it brings him great comfort and peace. Reo really likes Jazz too. Obviously Reo explored other types of music to see what else there is .definitely did it as an act of ‘rebellion’ lmao- He isn’t really a fan of metal or rock but likes Alt. I can see him listening to The neighborhood or Radiohead. He also likes Adele.

aiku oliver

likes the more chill stuff, like Noah Kahan or Big thief. He’s a pretty laid back guy and doesn’t feel the need to rage through music lmao- Though I can see him liking Chase Atlantic. And I know for a fact if you put on any cunty music he’d know all of the lyrics to the songs. Ayesha Erotica, Chase Icon, or even porn-ish singerslike cupcakke he’d know the words to em💀

hiori yo

death metal.

Like we talking cannibal corpse, the fallen prophecies, and on calm days, SlipKnot.

he gotta cope somehow ig😶

Like you could ask him what he’s listening too and expect him to listen to like Drake or sum and he’s like ‘oh I’m listening to Murderous Rampage by Cannibal Corpse’.

.. 😶

Like dawg wut😭

otoya eita

he’d listen to Drake, Lil Uzi Vert and Kanye West without doubt.

Pls he’s the most basic, generic, un-unique ‘frat boy’ ever, of course he’d listen to them. He thinks he all hot stuff jamming out to em, all dripped out in his basic ass fit, and ugly beanie, ew. Ugh I hate this hoe🙄 (jk he’s bbg 🤭) also I’m not hating on any of these artists, I like their music- DONT TAKS NUFFIN PERSONAL PLS

lemme know if u wanna pt2 or whatever mkay

made March 17th 2024

#blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk x reader #barou x reader #chigiri x reader #bachira x reader #reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #Sendou x reader #Sendou shuto x reader #oliver aiku x reader #aiku x reader #hiori x reader #hiori yo x reader #otoya x reader #otoya eita x reader #blue lock imagines

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therainingkiwi · 4 months

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Train travel in The Lightning Thief/PJO TV season 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amtrak map below for reference.

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

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mrs-kmikaelson · 9 months

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07| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader, Marcel Gerard x mostly platonic!reader Summary: Trying to figure out a way to get Klaus to trust you, you reminisce over the past and how trust was earned in a similar situation. Warnings: none Words: 3.7K

Masterlist

a/n: does anyone know how i can fix the gifs from like not centring? it looks fine on my laptop but horrible on mobile😭

NEW ORLEANS, 1970

Strobe lights went all across the room, music blaring, but I could barely tell what song was playing, too distracted by what I was doing—or, rather, who I was about to do. I ran my fingers through his hair while his hand crept up my skirt, our kiss getting more passionate by the second.

His name didn't matter. All I cared about was the fun we were about to have.

"Why don't we take this somewhere more private," he mumbled in between kisses.

I nodded against him, giving him one last kiss before whispering in his ear. "Back alley." The fact that I was drunk didn't stop me from leading us across the dance floor to the back where I'd been many times before. I knew the owner—who was also a really good kisser—and so I knew where to go.

I felt the cold air hit us as soon as we got outside, despite feeling so hot. As soon as the door closed, I turned around, intending on pulling him back in for a kiss, but I almost staggered back when I saw the same man I was kissing just moments ago with veins crawling underneath his eyes, fangs protruding in his mouth.

What the fuck?

I quickly sobered up, baring my own fangs at him. The atmosphere went from hot and sexy to dark in an instant.

His eyes widened. While his voice was surprised, there was still an undertone of hostility. "You're a vampire?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You didn't know?" God, how drunk was he? I smelt that he was a night crawler immediately. Clearly, he thought I was a human and wanted to leave so he could suck me dry.

That wasn't happening. For obvious reasons.

He cursed under his breath. For a second, I thought we'd get back to what we were doing; I mean, I just cleared this up. I was gonna be generous and continue to make out with him in spite of the fact that he just tried to kill me, but this dude just had to kill my fun, too.

He tried charging at me, but my magic worked faster than even vamp speed. Quickly, I rushed, "Motus!" and he was sent flying into the wall. My eyes widened. Fuckkkkkk, man.

I just wanted to get laid.

I wasn't supposed to do that. I was supposed to punch him, maybe snap his neck—I was supposed to do something that a vampire would do. A vampire doesn't just move things with their mind.

I thought I was soberer than that, but it seemed that the alcohol was still affecting me because I just sent a fucking vampire flying. Shock was all over the guy's face, his pretty, pretty face that I just wanted to have a good time with.

Fuck. Now I'd have to kill him.

He remained against the wall, but he didn't wait much longer before firing questions at me. "What the hell was that-"

I cut him off, "Look, man, I wasn't planning on doing a lot of talking with you tonight." Annoyance laced my voice. He didn't respond as quickly, just looking at me with an extremely analyzing gaze. I didn't doubt that he was confused. People don't just come across people like me.

He was silent until it looked like a light bulb went off in his head. "Tribrid," he muttered under his breath, almost like I wasn't meant to hear it, but I did.

My blood went cold. "What did you just say?" I asked, but he ignored me, continuing to mutter under his breath.

"I knew a guy once—he was half wolf, half vampire." If he didn't have my attention before, he sure as hell did now. Because I only knew one person that matched that description, and that was Klaus Mikaelson.

My body went rigid while the guy took little notice, seeming to put together a bunch of puzzle pieces in his head. "Yeah-" he paused, looking up at me, "I've heard chatter. Witches saying something about a... triangle: werewolf, vampire... and witch."

Chatter? He's heard chatter? A thousand things went through my mind at once. That was impossible. Nobody knew about me. I just got to this city; there was no way witches have managed to decipher a secret I've spent centuries keeping.

Against my will, my tone was now less calm. "I don't know what you're-"

"I think you do know what I'm talking about." The guy's eyes were hard as he stared right back at me. I thought he was just some baby vamp, but it appeared that he was proving me wrong. He took a step closer to me. "You're the tribrid, aren't you?"

I almost laughed, even though I was full of nerves while, just seconds ago, I was fine. "You must have a death wish," I remarked. Maybe I could've left him alone, convinced him to forget about my display of magic and just left town. But now he not only saw that, but he also knew exactly who I was and he'd go running to tell everyone else.

He had to go. It's a shame, though, I thought, he was such a good kisser.

I stepped closer to him and he immediately got the message, eyes widening again once he realized that I had the upper hand. "No, no," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "I promise you; you do not want to kill me."

I scoffed, "And why is that?"

"Listen, I hold a lot of influence around here-"

I scoffed again. "I really don't care." Throwing power around was a politician's move, and politicians only lied to you. I wasn't gonna take my chances.

I was walking towards him, taking one step forward for every step he took back until he blurted, "My name is Marcel Gerard." At this, I stopped. Marcel Gerard... I knew that name. I stood still, racking my brain until I realized why his name sounded so familiar.

Marcel Gerard literally ruled this city. I'd been in New Orleans for not even a few days yet you could hear vampires and witches alike mentioning him often.

Damnit. Of course, I not only meet the guy who the vampires in this city worship, but I also end up locking lips with him and have him find out what I am.

I just wanted to have fun.

He saw recognition on my face, causing his own to light up. "So, you know who I am." I nodded in response, exasperatedly rolling my eyes. All of this had completely caused my buzz to dissipate into thin air. "Look..." he trailed off, making a gesture with his hands.

I rolled my again. "Y/N."

"Look, Y/N, I know what you are. I figured it out in seconds. There's already speculation of a tribrid going around with the witches-"

"Get to the fucking point, Marcel, before I just decide to kill you. Believe me, I am not in the mood to deal with this right now."

He didn't waste any more time. "I can get the witches to back off and find something else to fixate on. I can bury just the thought of a tribrid being out there, Y/N," he emphasized.

I wonder just how dumb he thought I was. I shook my head. "So you want me not to kill you, just so you can go blab to whoever you see as soon as I leave you alone?" He shook his head right back at me.

"I won't say a thing, trust me." He paused. "We can help each other."

"Oh, c'mon-"

"No, I'm being serious," he asserted, no longer looking like he was backed into a corner but much more assured than before. "Killing me wouldn't do you any good. My people would search relentlessly for my killer, and the witches would only keep digging, possibly striking gold at some point. You keep me alive, and I can get rid of that for you."

I only stared at him with narrow eyes. He looked confident in the bar, that's what drew me to him, but I wasn't expecting anything like this. He had a point, but that didn't mean it was enough to stop me from killing him. And if I didn't like this city, then I'd kill him without any qualms and leave. But I do like this city. I want to stay here, and I knew I couldn't stay here with him dead and with the witches suspicious.

I couldn't afford to make enemies. Right now, what I needed were friends.

I'd already made up my mind, but Marcel didn't know that, still trying to get me to see a vision that I already understood. "We can make a good team, Y/N."

I didn't say anything for a few more seconds, thinking everything over in my mind. I could possibly be making the biggest mistake of my life right now, I thought. But I was already set. I kept my voice cold and devoid of emotion. "I'm giving you twenty-four hours to make this witch thing go away, Marcel."

A weight was lifted off his shoulders. "And I'll do just that." I wasn't gonna stick around much longer. This was already much more conversation than I was anticipating to have tonight, and we clearly weren't gonna have sex, so without another thought, I sped out of the alley.

Little did I know, that night marked the start of one of the rest of my life in New Orleans.

THE PRESENT

I was pulled out of my reverie when I saw Marcel came into my vision, sitting down on the chair opposite to me. We started out trying to kill each other, and now look: we were meeting for coffee.

I didn't trust him when I first met him, even after he made my problems with the witches disappear. That wasn't enough. And it also wasn't enough for him to insist I work with him. Those were things he was doing for his own benefit, so, of course, that didn't inspire my trust in him.

I only started trusting Marcel after he opened up to me about his past. Doing that, getting vulnerable with someone—that showed that you trusted them. And what better way to get someone to trust you than to show that you trust them?

I wasn't just reminiscing for the sake of it. The way Marcel got me to trust him was what I'd been forgetting throughout all my interactions with Klaus. I couldn't just ask him to trust blindly, the same way Marcel couldn't ask me to, or the same way I couldn't get the witches to.

I needed a show of good faith. The trick was just figuring out what.

"Hey, Y/N/N."

I nodded back to Cellie's greeting, pushing a tumbler over to his side of the table. While I actually liked coffee, Marcel wasn't a fan. "Got you your drink."

He grinned. "Ah, have I told you how much I love you recently?"

"Definitely not enough," I quipped back. "Now drink." His smile only got wider as he brought the tumbler up to his lips, sipping from his blood while I worked at finishing my Americano.

It's been about a week since I gave the contract to Klaus and went out with Marcel and Cami, who were now accepting the title of "dating" (after lots of resistance from Cami's side). Things have otherwise been quiet. I've been over to the Abattoir a few times to speak with Elijah, sometimes speaking to Hayley, and rarely talking to Klaus, but everything was fine if you didn't count the fact that he was still staring at me every time I came over.

You'd think that I'd be the one behaving that way after constantly seeing my father, his baby mama, and his brother, but nope. I've been calm; the whole Mikaelson thing has been getting to me less, but Klaus would look at me like he was trying to pick apart everything I said or did.

Sooner or later, it wouldn't matter how well I kept my secret. He was just gonna keep digging, so I needed to stop him before he struck gold.

"How's D been doing?" He asked, and the Mikaelsons were instantly pushed to the back of my mind. Davina had that effect.

"She's been good. Doing her school work, getting better with her magic by the day. You should come by for dinner soon, actually."

"Yeah, I-" he cut himself off when a "ping" sounded. He glanced down at his phone on the table, muttering a curse under his breath. When he looked back up at me, his expression was a mix of annoyance at the disturbance and apology. "Sorry, Y/N/N, I've gotta-"

"No, no, it's fine," I told him. "Go on and deal with it." He gave me a silent thank you before getting up, kissing my cheek in parting.

"I'll make it up to you. Dinner at mine," he said, walking away backwards. I smiled, telling him I'd see him later, and then he was out the door. Although we'd been sitting for all of one minute before he had to go, I wasn't irritated. He was getting back into the groove with the Quarter's happenings, so I'd be fully supportive.

I got up, throwing my empty coffee cup into the trash and walking out of the little café, mentally running over my schedule: housekeeping, then dinner with Marcel and Davina later. Right now, I'd go game plan my pitch to the vampires.

Or not.

Just as I was about to cross the street, a black car abruptly skirted in front of me, making me jump back. Before I could make anything of it, two men stepped out of it. Their expressions were practically lifeless, not a trace of emotion in sight.

"Get into the car," one of them ordered, causing me to furrow my brows. What the fuck?

I voiced my concerns not a moment later. "Excuse me?"

The other one stepped forward as if he was threatening me. I looked him up and down. Who the fuck was he stepping to like that? "Ma'am, you're gonna need to get into the car willingly before we force you to."

Force me to? I only stared at him, debating on whether or not I was gonna bash his head into the car he was threatening me to get into in front of any passers-by. I was then reminded of the exact thing I was on my way to work on: the peace pacts. If I exacted any violence, that wouldn't be setting the right example.

Still, though, I was tempted.

After a few seconds of eying them both, I realized I not only knew them, but I also understood what was happening here.

These were some of Marcel's old vampires.

And they were compelled.

Damnit. I glanced to the car behind them. I was willing to bet money that, inside that very car, sat Klaus. I rolled my eyes. A week ago, I would've been more put off by this, and I was, but I was more annoyed than anything.

I'd find some way to get him to trust me later, but if I didn't get into this car right now, then he'd only become even more suspicious of me, and I didn't need that.

I shook my head in disbelief that I was even gonna do this, gesturing for them to move so I could get into the car. One of them opened the back door for me and I got in.

I turned to my left, fully expecting Klaus to be sitting next to me, but instead I was met with the sight of a blonde with big, voluminous curls and bright blue eyes. Despite fitting into the dumb blonde mold exactly, I knew she was anything but.

This was Rebekah Mikaelson.

I (hopefully) hid my shock quickly, but my eyes still narrowed. My mind raced, wondering what the hell she could possibly want from me. I first jumped to conclusions, but I shut them down immediately, knowing that there was no way anyone knew I was related to the Mikaelsons, including the Mikaelsons themselves.

While I'd been visiting the Abattoir often, Rebekah was basically nowhere to be found. I never would've guessed that this was how I'd be meeting her, being pushed into a car by vampires acting like they were secret service. But, with the Mikaelsons, so far nothing has gone as I expected it.

When she turned to me, she didn't stop and observe me first like her brother did. I'd learned from my research that Rebekah Mikaelson was impulsive, possibly even more so than Klaus. So it didn't surprise me when she cut right to the chase.

"You must be Y/N," she said. Her voice sounded like honey and a smile was on her lips, but it didn't take rocket science to know that it was all an act. "I'm Rebekah Mikaelson, but I'm sure you're already aware of that."

I was. And so I said that. "I am."

She hummed at my response, indirectly reminding me so much of Klaus. She pressed a button to her side, causing the partition to roll up, never looking away from me once. Her smile then quickly dropped. "What are you doing with Marcel?"

Now, I couldn't hide the surprise on my face. "What?"

"You heard me," she asserted, unwilling to elaborate any further and just continuing to look at me, waiting for a reply.

Out of all the reasons she could've pulled me into this car, that one had never even crossed my mind. I paused for a few seconds, thinking over how I'd respond. I knew Rebekah and Marcel had history, and Rebekah had created a reputation for herself as not only being a lover, but a rather possessive one.

Saying the wrong thing here could get me into a tight situation I did not want to be in, so I had to be sure that my words wouldn't piss her off. "He's my friend," I told her, but she didn't look very convinced.

"Really?" She questioned, sarcasm noticeable in her voice. "Are you so cozy with all of your friends? Because you both looked rather close in that café." So she was watching us.

I backtracked, remembering how he kissed me on the cheek on his way out. I see how that could look bad to some people, especially his ex-girlfriend who seemed much more attached to him than he let on. From the way Marcel told the story, him and Rebekah were over, but the way she was acting didn't suggest that at all.

Suddenly, Camille was brought to the forefront of my mind. "We are close," I defended. "I've known him a long time, and we're just friends." I could've left it there—should've left it there, but with Cami on my mind I couldn't help but add, "Besides, he has a girlfriend."

Rebekah narrowed her eyes at me; although, something told me she was already conscious of that little fact. Her jaw tensed, making me more alert. While Elijah and even Klaus wouldn't immediately deal with their problems physically, I knew Rebekah was a different story.

She was smart, don't get me wrong, but if there was something to know about her it was that her emotions overpowered her mind more often than not. She was impulsive, and so this could go real bad, real quick.

I had to get out of this.

I decided to just say something instead of letting her make the first move. If I said something first, then I could take control of the situation and spin it before she could.

"Look," I started. "Marcel and I have a completely platonic relationship." Well, not completely, but I wasn't gonna tell her that. "After we met, I was just helping him keep things running smoothly in the Quarter, the same thing I'm doing with your family now."

While her expression remained blank, I could tell I was swaying her in the right direction. She just needed one last push. "We talk so often because of Davina. She's important to both of us, and we just want to make sure she gets the childhood she deserves." Her eyes immediately softened, and I knew I got her.

Davina was just a child. As ruthless as Rebekah could be, she still had humanity inside her—Marcel had told me this time and time again when he was under the influence. There was something in her that he fell for, and it was her ability to care when she really wanted to.

She finally looked away from me. "I understand," she said. If I knew anything about her, then I knew she was probably embarrassed right now. It turned out that Rebekah's emotional nature had actually helped, not harmed. "Sorry for the inconvenience," she apologized, but her eyes never met mine.

She rolled the partition back down, telling the driver to stop the car and unlock the doors. "You're free to go, Y/N." I stared at her for a few seconds, wondering if there was anything else I was supposed to say, but I came up empty. So I just got out of the car and watched as they drove away right after.

Once I could no longer see the car, I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I just met Rebekah Mikaelson.

And I just barely dodged a bullet. I directed my thoughts away from freaking out because I just met yet another member of my family to how I was gonna fix the problem I had.

I couldn't keep tiptoeing on this tight-rope around the Mikaelsons. Sooner or later, I'd fall. I needed to do something to get them, all of them, to trust me. If they caught me at the right time, then everything could be exposed.

I had all of these thoughts running through my mind until a light bulb went off, and all of the puzzle pieces suddenly assembled themselves into a clear picture.

I knew what to do.

I had my show of good faith.

Taglist: @scrynexxtins @thisnameistaken1234 @honestlycasualarcade @xlittlestarling @thatgirljas13 @rosecentury

#klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus x daughter!reader #tvd fandom #tvdu #the originals #klaus mikaelson #marcel gerard #rebekah mikaelson #the mikaelsons #elijah mikaelson #davina claire #tvd fanfic #imagines #tvd imagine #the vampire diaries

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onlyfreds · 1 year

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Someday | E.M.

Title: Someday

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: A girl and an original, sounds like a fantasy, but nothing is impossible when it comes to love.

A/N: It's been a hot minute since I posted a fic, so hopefully this is half as decent as I hope it is and you guys like it

The story of a girl and her vampire: if any outsider were to hear the story, it would sound crazy, almost like some sort of fantasy.

Shutting the door of the taxi, you stepped out into the cobblestone streets and took a deep breath.

“Finally.” You thought, having achieved your lifelong dream of moving to New Orleans.

Lugging your suitcase behind you, you searched for the address of the place you’d be staying at.

–

“And here is your room.” Cami, a friend from high school who’d you be staying with gestured to the guest room next to her own room.

“Thanks Cami. You’re the best!” You smiled, proceeding to give the girl a hug, “I promise I’ll move out the minute I find a more affordable apartment.”

She laughed, “Nonsense, stay here as long as you like. Anyway, I have to go back to my shift at the bar now but when I close up, we can definitely go out for dinner.”

“Sounds great! I can also help out at the bar if you want.” You offered.

“Stop.” The blonde grinned, “You are my guest and you will do no such thing. Now go and unpack.”

“Fine. Fine.” You gave in with a playful eye roll.

–

“Does this place do deliveries? I don’t think I want to eat anywhere else ever again.” You took a sip of water making Cami laugh.

“I’m pretty sure they do.” She said as the waiter dropped off the bill.

While Cami was searching for her wallet in her bag, you pulled out some cash and hurriedly gave it to the waiter, “Take it before she finds hers.”

Realizing what had just happened, Cami gave you a pointed look, “Y/N.”

“Cami.” You mirrored her tone, giving her the same look, “It’s on me, I swear.”

“But-” She tried to protest.

“Shh.” You interrupted, “You’re already practically giving me a place to stay, provided that I pay for my share for the water and electricity bills. Ever since I have arrived, you have been nothing but incredibly generous to me. Let me do this.”

“Fine.” Cami gave in with a roll of her eyes, “But when you go to the bar, drinks are on me.”

This made you smile, “Now who am I to turn down free drinks?”

–

“Who are the Mikaelsons?” You asked after Cami had told you that you should come along to a party they were hosting that night.

“They’re the most influential family in Orleans.” She said, ruffling through her closet in search of something to wear, “The Mikaelsons are practically like royalty.”

You raised a brow in question, “So, they’re pretentious?”

“Not all of them.” Cami smiled, “Klaus is a little though, but the rest of them aren’t so.”

Laughing, you said, “Can’t wait to meet them. I don’t have a dress though.”

“There’s a boutique down the corner.” Cami said, “When can go take a look there if you want.”

–

Cami sure wasn’t joking when she said that the Mikaelsons were like royalty.

The compound you and Cami had just walked into was majestic and almost mansion-like. The lights that decorated the walls just seemed to make the place even bigger.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Cami said, noticing how awestruck and speechless you were.

“First thought that came into my mind was ‘you’re joking’. But, after seeing this, I think it's not entirely impossible.” You said.

“Camille! Glad to see you could make it.” A deep and husky voice boomed from the corridor as the owner approached the two of you.

“Klaus.” Your friend smiled, “Nice to see you too.”

“I see you’ve also brought a friend.” The man, or rather Klaus, mused before turning to you, “I’m sure that I’ve already been introduced by my entrance, so, may I know your name?”

“I’m Y/N.” You smiled.

“Niklaus.” A man in a suit came up next to Klaus, almost appearing out of thin air, “Are you causing someone an inconvenience again?”

Klaus dramatically gasped, now turning his attention to the man next to him, “I’m offended at how you think I bother everyone.”

“That seems to be the case, sometimes.” The man nods to Cami, “Camille.”

He then turns to you, a small smile growing on his handsome face while he reaches for your hand and brushes his lips against your knuckles, “And may I be able to put a name to that beautiful face?”

Giggling, you could feel the butterflies starting to stir, “I’m Y/N and you are?”

“Elijah.” He answered.

“So, Y/N. May I have this dance?” Elijah asked, offering a hand to you.

Glancing over at Cami, she gave a nod along with a subtle wink.

“I would love to.” You grinned, taking his hand and he led you away from your friend.

That was where it all started, with two lonely hearts beating in the dark.

–

“Your company has been the best I’ve had in a while.” Elijah smiled as the two of you stopped in front of Cami’s house. Cami had disappeared with Klaus leaving you to fend for yourself.

“Glad to have been of service then.” You laughed.

“Hopefully, this isn’t the last time I’ll be catching any sight of your captivating presence.” He said.

“I assure you, Elijah, you won’t be getting rid of me that easily.” You smiled.

The gentleman smiled as well, kissing along your knuckles the same way when you had first met earlier, “I’ll be counting on that.”

–

“I’m home!” It’s been a month since your arrival to New Orleans, finally having signed a lease for your own apartment, the only downside was the fact that you couldn’t move there for another month.

“So, how was your date?” Cami came into the living room as you were kicking off your shoes.

Rolling your eyes at her teasing, you retorted, “Cami, how many times do I have to tell you that it's’ not a date. Elijah and I just went to watch theater like friends do.”

“Yeah, friends do go to the theater but even a blind person could see how you and Elijah are a far cry from friends.” She said.

You went to the kitchen to get some water, “Touche, I can literally say the same about you and Klaus.”

Cami was immediately on your trail, “Klaus and I acknowledge our feelings. You and Elijah don’t. It seems like both of you have this intense fear of rejection. To be honest, the two of you would be a pretty amazing couple.”

“Is my crush on him that obvious?” You asked, leaning against the door of the fridge.

“Even someone who doesn’t believe in the concept of love could see it.” She confirmed, throwing a teasing smile.

“Oh my-” You groaned, “Then this means that he knows as well.”

Although Cami had been successful at holding back a laugh, a grin still appeared on her face as she fondly shook her head as a mother would, “You and him are the only people oblivious to each other’s feelings.”

“Whatever.” You felt the heat starting to take over your face, “I’m going out, we’re out of milk.”

“In the middle of the night?” Cami asked.

You started putting your shoes on, “No better time.”

–

For the past half hour, you couldn’t stop thinking about what your friend had said, could Elijah possibly bear the same feelings for you?

Strangely, the city sounds and the gravel crunching under your feet didn’t distract you at all. But you couldn’t shake off the strange feeling you had, almost like your gut was telling you that something is…eerie.

You could’ve sworn that someone had to be walking behind you but when you turned around, there was nothing but a gust of wind rattling the leaves.

Brushing it off as a figment of your imagination and the fact that it was almost midnight, you started on the way back home, how on earth did you think that a store would sell you some milk at this hour?

In an attempt to get rid of the chill that was running through your whole body, you tucked your hands into the pockets of your coat.

Then, under a split second, you were suddenly thrown against the wall - feeling a bit dizzy from the impact.

You kicked and tried to scratch the person but then the man holding you captive, grinned and flashed his fangs.

At first, you thought that you had gone mad. It was practically impossible for vampires to exist. Then the man’s eyes started to darken and the veins on his face became prominent as he said, “Guess I’m getting some dessert after all.”

Nothing prepared you for this moment, in school, they never exactly taught what to do in case you run across a vampire (who also happened to not actually exist in the first place).

As the sharp points of the fangs inched closer, you braced yourself for the worst, hoping that you would jolt awake in your bed and find out that this entire thing was just some nightmare.

The grip on your throat suddenly loosened as the man in front of you limply dropped to the ground.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” The husky voice of your savior pulled you out of your shock.

“Elijah?” If you thought that the prospect of vampires being real was enough of a surprise for a lifetime, wait till you are met with Elijah Mikaelson, seemingly wiping blood off his hands as a real heart lay discarded at his side while he asked if you were okay.

“Do you want me to walk you back to Cami’s?” He asked.

“Did you just…” You started feeling dizzy, feeling completely overwhelmed with everything to be processed in the last few minutes, “pull his heart out?”

He was rendered speechless, not actually expecting that you would ask this. After a moment of silence, he answered cautiously, “Yes.”

“H-how?” You asked, not really sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Elijah looked defeated as he offered a small smile, “Let me walk you back to Cami’s and I’ll explain everything once we get there.”

In an attempt to lighten some of the tension, you asked, “Promise you won’t bite?”

Elijah laughed, “Promise.”

–

It’s been two weeks since you were told of the grand secret of New Orleans: that werewolves, witches and vampires not only roamed the streets but were also practically like royalty and the Mikaelsons happened to be called the “Originals” which are the very first vampires ever.

It’s also been two weeks since you had last seen Elijah Mikaelson.

After doing everything, even dropping by the compound in desperate hopes that you would actually see him - it was almost like he was avoiding you.

Okay, he was actually avoiding you.

“Hello ‘Bekah.” You grinned as the blonde greeted you with a kiss to the cheek, ‘as the French do’.

“This is exciting! We haven’t gone shopping in ages.” She asked with a mirroring smile, looping her arm around yours almost dragging you to the shopping center.

–

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, did you and Elijah have a fight or something?” Rebekah asked out of the blue while browsing the dresses.

“No. Why?” You replied.

“The two of you just seem so awfully distant lately.” She said, “And Elijah’s been in some kind of somber mood, he practically just shuts himself in his room all day. It’s Klaus who normally does that.”

“He’s been avoiding me for two weeks, ever since the incident with a vampire.” You said.

She raised a brow in question, “What incident?”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?” You then recounted how you discovered the secret that lies beneath the streets of New Orleans.

–

Taking a deep breath, your fist hung an inch away from the door to Elijah’s room. After telling Rebekah the whole story, she pestered (and almost dragged) you to go to Elijah and talk it out.

You were about to knock when the door suddenly swung open. Elijah Mikaelson stood there, in a white shirt and pyjama pants, looking very much surprised.

“Y-Y/N? What’re you doing here?” He asked once he had finally come around.

“I’m worried.” You admitted, “You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks. I had no idea if something had happened to you or if you were mad at me or something.

“I’m a vampire, an Original vampire, for goodness sake.” Elijah said, “I’m a monster, Y/N/N, I could hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“‘Lijah, what’re you talking about? You’re anything but a monster. You’re literally the sweetest person I know.” You protested.

“Aren’t you terrified by the prospect that I was transformed into a creature that feeds off of blood? A creature that nearly killed you?”

“I’m not and you wanna know why? Because I know the real you and you’re far from just a vampire.”

“But-” Before he could utter another word you suddenly pressed your lips to his, effectively shutting him up.

“That was.” Elijah grinned as he found it difficult to find the words to describe just how perfect it was.

You giggled, looping your arms around his neck, “If you’re going to pick back up on your monologue, I’m seriously kicking you.”

The vampire chuckled, “I can’t seem to recall what the topic was anymore.” before pulling you in for another kiss.

–

The sun was shining, the air was cool, and all the factions of New Orleans were at peace - nothing could seem more perfect.

Especially with your arm looped around Elijah’s.

“It feels like eternity since I last saw this.” Elijah mused.

“Saw what?” You asked.

“This.” He emphasized, “Everything is at peace, almost as if we were in some sort of paradise.”

Looking up at him with a smile, you said, “As long as I’m around you, everyday is paradise.”

The original chuckled, pecking a kiss to your cheek, “Now look who’s stealing my lines.”

“What?” You feigned offence, “Would you rather someone else did?”

“Never in a million years.” Elijah answered.

–

“Where is she? Bring me to her, this instance!” Elijah almost screamed as he bursted through the doors of the compound.

“Elijah, you need to calm down, she’s okay.” Rebekah said in an attempt to console her brother.

“I saw her, Rebekah, I know she isn’t okay - it’s my fault, I need to see her.” Her older brother pleaded.

“She’s in the guest room with Cami.”

As soon as the blonde uttered these words, Elijah ran to the room in question, “Camille! How is she?”

Cami shushes him, “She’s okay Elijah, her injuries looked worse than they actually were, she’s just resting now.”

The original breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down on the seat Cami had been occupying earlier while nursing you, “Thank you Cami, I’m sorry for what happened.”

Cami gave him a reassuring smile, “It’s not your fault Elijah, none of us would’ve seen it coming.”

She then left the room, closing the door behind her to give you and Elijah some privacy.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be here, go home, it’s too dangerous.” Elijah said the moment he saw you.

“I can’t Eli, I can’t stay home knowing that all of you are out here.” You protested.

“It’s too dangerous out here, you could get seriously hurt and I don’t want that.” He argued.

Before you could argue any further, Elijah immediately vampire-sped you to a secluded part of the area, “Stay here and don’t come out unless you are in grave danger or I come to pick you up.”

With a roll of your eyes, you quickly pressed a kiss to lips, “Little advice, getting stabbed with the white oak stake, because that will surely get you killed.”

Despite the ongoing battle, Elijah managed to smile, “I’ll take note of that then.”

–

Elijah would surely lecture you for this, that is if the both of you make it out of this alive.

It feels like actual torture to just stand around and wait for the battle to be over, so naturally, you ignored what Eliah had tol you and set out to fight.

Setting aside the tragedy, the whole scenery almost looked like something out of a movie - the blood splattered everyday could’ve been enough to stage a couple of crime scenes, hearts lay discarded, almost indistinguishable figures moved in and out and fortunately, no one has noticed you.

That’s when you saw it, Lucien with the white oak stake in his hand, ready to stab an unsuspecting Elijah busy fighting another vampire.

So, you did the natural thing and took the stake for him.

Elijah closed his eyes, he could still remember the way his senses told him that something was wrong a little too late, the way the blood soaked your shirt, your pained scream.

He was supposed to protect you, how could he let that happen?

“Elijah…” He suddenly heard the voice he so desperately wanted to hear.

“Y/N/N,” Elijah stood up, stroking your hair, “How’re you feeling?”

You smiled at him, “I’m feeling fine, shoulder’s just a bit sore.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been able to protect you, I was supposed to keep you safe. How do I manage to kill every woman I love?” He said.

“It’s not your fault, you protected me, you literally had me hide in a safe place. I was the one who walked into the battlefield.” You insisted.

A slight pout formed on Elijah’s lips, “But you still got hurt, you literally got stabbed. I should’ve just brought you back to the compound first.”

“And let you get stabbed with the white oak stake? Not a chance.” You laughed.

“But you got hurt.”

“And you’re alive, would you rather it be the other way around?”

“I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

“I told you to avoid the white oak stakes.”

You sighed, intertwining your hands, “Eli, I’m not a damsel in distress, I appreciate that you want to protect me but know that I can also protect you. It’s basically just give and take.”

“For as long as I can remember, I’ve always protected everyone I loved.” He said.

“Then, me and your family will always be here to protect you.” You answered.

#elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson fluff #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikealson x reader #elijah x reader #elijah x y/n #mikaelson family #mikaelson family x reader #the originals x you #the originals fanfiction #the originals

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aheathen-conceivably · 3 months

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Against her wishes, Violette started school in late 1931. Now that her Aunt Jo was seemingly back to herself and her father much happier, she wanted to stay at home with them the way she did in New Orleans. Instead she was stuck inside a box, listening as the teacher droned on and on about nothing important. She longed to be let outside, to be allowed to dance by herself or with her Poppa.

You must stay seated, Miss Duplanchier. You must listen to the teacher, Miss Duplanchier. You must not talk in class, Miss Duplanchier. Every day there seemed to be more rules, more people who told her what to do and more information she didn’t care about.

Perhaps the time she spent between classes or in the cafeteria could have been better, but she hadn’t trusted any of them from the start. They were just as foreign to her as she was to them, so instead of speaking to anyone other than William she just learned to keep her ears tuned to every sound, until even their perfectly innocent laughs became suspicious.

At first they had been curious, prodding her with friendly if invasive questions the way children often could. They asked where her family had moved from, or why her accent sounded so different from theirs. Their tones held a mix of suspicion and excitement that Violette found confusing. She didn’t know why she sounded “funny" or why her hair "looked like that"; she only knew that this was the way she had always been. They only knew that they had never heard or seen anyone like her before, and the more she responded to their questions with angry glares or cold quips, the more they asked them amongst themselves rather than to her face.

“I talked to my Momma about her. Said she’s seen ‘er Poppa round town asking for work a few months back. Said they came from New Arleen.”

Another girl furrowed her brows, “You mean New Orleans? Like in Huckleberry Finn?”

The girl shook her head and shrugged, unaware of what she meant, “All I know is Momma said her Poppa looks like, you know, like William. She said he’s…”

Violette has heard her own name many times before, but at the sound of the word Poppa, her cheeks flared and her shoulders set, “Don’t you dare say another word about him.”

The whole table turned to look at her and the girl began to stutter, “We weren’t, we just…we were just talking.” But one of the boys seemed emboldened by Violette’s anger and looked at her straight on, “We just wanna know where you came from, alright? I mean maybe if you just stopped actin' weird and talked to us but you walk 'round here like you think you're better than us or something. Jimmy said your parents gotta be from down south but you don't look like any Mexican I ever seen."

Violette narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. She had heard enough curse words to know how to answer, “It's none of your damn business. And at least I ain’t ugly like you.”

The boy withered from her insult, but one of the girls giggled under her breath. Violette turned to walk away, satisfied by the wounded expression she had caused, when the laughing girl jumped to her feet and walked toward her. Violette turned around at the touch of her hand, “Hey, I’m..I’m sorry about Billy. He’s a louse but his parents own the general store so he thinks he’s better than everyone else. I won’t ask no questions if you wanna sit with me.”

She snatched her arm away from the offending girl's grasp, "No. I'm not staying in here with him." The girl looked back toward the table, where the boys were giving her a sullen glare, "Do you wanna go outside and play then? Without them?"

Violette thought for a moment and then glanced at the boys, pleased by their ongoing discomfort. She looked back at the girl and nodded her head yes. A look of delight crossed her face and she gestured to the other girl who had spoken before. She looked toward the boys guiltily and then rose to her feet, her cheeks still red and embarrassed from the earlier encounter. Violette took one look at her sullen expression and decided it was just as good as the boy’s wounded ego.

She smiled at the two girls at her elbows and then glared at the boys before walking outside with them at her heels.

#1931 #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #ts4 historical #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Violette darlington

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amphibious-thing · 6 months

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Pink is for Boys

"Pink or Blue? Which is intended for boys and which for girls? This question comes from one of our readers this month, and the discussion may be of interest to others. There has been a great diversity of opinion on this subject, but the generally accepted rule is pink for the boy and blue for the girl. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl." ~ The Infants' Department, June 1918

[Left: The Blue Boy, oil on canvas, c. 1770, by Thomas Gainsborough.

Right: The Pink Boy, oil on canvas, c. 1782, by Thomas Gainsborough.]

Pink is for girls and blue is for boys. But it hasn't always been this way. Colour coding infants as a way of denoting gender was popular in 20th century America. The problem? Pink and blue? Which is for boys and which is for girls?

In 1927 TIME Magazine asked ten of the "leading stores that sell baby equipment" which colour was for which gender. Four stores responded pink for girls and blue for boys; Macy's (Manhattan), Franklin Simon (Manhattan), Wanamaker's (Philadelphia) and Bullock's (Los Angeles). Five stores responded pink for boys and blue for girls; Best's (Manhattan), Marshall Field's (Chicago), Filene's (Boston), Maison Blanche (New Orleans) and The White House (San Francisco). Curiously Halle's (Cleveland) responded that pink was for both boys and girls.

This debate would continue and it wasn't until mid-20th century that pink for girls and blue for boys became firmly cemented in western culture.

However the idea of colour coding infants dates back to the 19th century. According to La cour de Hollande sous le règne de Louis Bonaparte in 1808 in Holland pink was used to announce the birth of a girl and blue a boy. In March 1856 Peterson's Magazine (Philadelphia, USA) advises that the ribbon on a christening cap should be blue for a boy and pink for a girl. On the 23rd of July 1893 the New York Times writes that for baby clothes it's "pink for a boy and blue for a girl!"

[The Oddie Children, oil on canvas, c. 1789, by William Beechey, via North Carolina Museum of Art.]

During the latter half of the 18th century one of the most popular outfits for young children, regardless of gender, was a white dress with a coloured sash tied around the waist. Pink and blue being the most popular colours, although other colours were worn as well. It would be tempting to assume that the colour of the sash indicated gender but there isn't clear evidence that this was the case. The Oddie Children (above) depicts Sarah, Henry, Catherine, and Jane Oddie. The three girls are all wearing white dresses; two with a blue sash one with a pink sash. We also see Henry Russell (bellow left) wearing a blue sash and Prince William (bellow right) wearing a pink sash.

[Left: Anne Barbara Russell née Whitworth with her son Sir Henry Russell, oil on canvas, c. 1786, by George Romney, via Woolley & Wallis.

Right: Prince William, oil on canvas, c. 1767, by Allan Ramsay, via the Royal Collection Trust.]

Pink was just one of the many colours popular in 18th century English womenswear and seems to have stayed popular throughout the century. On the 3rd of January 1712 The Spectator published an article in which a man recalls seeing "a little Cluster of Women sitting together in the prettiest coloured Hoods that I ever saw. One of them was Blew, another Yellow, and another Philomot; the fourth was of a Pink Colour, and the fifth of a pale Green". On the 1st of May 1736 the Read's Weekly Journal, or British Gazetteer reports that the ladies attending the royal wedding wore gowns of "Gold stuffs, or rich Silks with Gold or Silver Flowers, or Pink or White Silks, with either Gold or Silver Netts or Trimmings;" shoes either "Pink, White or Green Silk, with Gold or Silver Lace and braid all over." On the 24th of May 1785 Charles Storer writes to Abigail Adams advising that fashionable colours in English court dress are "pink, lilac, and blue" such "as is worn at Versailles".

[Left: Frances, Daughter of Evelyn Pierpont, 1st Duke of Kingston, oil on canvas, c. 1700-23, by Godfrey Kneller, via Art UK.

Middle: Mrs. Abington as Miss Prue in "Love for Love" by William Congreve, oil on canvas, c. 1771, by Sir Joshua Reynolds, via Yale Center for British Art.

Right: Mary Little, later Lady Carr, oil on canvas, c. 1765, by Thomas Gainsborough, via Yale Center for British Art.]

In particular pink was popular amongst young women as the colour was associated with youth. Older women who wore pink were mocked as vain for dressing in a way that was seen as improper for their age. On the 31st of January 1754 Lady Jane Coke writes to Mrs. Eyre criticising old women who wear pink:

As for fashions in dress, which you sometimes inquire after, they are too various to describe. One thing is new, which is, there is not such a thing as a decent old woman left, everybody curls their hair, shews their neck, and wears pink, but your humble servant. People who have covered their heads for forty years now leave off their caps and think it becomes them, in short we try to out-do our patterns, the French, in every ridiculous vanity.

[Folly Embellishing Old Age With the Adornments of Youth, oil on canvas, c. 1743, by Charles-Antoine Coypel, via Master Art.]

For Englishmen acceptable clothing way much more limited. In A Foreign View of England in the Reigns of George I & George II Monsieur César de Saussure writes that Englishmen "do not trouble themselves about dress, but leave that to their womenfolk". He explains:

Englishmen are usually very plainly dressed, they scarcely ever wear gold on their clothes; they wear little coats called "frocks," without facings and without pleats, with a short cape above. Almost all wear small, round wigs, plain hats, and carry canes in their hands, but no swords. Their cloth and linen are of the best and finest. You will see rich merchants and gentlemen thus dressed, and sometimes even noblemen of high rank, especially in the morning, walking through the filthy and muddy streets.

César de Saussure warns that "a well-dressed person in the streets, especially if he is wearing a braided coat, a plume in his hat, or his hair tied in a bow, he will, without doubt, be called "French dog" twenty times perhaps before he reaches his destination" and is not only at risk of "being jeered at" but also "being bespattered with mud, but as likely as not dead dogs and cats will be thrown at him."

[Reverend Charles Everard Booth, Captain Griffith Booth, and an Unidentified Man playing Billiards, oil on canvas, c. 1775-9, by John Hamilton Mortimer, via the Royal Collection Trust.]

For Englishmen dressing "plainly" mostly meant wearing blacks and browns. In his book on macaroni, Pretty Gentleman, Peter McNeil found that in contrast most English menswear that he describes as generally consisting of "monochrome broadcloth" macaroni wore a variety of colours including green, orange, yellow, violet, red, white, blue, gold, silver and of course pink.

But it's not just the macaroni of the 1770s & 1780s that wore pink. We see pink in descriptions of feminine men's dress (both real and fictional) throughout the 18th century.

On the 2nd of June 1722 Sarah Osborn writes to Robert Byng:

I believe the gentlemen will wear petticoats very soon, for many of their coats were like our mantuas. Lord Essex had a silver tissue coat, and pink color lutestring waistcoat, and several had pink color and pale blue paduasoy coats, which looked prodigiously effeminate.

On the 18th of October 1729 the Universal Spectator and Weekly Journal published a story where an "effeminate" man's clothes were described as follows:

He had a flower'd pink-colour Silk Coat, with a Green-Sattin Waistcoat lac'd with Silver. Velvet Breeches, Clock'd Stockings the Colour of his Coat, Red-heel'd Pumps, a Blue Ribbon at the Collar of his Shirt, and his Sword-Hilt he embrac'd under the Elbow of his Left Arm,

[Sir Miles Stapylton, 4th Bt of Myton, oil on canvas, c. 1730-35, via Art UK.]

In The Adventures of Roderick Random (1748) the effeminate (and queer coded) Captain Whiffle is described as follows:

our new commander came on board in a ten-oared barge, overshadowed with a vast umbrella, and appeared in everything the reverse of Oakum, being a tall, thin young man, dressed in this manner: a white hat, garnished with a red feather, adorned his head, from whence his hair flowed upon his shoulders, in ringlets tied behind with a ribbon. His coat, consisting of pink-coloured silk, lined with white, by the elegance of the cut retired backward, as it were, to discover a white satin waistcoat embroidered with gold, unbuttoned at the upper part to display a brooch set with garnets, that glittered in the breast of his shirt, which was of the finest cambric, edged with right Mechlin: the knees of his crimson velvet breeches scarce descended so low as to meet his silk stockings, which rose without spot or wrinkle on his meagre legs, from shoes of blue Meroquin, studded with diamond buckles that flamed forth rivals to the sun! A steel-hilted sword, inlaid with gold, and decked with a knot of ribbon which fell down in a rich tassel, equipped his side; and an amber-headed cane hung dangling from his wrist. But the most remarkable parts of his furniture were, a mask on his face, and white gloves on his hands, which did not seem to be put on with an intention to be pulled off occasionally, but were fixed with a curious ring on the little finger of each hand.

[Henry Ingram, 7th Viscount Irwin and His Wife Anne, oil on canvas, c. 1745, by Philippe Mercier, via Art UK.]

On the 28th of July 1780 the London Courant reports:

A few days ago, a Macaroni made his appearance in the Assembly-room at Whitehaven, in the Following dress: a mixed silk coat, pink sattin waistcoat and breeches, covered with an elegant silver nett, white silk stockings with pink clocks, pink sattin shoes and large pearl buckles, a mushroom coloured stock, covered with a fine point lace; his hair dressed remarkably high, and stuck full of pearl pins.

On the 6th of August 1792 The Weekly Entertainer published Sketches and Portraits form the Life by Simon Tueopnrastus which included the following description:

Mercator was a youth of some genius and expectation, but by a strange perverseness of disposition, notwithstanding the extreme natural stiffness of his limbs, he had acquired an early attachment to the most finical and effeminate finery; so that, while yet a boy, he would exhaust every expedient of a fertile invention to procure a laced waistcoat, or the most foppish toy; would dangle a watch-string, with brass seals, from each fob, at a time when the frugal care of his parents would not permit him to wear a watch in either; and would strut in a fine pair of second-hand pink silk breeches, and a light blue coat, with all the formal dignity of—a soldier upon the parade.

[Left: Thomas King in "The Clandestine Marriage", oil on canvas, c. 1792, by Samuel De Wilde, via Yale Center for British Art.

Right: Edward Payne, oil on canvas, by Arthur Devis, via Art UK.]

While pink is mentioned in these descriptions of feminine men's dress it's not singled out as the girl colour the way pink would become in the 20th century. I would argue pink is seen as effeminate not because pink is a uniquely feminine colour but because it was used in fashionable dress. In 18th century England being interested in fashion was seen as an frivolous female trait. Men who showed too much interest in fashion were mocked and ridiculed for their gender nonconformity. "A Man must sink below the Dignity of his Nature, before he can suffer his Thoughts to be taken up on so trivial an Affair, as the Chosing, Suiting, and Adjusting the Adornments of his Person," complains a letter published on the 8th of May 1731 in Read's Weekly Journal, or British Gazetteer:

Decency of Garb ought inviolably to be preserved; nor can there be possibly an Excuse for Dressing like a Merry-Andrew: Rich and coloured Silks are in themselves effeminate, and unbecoming a Man; as are, in short, all Things that discover Dress to have been his Study 'Tis in vain for a Fop of Quality, to think his Title will protect him.

[Left: Madame de Pompadour (detail), oil on canvas, c. 1756, by François Boucher, via Alte Pinakothek.

Right: Elizabeth Wrottesley, later Duchess of Grafton, oil on canvas, c. 1764-5, by Thomas Gainsborough, via National Gallery of Victoria.]

English fashion was highly influenced by French fashion. A popular colour scheme in French fashion was green and pink. A famous example of this colour pairing can be seen in François Boucher's portrait of Madame de Pompadour (above left), she is depicted in a green gown with pink bows and flowers. You can see and example of how this style inspired English fashion in Thomas Gainsborough's portrait of Elizabeth Wrottesley (above right), who is depicted in a green gown with a floral pattern adorned with pink, white and green striped bows.

[Left: Sir Harry Fetherstonhaugh, oil on canvas, c. 1776, by Pompeo Batoni, via Wikimedia.

Right: Francis Lind, oil on canvas, c. 1775, by George Romney, via Mackinnon Fine Art.]

Fashionable Englishmen were also inspired by these French designs. Horace Walpole refers to the popularity of the colour combination writing to Lady Ossory on the 19th of February 1774 "If I went to Almack's and decked out my wrinkles in pink and green like Lord Harrington, I might still be in vogue". Almack's is referring to Almack's Assembly Rooms on Pall Mall which is believed to be the inspiration for the Macaroni Club. (see Pretty Gentleman by Petter McNeil p52-55) In a letter to Lord Harcourt on the 27th of July 1773 Walpole writes of "Macaronis lolling out of windows at Almack's like carpets to be dusted."

[Left: Detail of Stephen Fox from The Hervey Conversation Piece, oil on canvas, c. 1738-40, by William Hogarth, via Fairfax House.

Middle: Sir William Jones, oil on canvas, c. 1769, by Francis Cotes, via Art UK.

Right: Portrait of a Gentleman, oil on canvas, by George Romney.]

Men who wore green seem to have been just as much, if not more, at risk of being ridiculed, or even assaulted, for the colour of their clothes as those who wore pink. In Pierre Jean Grosley's A Tour to London (originally published 1772) he recalls traveling with a young English surgeon who was harassed by Londoners due to his green French frock coat:

At the first visit which he paid me in London, he informed me, that, a few days after his arrival, happening to take a walk thro' the fields on the Surry side of the Thames, dressed in a little green frock, which he had brought from Paris, he was attacked by three of those gentlemen of the mobility, who, taking him for a Frenchman, not only abused him with the foulest language, but gave him two or three slaps on the face: "Luckily, added he in French, I did not return their ill language; for, if I had, they would certainly have thrown me into the Thames, as they assured me they would, as soon as they perceived I was an Englishman, if I ever happened to come in their way again, in my Paris dress."

#fashion history #god I spent so long sifting through primary sources for mentions of pink

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