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ninyard · 2 days

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“God, how blind can you be?”

That would be such a great line for a kevjean confession if Jean ever told Kevin abt his crush on him in the nest.

Ty, have a great day :))

You’re a genius!!! Here’s Kevin being Oblivious and Confused while Jean admits how he’s always felt about him :))

“Can I ask you something?” Kevin lay in Jeremy’s bed, on top of the covers, with arms outstretched and his feet dangling off the edge. “But you can’t get defensive, because I’m not the one who’s wondering.”

“Now I am obligated to be defensive.” Jean was sitting on his back up against the wall on his own bed, scribbling notes in a notebook for an assignment due far too soon. Kevin had texted him earlier that morning saying that he was in town, and with Jeremy at home because it was a weekday, alongside the schoolwork Jean had started to fall behind on, the best way for the two to catch up was to invite Kevin over. “Ask, then.”

“Are you…” Kevin sat himself up to look at Jean before he continued. “Are you and Renee a thing?”

“No.” Jean laughed. “She has not told you this?”

“We aren’t that close,” Kevin shook his head. “She likes you, you know.”

Jean could feel himself blushing, but hoped his newfound tan covered the colour that spread across his cheeks. “I know. We’ve spoken about it.”

“You’ve spoken about it,” Kevin repeated as if saying it again would make it make more sense. “I thought you liked her.”

“It would never work.” Jean said. “She saved my life. It would always be hanging over the two of us.”

“Okay, sure, but…” Kevin moved to get a better view of Jean while they spoke. “You do like her?”

Jean read his face with a gentle smile, shutting his notebook and putting it to one side. “What is this about?”

His friend squinted his eyes, perhaps hoping he could get his point across telepathically without having to say it out loud. He glanced towards the door and laughed. “So you like Renee.”

“I will always love her for what she has done,” Jean said with a shrug. “But no, not so much anymore. We’re good friends.”

“Point being,” Kevin nodded with an over exaggerated, enthusiastic bob of his head. “You’re into women.”

Jean felt his face fall, as if Kevin had forgotten his name, or forgotten which position he played in. He scoffed, half a laugh and half disbelief, “You can’t be serious.”

“Am I right?”

“Kevin, you can’t be serious.” Jean echoed, and Kevin furrowed his eyebrows as if he had any right to be confused. “Where has this come from?”

“A friend of a friend wants to know,” Kevin brushed that off, and continued his staring stand-off with Jean. “Why would I not be serious?”

Jean gestured around himself, not even able to come up with a simple answer to his question. Jean was never bothered about the labelling of his sexuality, but had been bothered by its display. At least, publically, he thought, which just translated to not in front of Riko. Not Kevin, never Kevin. Kevin had known, or so he thought, about his infatuations and fleeting glances at the men he thought were handsome. Kevin had known about himself, and how it made Jean feel every time he heard the sweet sound of his native tongue falling from his lips.

“You…” Nothing felt good enough, and Jean laughed at the absurdity of it all. “You know it’s not just women, Kevin.”

Kevin blinked. “Do I?”

“Those foxes have rotted your brain,” Jean switched to French, ever so slightly startling Kevin out of his confused daze. “I knew you had moved on from the nest, but I did not think you would have forgotten so much about me.”

“Well, in my defense,” Kevin responded in his learned language, and Jean melted a little bit more inside. “Jeremy asked you if you were into men, and you never answered him, so he assumed he’d read you wrong.”

“Jeremy?” Jean spat in a failed whisper. “What does Jeremy have to do with this?”

Kevin became even more confused. “Who else would it have anything to do with?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Jean shifted his position to sit closer to the edge of the bed. “You know it has everything to do with you.”

“Me?” He said in English, as if wary he’d gotten the translation wrong. He continued in French. “Okay, there must be a miscommunication here.” He switched back to English then, as he started to stumble over his French, suddenly self conscious that he was not speaking correctly. “I’m lost, Jean.”

“I have always been open with you,” Jean said. “I have never hidden from you my interests in men and women. Why would you pretend not to know that?”

Kevin open and closed his mouth a few times, his hands outstretched, waiting for the answer to fall into them. “I didn’t know that.”

Jean shut his eyes to process what Kevin was saying. Perhaps Jean had simply given his intelligence far too much credit, and he had not been as clear to Kevin as he’d imagined he’d been. He thought that impossible, with their shared glances on a lonely night, with their comfort of each other when Riko wasn’t looking. “Some of them you like,” Jean quoted something he’d said to him before. “You said this about the Trojans. If you were not talking about the striker, then who were you talking about?”

“Like, as in,” Kevin’s smile was more genuine than awkward, apparently finding some amusement out of the confusion. “A fan of. You like someone. They interest you. You’re as much of a Jeremy fan as I am. I didn’t think you were into him.”

“And you were not.” Jean didn’t pose it as a question, more of a statement, an answer for himself.

“He’s not bad to look at, don’t get me wrong,” Kevin laughed at the thought. “But not like that. He’s just a really good friend.”

Jean pinched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Kevin’s movement and felt the weight on the bed next to him as he sat down. When Jean opened his eyes, he had to look away, far too intoxicatingly reminded of his buried thoughts about Kevin.

“Jean,” Kevin pulled his attention back to him, and Jean forced himself to look into his eyes. “Why did you say it has everything to do with me?”

“God,” Jean clicked his tongue in pity, either for himself for being so stupid to think Kevin knew, or at Kevin for not noticing. “How blind can you be?”

“You had a crush on me.” Kevin’s voice was neutral. “You never told me.”

Jean sighed with a hesitant smile. “I thought I did.”

It felt like an age before Kevin decided to respond. It felt like the season had passed, like a year in Raven time had gone by, before he spoke. It was hard to ignore the blush that crept across his lightly freckled cheeks, as Jean found himself fixated on the chess piece on his cheekbone. They were too close, now, and he could feel himself burning up with the shame of it all.

“I didn’t know.” It was simple, not enough, but perhaps the best he could do. “For how long?”

Jean couldn’t help the twitch that spread up his face, “You are the one interested in history, not me.”

“Humor me.”

“For as long as I have known you, Kevin Day.” His eyebrows raised in surprise at that answer. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“Oh,” was all he could say. He couldn’t find a smile that would sit comfortably on his face, and Jean wasn’t sure whether his fidgeting was discomfort or not.

“I never expected anything to come from it,” he attempted to clear the air. “I assumed you knew and simply decided not to address it. Looking back, it’s best you didn’t know, then, I think.”

“You don’t have to say that.” Kevin’s voice was low as he racked his brain for evidence to support Jean’s truth. “I wish you’d told me.”

“To feed your ego?” Jean laughed. “To make a straight man feel better to know he is desirable from either side?”

“You don’t have to say that, either.” Kevin spoke in French like it were a secret. “I’m with Thea now, sure, but,” he struggled. “I’m not exactly, you know… strict about it. It’s just easier this way.”

The only thing Jean could do was look at him.

The only thing he could bear to think was all the times he’d whispered in Jean’s ear, and Jean had to hide the shiver that travelled down his spine at the heat of the words thats he spoke. He thought of Kevin’s hands around his waist as he forced him into position on the court, a quick touch, an order to be better, a demand to be where he needed him to be. Then there was the blood, and the spit running down his chin, black hair stuck to sweat and tears as he cried please, Jean. Take him away from here. He thought of exposed bone and blood trickling through the cracks on the locker room floor, or a cracked skull against a door frame when he found Riko afterwards. There was the note, a single sloppy word, poorly written by a hand that had never wrote before. Sorry. The paper had been marked with Kevin’s blood, and it would be the last thing he would hear from him for months.

Kevin had stopped Jean’s hands before he noticed them travelling up his own throat.

“For the record, there is only one reason why nothing would have come from it,” Kevin meant it as a comfort, and Jean felt his heart break a little bit more. “But it’s the same reason it never would have worked.”

Jean was not naive, either. He was smart enough to know there was no universe in which any sort of relationship with Kevin would have been realistic. He was a beautiful face during a time that was rarely beautiful, a face that patched him up when he was black and blue, a face that smiled and joked at him when all he wanted was an end to the suffering. “I know.” Jean said, acutely aware that Kevin had not let go of his hands, even as they rested between them on the bed. “You will always be my first love, but I am smart enough to know that is meaningless now.”

“Maybe so,” Kevin looked at their hands. “But it could have been fun.”

“Fun, he says,” Jean scoffed, and Kevin laughed one of his genuine laughs, the tension in the room dissipating with the sound of his joy. Jean pulled his hand away from Kevin’s, to cover his face. He could feel himself blushing at the thoughts of what fun could have meant. “And what would you have done, asked the king to leave your room for an hour?”

It was Kevin’s turn to blush then, as he laughed again. Jean tried to push down the resurfacing feelings as he wondered what he could’ve possibly been imagining. “We would have found a way.” His laugh died off with a wistful sigh. “Somehow.”

“Somehow.” Jean agreed.

Kevin let the silence hang for just a moment before he gently reached up to touch Jean’s tattoo, then letting his hands fall back to his sides. “Maybe in another life.”

Jean swallowed and let out a soft exhale. “Maybe.”

They spent far too long just looking at each other, imagining what could have happened in that other life, wondering how it could’ve been different. Kevin eventually got back to the point of his conversation, and after laughing about how Jean has a thing for strikers, and how Kevin had never actually had a crush on Jeremy, Jean ignored his study for the flowing conversations he’d missed so badly. It was true that Kevin had been his first love, and he would be lying to himself if he said it would ever go away, but they had been each other’s only friend for so long. It was a long overdue catch-up without the threat of violence for laughing too loud, or sitting too close together. He didn’t pretend not to notice the way Kevin’s eyes flicked to his lips every now and again, or how quickly he would look away when he caught himself doing so. It was difficult to ignore how his cheeks turned rosy then, and even more so difficult to ignore how much he’d forgotten how beautiful Kevin really was.

For just a single, simple moment Jean wondered what it would be like to kiss him. That was a thought that had not crossed his mind for a very, very long time. Jean pictured a timeline in which they were both able to give it a shot without immeasurable guilt, or shame, or fear over the court of public opinion. He found himself being reminded over and over again that Kevin had finally said it himself that his sexuality was a fluid thing. There were more reasons that not to write it off as a wrong place, wrong time kind of issue, but even with the stomach churning, butterfly inducing thought of Jeremy Knox and his callused hands, it was certain that Kevin would always be his greatest what-if.

It was a pity that they would both continue on with their lives not knowing what could have been, but perhaps for the best; they were both at points in their lives where, for the first time ever, they were happy. They were not constantly glancing over their shoulders waiting for a threat.

Maybe in another life, Jean told himself. Maybe in some other world.

#pacing issues? idk her!#here’s some blind bisexual Kevin day #and too-open Jean Moreau wrongfully assuming Kevin can pick up on clues at ALL.#kevjean kevjean kevjean #my rotten little brain #kevjean #kevin day #Jean Moreau #tsc #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #the sunshine court #love my little bisexuals

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hitlikehammers · 20 hours

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time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

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dragon-kazansky · 8 hours

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond

♡♡♡

Benedict joined his sister, Eloise, out in the garden again long after the other had gone to bed. She was smoking on the swing like last time.

As Benedict takes a seat on the opposite swing, she passes him the cigarette. He takes it.

"I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace," Eloise says.

"Are you spying on me now?"

"You'd actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you," she chuckles.

"The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable," he says firmly. "I could not stand to look at them."

"I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook." Eloise looks at them. "I write in my diary, which is not the same as wiring in my novel."

Benedict chuckles.

"It must be very difficult to want something and not be able to get it."

"Eloise..."

"If you enjoy drawing but need practise, then practise," she goes on. "Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed."

You cross his mind. However, he doesn't want you to act impressed. He wants you to be impressed by his work. Genuinely so.

"If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot.

"Look no further than Lady Whistledown. She possesses a huge talent for writing, and yet she must hide away and publish under a false name."

"Yes, because if anyone knew who Whistledown truly was, she'd be strung up for what she said," Benedict states.

"That is not my point. Whistledown is a woman, therefore she has nothing, and still she writes. You're a man, therefore you have everything. You are able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold."

Eloise envies her brothers.

"At least that way I can live vicariously through you." She rises to leave.

"Eloise... are you Lady Whistledown?" Benedict asks.

Eloise laughs.

"You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way, sister."

Elosie laughs again.

"So... is it you?"

"No." She looks at him. "Though if it were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?"

Elosie heads back inside.

Benedict is left with his thoughts.

♡♡♡

The ballroom was elegantly designed. Soft shades to light up the room. You find yourself without a dance partner, however.

Prince Friedrich was in the middle of a dance with Cressida Cowper.

The duke was standing sternly off to the side with Lady Danbury. They appeared to be talking quietly, though judging by the stern faces, it was not a pleasant conversation.

You find yourself gently, and you admire the room. Benedict wasn't here. You couldn't see him at all.

That is not to say you had gone unnoticed. You glance to your left and find a perfectly suitable gentleman looking your way. You smile softly and turn your gaze away.

Tactics of flirtation were not completely out of your power.

Before anyone could make a move, however, the doors at the top of the stairs opened. It wasn't so much the doors that caught everyones attention, more like who had come through them.

You swear you all breath left you when your eyes landed on Daphne coming down the stairs with her mother. She was wearing the most beautiful silver gown you had ever seen, and her hair was beautifully done. She looked like, well, a princess.

In her hand was a feather fan. It went beautifully with her attire. She began to descend the stairs.

All eyes were on her.

Prince Friedrich was at the bottom of the stairs. Not once did he look away. You watch with interest as Daphne gets closer, closer, and closer to him.

The prince leaves Cressida's side to meet Daphne at the bottom stair.

The duke does not move.

Daphne stops.

"Miss Bridgerton, I simply musylt have your first dance." He speaks to her softly.

"It would be an honour, your highness." She curtsies.

A moment passes between them, and then you watch as Daphne drops her fan. Just like that, the prince kneels down to pick it up.

The prince kneeled.

You don't even realise the soft gasp you let out as you watch.

Prince Friedrich offers her the fan, and she takes it. She smiles at him and then gives the fun to her mother as she takes the prince hand.

They dance.

The duke leaves. Though he turns back to look at Daphne before he goes.

In the words of Lady Whistledown, why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?

♡♡♡

The invitation to attend the boxing match came from Anthony Bridgerton. You were rather pleasantly surprised by his invitation.

Anthony apparently needed some help to keep his mother quiet about finding a wife for himself.

You laughed.

You follow the siblings until they reach the prince. He approaches Daphne, but greets you, also. You curtsy.

Anthony then offers you his arm. "Shall we?"

You chuckle and take it, allowing him to lead you over to some seats. As you settle, you turn to the eldest Bridgerton.

"Where are you brothers?" You ask.

"My brothers? Currently talking to one of the fighters." He gestures to the edge of the ring where you spot Colin and Benedict.

You don't even notice you're smiling.

"You and my brother seem to have grown rather close." Anthony points out, looking at you.

"I can assure you there is nothing untoward. Your brother is my friend, as are you all now." You smile at him.

Anthony chuckles.

"Benedict seems to have a lot on his mind at the moment. I am not one to get in the way of someone's business."

"Smart woman," Anthony chuckles.

You nudge his arm lightly and wait for the fight to begin.

As the match is announced to begin, the other brothers find their way to you and Anthony. Benedict looks rather surprised to see you. "I had no idea you were attending."

"Your brother invited me to keep your mother off his back. It seems that is all I'm good for." You chuckle.

"No true, but appreciated none the less," Benedict comments.

You smile, and he takes the empty seat beside you. It does not go unnoticed that you keep your arm looped with Anthony's. He doesn't comment on it.

The fight is intense. You gasp with every hard punch. The men around you cheer on their victor.

You had never witnessed such a match before, and you would be lying if you said you were not somewhat into it.

As the crowd stands, you stand with them and cheer along with the Bridgerton brothers. William Mondrich was their friend, and he was putting up hell of a good fight.

Benedict finds it amusing how excited you seem to be.

Mondrich wins!

You cheer along with the brothers. You laugh at the excitement. It was a thrilling match, indeed.

Anthony helps you down from your seat and speaks close to your ear so you can hear him. "We're off to collect our winnings. I shall see to it you get home right after."

You nod and thank him. As he leaves to fetch his earrings, Benedict turns to you.

"Did you enjoy that?"

You chuckle. "I did. Surprisingly."

"I must say, I did not expect to see you in attendance."

"I am full of surprises."

Benedict looks at you quietly for a moment. "Yes. You are."

You smile and look away. However, his gaze lingers on you for a bit.

Later, the Bridgertons see to it that you get home safely before they head off to the club. A place for the gentlemen only.

Anthony helps you up into the carriage and thanks you for humouring him today. Yo return the gesture and wave as the carriage leaves.

Colin has to nudge Benedict out of his thoughts.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff -

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 2 days

Text

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 3

Ok so I decided to cut down the next chapter so I could get something out before I take a small break, but the next one is over hlaf-way done so it'll be out soon. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 5942

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Mentions of murder. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 >

PART 1: Chapter 3

I'd rather be unemployed.

Fimble-Famble (Definition): A really lame excuse for not wanting to do something. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

“And he told me that we needed the money so I had to take it!” you cried as you slumped in the armchair.

Agnes gave you a look over the top of her glasses, the book she was reading now long forgotten since you stormed in that evening practically red in the face as you ranted to her about the whole radio fiasco. Knowing your tirade wasn’t over, she placed a bookmark between the pages and snapped the book shut, reaching over the arm to place it on the side table with a sigh.

“Well he is your boss.” She explained calmly, and you slumped down further, edging your sock-clad feet towards the fire. “If he believes you can do it, then I don’t see any reason as to why you can’t. Besides,” she gestured to the bag of books by your feet. “Those books he gave you are about radios for beginners – having that knowledge could open up further job opportunities for you.”

All you did was stare at the bag with a frown, before you kicked it over with a whiny grunt. Agnes sighed again.

“You’re going to get rude customers wherever you go, so when you’re the one representing the business, you be the better person and take the challenge calmly.” She pressed, peering over at you with a stern expression.

Silence.

She squinted slightly. “You.. did take it calmly, didn’t you?”

When you continued to narrow your eyes at the ground, she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Christ, no wonder the twins grew up to be as crazy as they are.” She muttered. “Look, if Mr LeBlanc has asked you to take on this repair, and allowed you to take the pay for the extra labour hours, then I see no reason for you to refuse this man’s request – at least, not without cause.”

You sat up straight, prodding the cushioned arm with your finger. “Oh, I have cause. It is because I hate him!” You exclaimed.

Your aunt tilted her head, regarding you with a tired look. “My lovely, you’ve only had one conversation with him over the phone.”

You pouted, crossing your arms. “Two, if you count the letters.” You growled. “Besides, I think Ralph only told me to take the job ‘cause he knew the guy.” Agnes raised a brow. “I said it was a Mr A. Boudreaux, and he almost choked to death from coughing his lungs out. I told him he was rude to me but he just kept saying that I had to.”

“Did he say please?” she asked, a small knowing smile on her face.

“…Yes.”

“There you go.” Agnes concluded, reaching over to give your knee a few rough but assuring pats. “I don’t know who this Mr Boudreaux is, but if Ralph wants it done, then you can at least try. Besides, I’m off work until next Monday, so I’ll be home for a whole week to give you a hand if you need one – I know how those equations and diagrams make your head go all fuzzy.”

You sighed dejectedly, then gave your aunt a small smile. “Thank you. If anything, I’m doing it for this guy’s mum, not him.”

“Awww, at least he’s sweet to his mother.” She smiled, before turning towards the door and raising her voice slightly. “I do hope I get that treatment when I’m older!”

All she got was a loud farting noise echoing through from the other room.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 13th December, 1929.

The patio double doors hung wide open as you laid your head on the kitchen table, staring at the technicolour marbling of the setting sun. Tools, wires and random pieces of springs laid scattered on the wooden surface around you, along with several books opened to pages of diagrams you had spent the last week trying to understand but to no avail. You had sent a letter on the Tuesday, informing Mr Boudreaux that your boss had decided that the radio would be taken on.

You refused to call him again, lest you face the humiliation of that faceless smug bastard as he found out that your boss had sent you back with your tail between your legs to tell him that you were in the wrong – something you adamantly avoided stating in your letter, instead half-hinting that Ralph had miraculously recovered overnight (he hadn’t), and took the project on personally (he didn’t do that either).

It also seemed that the good luck spell you and your aunt had performed that Monday evening worked - after you had collapsed on your imaginary chaise-longue and wailed to her about the dilemmas of the day, she had dragged you to her room, going on about how you hadn’t been keeping up with your practice for the last seven months. She made you bring your grimoire from your room, and you both spent around an hour resetting and cleansing energies, also setting up a small bowl of different herbs and trinkets that symbolised good luck, making you put it on your bedside table along with a new incense burner she had bought you. Honestly, if your aunt wasn’t around, you probably would’ve spontaneously combusted by Wednesday.

Agnes had also sat with you every evening, reading through the radio books, and slowly helping you work things out when the words started to blend together and you found yourself trying to read a paragraph as much as you could, but to no avail.

It was times like this when you wish you were back home, when everything was normal. When people weren’t giving lingering looks to your aunt as she traipsed about the village like every other innocent woman. When your uncle was telling you about his family and his way of living in Japan to his sons, and to you whenever you had the time to stop by. When you were treated as a well-respected, intelligent woman, who was freshly graduated from university at the top of her class. Not whatever those men had said to you when they came to your door after the local doctor had practically snitched on you. If only that dinner hadn’t happened. If only your aunt’s maid hadn’t gone snooping where she shouldn’t. Within a year everyone had been torn from each other.

But there wasn’t much time for mourning. You had less than two weeks to get this radio looking like it did when it was fresh off the shelf, otherwise you risk disappointing your boss for the first time ever, which would have you unconsciously doubting yourself for the rest of eternity.

Your head still on the table, you pinched a spring coil between your fingers, holding it up against the orange-purple sky as you glared at its silhouette. Rustling came from beside you as your aunt flipped the pages of the books, eyes flitting between them and the notes she was taking in her notebook.

You felt her glance at you a couple times, until there was a sound as she shifted, then silence. Feeling a finger tap your shoulder lightly, you slowly sat up to face her. She was facing you, an uneasy look in her eye as she took her time coming up with what to say.

“So..” she began hesitantly. “I understand your busy right now working full time at the shop, but since we got the news yesterday that Ralph was getting better, I was going to ask you,” she waved her hand about in thought. “If you’re going back to working only two days, would you consider looking for another job?”

You sat up straight, confusion clouding your face. “You want me to quit on Mr LeBlanc?”

“NO, no no!” she cried, waving her hands to dismiss the obvious miscommunication as she laughed nervously. “I meant look for a second job? I felt awful even thinking about asking you, but with the free time you’ll have, I just think it would make surviving this crash easier if we both had a steady wage coming in? I mean, as steady a wage that two women during this time an get.” She looked at her hands as she twisted them, hesitance and guilt written all over her face. “I want the boys to have a completed education, and it’ll crush me if I force myself to take that away from them.” She turned to you, trying her best to hide the tears threatening to build up. “I know you’re only here temporarily, and I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable doing, but –” she took a shaky breath. “as humiliating as it is, I need your help.”

Moments passed as you stared at the woman before you. The woman who used to be so full of life and love when she was surrounded by family – who loved the village she grew up in and the city she moved to – who loved the husband she fought tooth and nail to marry – now sat in a house in an unknown city she never asked to be in, a country she never asked to move to. Torn from her sister to an unknown place on the other side of the planet. All because her stupid maid couldn’t keep her stupid mouth shut.

Reaching your arm out, you grasped her hand with your own, waiting until she looked up at you, dark eyebags you never thought you’d see underlining her eyes like a curse. You knew she wasn’t sleeping enough.

“I’ll start looking tomorrow.” You stated quietly but firmly, squeezing her hand affirmingly.

Her eyes glistened as they widened, regarding you with a desperate hope, until she let out a loud sniffle and dropped her head onto your shoulder, trying her best to conceal her own shoulders as they jerked up and down slightly with her light sobs. Resting your head on top of hers, you both sat there in silence as you listened to the clock tick along with your aunt’s quiet sniffs as she attempted to calm herself.

“There’s an assistant’s job going down near the French Quarter.” She muttered. “I know the guy who runs the place and he said he would be happy to interview you?”

You perked up at her suggestion. “Ok, what kind of company is it?” Your aunt remained silent for a moment. “Agnes?”

“It’s a, uhhh… radio station.”

Jerking your head off hers, she quickly sat up as you gave her a deadpan expression.

“C’mon,” she pushed with a watery giggle. “I said you we’re learning how radios work for a repair, and he seemed excited that you would have some knowledge before you applied.”

“Unwanted knowledge.” You pressed. “He’s gonna have to offer a decent salary if he wants me to be within a ten mile radius of a radio ever again.”

Your aunt gave a throaty laugh in response. “Oh, don’t worry, I made sure of that before asking you. I can give him a call if you’re willing to interview?”

Making sure to let out a very long and tired sigh, you looked at you aunt’s pleading face, before slowly nodding. Letting out a cry of relief, she clapped her hands, then grabbed your face as she squished your cheeks, moving your head from side to side as she let out a string of ‘thank yous!’.

Eventually after her tirade of affection, she got up, flipping her twin plaits over her shoulders as she approached the sink, rinsing both of your mugs to make the fifth cup of tea that evening. You went to reach across the table for a book when your ears perked up at the sound of a small ‘psst’ from your right side.

Glancing over, your eyes landed on the archway that led into the hallway, and you were able to see all the way down to the front door from where you were sat, though half of your view was blocked by the underside of the stairs. Peering down the long hall, you leant back in your seat until a dark mop of hair peeked around the staircase banister.

Quickly flicking your eyes to Agnes, you made sure she was still facing the sink when you turned back to make eye contact with Ollie, who was precariously perched on the bottom step as he manoeuvred his upper body to curve around the wooden post to face you. Another mop of lighter hair joined him, as Allie stuck his head between the ceiling and the railing from where he was further up the stairs. Reaching one arm round and the other through the banister posts, Ollie began waving and pointing his fingers about, signing the most ridiculous gestures as he tried to convey a message.

‘What??’ you mouthed silently, frowning as you shook your head slightly in confusion.

At this, your cousin tried again, jabbing his fingers about a bit harder as he repeated the message.

You stared, eyes darting to the side then back again, and you simply shrugged. At this point Allie had thrown a dirty sock at his brother, and you barely heard him hiss at Ollie to make it simpler.

Rolling his eyes, Ollie shifted until he was fully facing you. With frustrated, wide eyes, he pointed at you. You nodded. Then pointed upstairs. You nodded again. Then jabbed his thumbs at his chest as he mouthed ‘my room’, then held his hand up with all of his fingers splayed out, ‘five minutes’ he said silently. Nodding once more, you watched as your cousin froze at the clatter of mugs as your aunt moved about, before quickly darting back round the banister, crawling on all fours as he soundlessly disappeared back up the staircase like some shadow creature along with his brother.

Sighing with a roll of your eyes, you returned back to the mess in front of you, thanking your aunt as she placed a fresh steaming mug of tea down. Picking it up, you bathed in the hot vapours rising from it before sticking your tongue out slightly to test the temperature. Quiet slurping sounded from beside you as your aunt returned to her seat, sipping from her own mug. Glancing at you, she placed it down to pick up a book.

“So,” she said as she casually turned a page. “What did the boys want?”

You took a large sip.

“No idea.”

Five minutes later, you took it as a well-earned break, trudging upstairs to see what the twins wanted to yap at you about.

“What’re you two up to now?” You sighed as you pushed open the door that had the sign saying ‘Ollie’s Room’ nailed to it. You looked up, only to stop in your tracks as your eyes landed on the two hunched over a very large corkboard, though, the cork was hardly visible with all the random pieces of paper, newspaper clippings and string pinned to it.

“Whaaaat is that?” You said slowly, brows furrowing as you stared at the board with wide eyes.

Ollie practically crawled his way over to the door, hands on the floor as he lifted a leg like a dog taking a piss, to kick it closed before scurrying back to his twin’s side, who was busy looping glittery wool string around another pin.

“A corkboard.” Allie simply said, not even bothering to look your way.

“I can see that.” You deadpanned, making your way over. “I’m asking what is on it. And specifically HOW you got pictures of dead bodies.” You pointed out, stepping closer to see the black and white photographs of body parts and corpses that you knew definitely shouldn’t be in the hands of your underage cousins. (Though they were 17 now, and clearly the closer they got to adulthood, the more excuses they had to do crap they weren’t allowed to.)

Allie snipped the end of the string, his voice lowering as he regarded you with a dark look. “If we told you, we’d have to kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first.” You hissed, raising a leg to kick him. “Explain.”

“Okayyyyy fine!” he whined, shuffling out of the way to avoid your attack with a pout. “The son of the Sheriff is in our class, and we pay him to enlarge photos from the crime scenes that are suspected to be the Bayou Butcher.”

Your mouth flung open. “You WHAT?!?!” You yelled.

Ollie swiftly raised his hand to cover your mouth. “Shush, if mum hears you, we’re all dead!”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Reaching your hand up, you slapped his away. “We’re all dead regardless!!” You hissed. “Has the thought crossed either of your microscopic brains that what you’ve done is, like – I don’t know – super illegal??”

“It’s fine.” Allie shrugged. “If we guess that someone is onto us, we burn the evidence.”

Your looked between the two of them with wide eyes. “What if mum finds it when you’re both at school? What then??”

Allie sighed. “She won’t find it. Promise.” He stretched his arm up to the top of the board, flipping it over to show another side with random drawings and knick-knacks pinned to it. “We just flip it over and stick it in the wardrobe.”

“What, and pray she doesn’t get the urge to do her usual chores and find it as she’s hanging up your washing??” You contradicted.

“Yea pretty much.” Ollie replied.

You glanced between them worriedly, shaking your head. “You two are treading on thin ice here.”

“Yea yea but we didn’t bring you here to moan about everything.” Interrupted Ollie. “What we were trying to say before you rudely changed the subject was that this was our theory board.”

“Your illegal theory board.” You poked, crossing your arms.

Allie simply frowned up at you from where he was knelt on the floor, and you sighed.

“Fine. I’m guessing it’s about the Bayou Butcher?” You asked, before scrunching your face. “Why am I even asking? Of course it is.”

“Yep.” Ollie replied, his demeanour now more excitable. “Every grisly murder that matches his M.O. – well – our idea of his M.O. Along with every newspaper article about him, and maps of places the bodies have been found.” He explained, pointing each thing out. “We’re currently trying to figure out a potential pattern, but to no avail at this point.” He turned to you with a determined look in his eye – something you should be seeing on an actual detective, NOT your dingbat of a cousin. “But we will. At some point.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing the information. “Ok, so, why am I here?”

They both looked at each other, before facing back to you.

“To help us.”

“Absolutely not.”

Allie pouted. “Aww c’mon! We thought you liked this sort of stuff?” he whined, gesturing at you.

“Yea, from an outsider’s perspective! Not when there’s a potential for the police to come after me! Hell, this Butcher guy could find out you’re onto him and come after you himself!”

They rolled their eyes. “Ok, mum. No need to get your knickers in a twist.” Jived Allie. “We can guarantee you, no-one’s gonna find out.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How, then?”

“By not being stupid?” Ollie said as if it was the most obvious thing.

You sighed, thinking to yourself for a moment. “…Fine.” You held a finger up when their faces brightened. “But if anything gets dangerous, I’m burning it all myself.”

They both nodded excitedly, beckoning you over as they began to explain everything.

You knew at some point they would both be the death of you.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 16th December, 1929.

The sun was still yet to melt the snow when you walked into town with your aunt that morning, arms linked as to not slip on the compacted ice as you both tried to step onto the trams that were miraculously still running. Your arms remained linked as both made your way to a wide, busy street just off the outskirts of the French Quarter, about a twenty minute walk from where the antique shop was.

Mr LeBlanc has graciously given you the day off, as a thank you for running the shop. His cough had receded, and was determined to return to work. Though his wife insisted on joining him in the shop for a couple days to keep an eye on his health, despite his grumbling.

“I can assure you Mr Durham is lovely.” Agnes said with unwavering confidence as she patted your arm with a knitted glove. “The interview should be over in fifteen minutes or so – you’ll be in-and-out before you even realise it, so there’s no need to worry.”

You gave her a shaky smile. “Hopefully. Though I haven’t been in any interviews to know if it’ll go well.”

“It will.” She stated firmly. “Now, do you remember what we went over when answering interview questions?” You nodded, and she slowed you both to a stop. “Brilliant. We’re here.” She gestured up to a relatively tall building, the brickwork looming over you as the wall above the doors displayed the words ‘W.A.D RADIO’ in bright, white paint.

Peering up at the five-storey building, you felt nerves creep up your spine as you began to sweat slightly.

“Oi, look at me.” Muttered Agnes, reaching out to gently take your shoulders as she turned you to her. “No matter what happens in there, it’s not the end of the world, I can promise you that.” She assured. Glancing her eyes across your face, she reached up to straighten the simple blue cloche hat she had let you borrow. “There should be a receptionist at the front desk, just go in and tell her your name and that you’re here for an interview with Mr Durham, ok? I’ll be waiting out here for you.”

The air in your throat stuttered as you took a deep breath, your nervousness a stark contrast to the anger-fuelled confidence you had when answering that phoner. Nodding silently, you returned your Aunt’s smile before stepping away and pushing the door open, hoping the ‘Good Luck!’ she had whispered to you would give some assist.

You could sense the receptionist staring at you as you sat staring blankly at the tiles on the floor ahead. Picking the non-existent dirt from under your nails, you felt the sickening nerves in your stomach ease slightly when you had sat on the worn, leather-clad bench, the conversation with the woman at the desk having gone as smoothly as you could make it, luckily without your mind going blank or stuttering on any words.

“Where did’ya say you were from again?” You heard, and you raised your head to see the receptionist leaning on her elbows on the desk, chewing on a pencil as she looked you up and down. “You’re English, but’cha don’t sound quite like those gents on the radio?” she questioned, her slightly nasally voice cutting through the air as she bore you down with her gaze.

You blinked. “…I’m from the North-East.”

She furrowed her brows, the wood of the pencil clacking on her teeth. “North-East a’what?”

“Of England? You know there’s over forty different accents used in the UK, right?.” You explained.

She looked you up and down once again. “Huh.” Was all she said, before she shrugged her shoulders, turning back to the paperwork she was pointedly ignoring, and you returned to fiddling with your hands, now choosing to pick at any loose lint on the hat laid on your lap.

About five minutes later, the sound of shoes clicking against tile tapped against your ears, and you looked up to see a man donned in business attire round the corner. He was rather tall and large, but in a soft muscular kind of way. His murky brown waves fell loosely over his forehead, peppered with streaks of grey along with his thick beard, and he still retained the tan from the summer, but his pale shade of skin was starting to show through again, softening the piercing blue of his eyes.

Speaking of eyes, it didn’t take him a second to scan the room before they landed on you, the cerulean if his iris’ turning an almost baby blue under the lights as they brightened at the sight of you.

“Ah! There you are!” He exclaimed, arms spreading wide to welcome you. “I was wondering when your aunt would drop you off!” His white teeth glistened as he gave a handsome, warm smile. Approaching where you sat, you quickly stood to take his large, outstretched hand, the warmth from him enveloping your snow-frozen skin. “I’m Mr Durham, co-owner of Watson & Durham Radio.”

You could see why your aunt let him take her out for dinner.

“– and you’ll be here Wednesday to Friday, from what your aunt said on the phone.” Mr Durham rambled on. You had been interviewed in his office on the third floor, but he had insisted on taking you on a tour around the expansive building. At first, he showed you your potential desk, positioned just outside his office, facing the rows of other desks that spanned the large room ahead.

Now you were taking the stairs to the fifth floor – ‘where the magic happened’ – according to the spritely man.

“These are the radio booths – each host gets their own.” Mr Durham explained, gesturing down the wide corridor.

Strangely, his pace seemed to quicken as he led you past the windows, but you tried your best to peer into each one. Some were dark, as no-one was in. Others were presenting, the ‘ON AIR’ sign above their door glowing bright, the rest were either chatting amongst each other, or alone in their booths, scribbling down in notebooks or on sheets of paper.

“– David, Jeff, Al, Brian, and Ol’ Timmy are all here – ‘cept the rest who have the day off.” Mr Durham listed off, pointing out each man as he rushed you by. “Though-” he lowered his voice a little. “- if you take the job, it’s best we keep you on the third floor.” You furrowed your brows at his odd comment, to which he spotted, quickly giving an explanation. “The boys can be a bit of a distraction you see. Being on the radio means you have to be charismatic, and I want you to settle in comfortably before I introduce you. A few can be quite… nosey. And overwhelming – some more than others.” He muttered, glancing into one of the booths near the end, and you looked over to see the back of a man’s head, his hair styled neatly from what you could see, and you watched as he gently tapped his foot to whatever was playing through his headset whilst he jotted away in the notebook on his desk.

As Mr Durham’s large shadow cast across him, he began to turn his head, and you managed to catch a glimpse of a pair of thin glasses before you walked out of sight of the window.

Thinking nothing of it, you followed the boss round the corner at the end of the hallway, and he continued to tour you around the building, pointing out the odd thing or person here and there.

The chill of the winter air hit your face once again as you pushed the front door open, and you scanned the street for your aunt. Glancing to the spot where she left you, a frown crossed your face as you found it empty, but barely a moment passed until your name was called out, and you looked up across the street to see your aunt stood outside the door of a café, waving for you to come over.

Cursing out America for having their jaywalking laws, you quickly searched for a crossing, speed-walking as fast as you could over the road despite the slippery snow as you jogged up to your aunt.

“So? How did it go?” she breathed excitedly as she led you inside to a small table, where there was already a steaming cup of tea waiting for you.

Grasping the warm beverage in your hands, you relayed the events of the last half hour to the woman bouncing in her seat across from you.

“Ok, but, were you happy with what you saw?” Agnes asked once you had finished.

You nodded. “Yea, pretty much.” You answered. “That Durham guy was already talking about me settling in before he offered me the job.”

Her back straightened. “He did?? Did you accept?” She gasped.

Looking at her over the top of your cup, you felt a smile grow on your face. “Mhm, I start Wednesday.”

Your aunt threw her hands in the air. “Oh thank god!” Her eyes darted about in frantic thought. “Oh! We’ve got to go shopping for some proper work clothes for you! Mr Durham is quite flexible with workwear but we’ll still go.” She rambled, pulling a piece of paper and a pen out her purse to start jotting things down, mumbling under her breath. “There’s a shop down the main street, and you’ll be needing some smarter trousers –”

“Speaking of Mr Durham,” you interrupted with a small smirk, watching Agnes accidentally jerk her pen across the paper as her wide eyes looked up at you. “He seems oddly fond of you. He asked me how the twins were getting on at school before he asked for anything about me.”

She froze, and you raised a brow.

“It’s also not like you to let some guy take you out. For dinner.” You added.

She glanced away, then back at you, slowly placing her pen down as she chewed the inside of her cheek.

“It’s not like that –”

“Sure it’s not.”

She sighed your name in exasperation. “We’re both regulars at this café, and we met back in January and have been friends since. Happy?” She explained rather curtly.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Do the twins know about him? You know how protective they are over you since their dad passed.” You questioned gently.

Agnes closed her eyes, raising her hand to rub at her forehead. “They know, but they haven’t met him yet. Even if it does end up being ‘like that’, it’s been almost a decade since we lost Hiro, and it gets hard trying to raise two very energetic boys and keep a steady roof over their heads.” She stared into her drink with a faraway look as she recalled her late husband. “This world wasn’t built for women to be alone, and as infuriating as that sounds, I’ve been backed into a corner so many times that I only see someone like him as my one ticket out.”

Silence stretched between the two of you, as you let the words your aunt spoke about your uncle sink in. She hardly ever spoke of Hiro, so mentioning him now meant how serious she was.

“Alright.” You said softly, and her head raised to look at you. “I know I have no place telling who you can and can’t talk to, but please make sure both the twins and you are happy and safe. The last thing I want is a repeat of these last two years.”

A dark shadow crossed her face. “Oh believe me, it won’t.” she assured in a low tone. “If I knew the police weren’t going to show, I would have strangled Beatrice before she stepped a foot out the house.”

Nodding, you sighed, finally relaxing back in your seat as a natural silence fell over the two of you. Bringing the tea to your lips, you bathed in the fumes, watching passersby as they fought against the onslaught of the oncoming blizzard, and pondered about the possibilities of your first day at the radio company that sat on the opposite side of the street. Eyes unfocused, you stared blankly at the double doors that led into the towering brick building, thinking about when spring would come round and you could start to wear your summer dresses, but you focused back in when the double doors opened, and you watched as a man stepped out.

You couldn’t see his face, as it was lowered against the wind, but you recognised the mop of neatly styled, dark, brown hair that you had spotted earlier, but that was quickly hidden by the fedora he placed on his head, and your eyes caught the light of his round glasses, as they glinted in the dying light of the cloud-smothered sun, before he turned his shiny heel and strode down the street, seemingly not at all worried about slipping on patches of icy, packed snow.

What caught your eye the most, though, was how insanely tall this man was, and you figured – even at your tall height – that the top of your head would barely reach his nose, even on your tiptoes.

(Though, there was always the option to jump up and collide your forehead with his – if the need arises, of course.)

Unfortunately for you, however, this lanky ladder of a man was crossing the street.

Right towards the café.

Right towards you.

And you were basically turned in your seat to stare the demons out of this guy.

The brim of his hat began to raise, and you practically spun on the spot, the tea in your mug sloshing about, and you came face to face with your aunt, who had clearly seen the one-sided staring match you had had with the stranger.

Feeling the eyes of the man boring into the side of your temple, as you assumed he had seen you move at the speed of light to avoid looking at him, you smiled sheepishly at Agnes, who was not-so-subtly darting her eyes between the two of you.

A few seconds ticked on by at the speed of a snail, and it wasn’t until you aunt muttered a ‘He’s gone’, that you felt yourself deflate in relief, slumping in your chair as you gingerly put the mug in your hands back down on the table. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the back of the man’s trench coat as he carried on down the street out of sight, and you faced the woman in front of you.

“Sooo,” she began as she tried to hide the growing smile on her face. “Who’s that?”

“No clue.” You stated bluntly, eager to move the conversation along, lest your aunt turned into one of the women in your village, who would talk non-stop about their sons and grandsons when they found out you weren’t being courted. Or they would pester your mother about it. Either way, getting married was definitely not on your bucket list – and you wouldn’t be surprised if that lasted your whole life – you were quite satisfied with the thought of surrounding yourself with cats instead.

“Oh nuh-uh.” Agnes deadpanned, wagging a finger. “You don’t get to prod at me about men and not let me retaliate. Besides, Mr ‘No-Clue’ seemed an awfully pretty lad~”

You huffed. “Well I wouldn’t know, I’ve only clearly seen the back of his head, and according to Mr Durham,” you explained, lifting your hands to count on your fingers. “His name could be either David, Jeff, Al, Brian, or Ol’ Timmy.”

She raised a brow at you. “He looked like a David. Either way.” She smirked. “Your mum wouldn’t mind having someone like him as her son-in-law.”

You pouted. “Agnes, please.”

All your aunt did was laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gonne be uploading some art of MC soon >:))))

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, see you soon for Chapter 4!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

< Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 >

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#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor fanfic #alastor x you #alastor x oc

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faulterge1st · 3 days

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Your Thoughts Aren't Word

To celebrate the day of the weed, I written an angsty Nikto x reader fic while I was high-fiving the sun in the clouds. 4/20 motivates you to do great things.

I love Nikto. He may not be my favorite, but he's the character I depend on when no one seems to want to make content of my faves. Keep in mind, I have a different spin on him than portrayed by most of the fandom. God, he's emotionally unstable <33

You were sure that Nikto didn't loved you.

All of it meant nothing, you think. Every forehead touch he gives before leaving for a mission, every offered cigarette that has been kissed by his scarred lips, every embrace he initiates in his sleep because he's too prideful to hug you awake... They weren't full of love. You were convinced that he felt nothing for you. Every single thing he'd done for you and to you, all of it was so that he could maintain you. It was all just to entertain you, his little pet that he goes to whenever he was down for the count and needed something or someone who gives him kisses for his scars and a warm bed to invade for the week.

He was using you, you think. You've seen his many moments where he would often get into relationships with other soldiers, only leave them high and dry when they least expected it. This was before the two of you started dating, of course. You couldn't imagine him in bed with someone else while you were together without your chest aching, but you wouldn't doubt it.

You're just like all his past lovers, you think. You were bound to be those people he fooled with shared liquors and a drunken kiss. You were going to be left on the floor of his room, cold and wondering where he was, whilst he drove away wiping off the ghosts of your kisses, warmed by the embers of his cigarette. You believed that firmly, because you saw it first hand. But for whatever reason, you didn't leave. You stayed even when you thought that he was going to leave without a word, leaving his things behind just to give you false hope that he was ever going to return.

You'll love him, even when he doesn't care, you think. Nikto many not care about you, or for you. He may treasure his guns, his hyena, his money more than you, but you will always cherish the moments when he took his time to make you feel loved. He was many things to you, which was why he was too much for you. But you can handle it. You think you can. You can take it whenever he doesn't appear for months, not a single message nor hint that he still remembers you. You can take it when he seems closer to his team, his fellow soldiers than you are with him. His conversations with his team was always longer than the amount of time his arm was placed around your shoulder, but you can handle it. The look he gives you when he's too drunk to put up his aloof act gave you the strength to keep going on. His tight hugs he gives you when he's tired encourages you. His lingering touches keep you going, even when hasn't uttered a single "I love you" to you before. Even when he doesn't seem to love you, you can take it, you think.

But, he thinks he does love you. All those things that hinted at his desire was full of love. His hesitation to express affection was thrown away just so that he could show you that he's in love with you without a word.

He's just scared to say "I love you," he thinks. He doesn't want to scare you away. He doesn't want his scars and his reputation to motivate you in some hypothetical plan to sneak out of his bed and run away in the middle of the night without warning. He's too attached. He's clawing at your back, arms tightened around your torso as he kisses your neck and smells your hair while you sleep. He won't ever let go, not even planning to, not after that paranoid scenario tucked away at the back of his mind.

Your thoughts aren't word, they aren't true. He's desperately in love with you, even when he doesn't show it. You may think that his blank face tells you he's bored of you, but the feeling of his mask pressed against your cheek as he tries to kiss your skin without scaring you off with his scars should've told you everything.

He knows he's in love with you, deeply so, but it's too bad that you're convinced that you've bet on a losing dog.

#call of duty x reader #nikto x reader #cod x reader #cod nikto x reader #call of duty nikto x reader #andre nikto x reader

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 2 days

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could you do a m!greaser hc where the m!greaser unintentionally says dirty stuff without realizing it (like saying good boy when they do a task for m!greaser,exc.) and it flusters the gang? if you don’t like this one just ignore it, if you do it THANK YOUUUU🖤

No problem pookie!!! And I actually love this so much and I had so much fun coming up with dirty jokes

Ponyboy Curtis

-hes hanging out with you

-reading with you

- working on homework

-“Hey, Pony… this problems pretty hard, you mind helpin’?”

-“Sure, y/n!”

-he does it with you leaning over him, watching him complete the problem step by step carefully

-when he finished explaining you whistle at him

-“What a good boy… thanks Pony.”

-you whisper in his ear form the close contact, grabbing your paper back

-his ears turn red as he stares at his own work, gulping and trying to pretend like he didn’t hear what he thinks he did

-he looks back at you, checking to see if you realize what’s going on

-but there you are, working peacefully

-he thinks about it for the rest of the night

Johnny Cade

-you guys were out at a restaurant

-hole in the wall place

-shooting straws at waitresses

-seeing who could do more without getting caught

-you won, and soon you both get kicked out onto the street, giggling

-“How’s that loss for ya, Johnny?” You grin, and get closer to him

-“Take it, Take it!” You chant, teasing him about the little game

-but he takes that last bit of your sentence far differently as he blushes

-“T-taking what now?” He asks softly, his eyes wide

-“Yk, the loss.” You say with a nonchalant shrug

-Johnny blushes even harder when he realizes you don’t know your own joke, his eyes widen to be the size of saucers

-“Johnnycake you ok?”

-“uhm- yeah.”

Sodapop Curtis

-you’re both getting ready for a shift

-and he’s teasing you about something while you both put your shoes on

-“Careful, Soda don’t make me tie you up like those shoes.”

-he smirks “Forward, Y/n. I like it”

-“What are you talkin about?” You say with an irritated glare

-“yk, tyin me up-“

-“LORD not like that! I mean to keep you from making those jokes not like- like that!”

-he blushes a bit when he realizes you didn’t know what you were talking about

-damn. He was looking forward to it.

Darry Curtis

-you are both making dinner

-you’re on a time crunch

-it has to be done before the rest of the Curtis boys come home

-and you decide to make some pizza with Darry

-you start rolling out the dough and slapping it down

-guiding Darry through how to make it when you aren’t around

-“See, Dare? You gotta slap the dough hard. Really rough to get the crust thin- what are you snickering on about?”

-Darry smirks, and blushes a bit “So you gotta slap the dough pretty hard right?!”

-you roll your eyes “Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!”

-“You could slap my dough anytime.”

-“Darry that doesn’t make any- Oh you tricky bastard…”

-you flush in realization

Dallas Winston

-“Damn Dal, that’s really long... it’s so big.”

-you say, referring CLEARLY to the switchblade Dal just stole from a weapon shop

-he chuckles, smirking a bit

-he’s one of the few that figured out you genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about when you say stuff like that

-“is it, now, y/n?”

-“yeah man, it’s crazy huge!”

-he smirks

-“You know what else is huge?”

-You finally catch onto the joke

-realize he pulled out that knife just so you’d say that

-and was fucking with you the whole time

-so you decide to bite back a bit

-you cross your arms “Your list of bad life choices?”

-he crosses his arms “That’s cold, Y/n.”

Two Bit Mathews

-probably the least likely to catch on you don’t know what you’re talking about

-you both are eating some chocolate cake and watching Mickey Mouse

-“Two, we should take a break. We’ve been watching tv for hours.”

-“Yeah what are you y/n, my dad?”

-“Maybe I am your daddy.” You say with a smirk “or at least until you can learn to stop acting like a child

-he blushes so hard at this, both embarrassed and flustered

-“Gee, y/n. You sure know how to make a guy blush.”

-you furrow your brows “what you yappin about, Two?”

Steve Randle

-you’re helping Steve work on cars/fill up gas at the station

-you’re trying to fit the pump inside the tank

-it seems like you chose the wrong pump for that model of car

-you grunt, trying to fit it in “F-fuck Steve it won’t fit!”

-Steve comes out from under the car, with a raised eyebrow until he realizes what you’re talking about

-“I think you have the wrong hole there, y/n.” He jeers with a smirk

-you flush in embarrassment, and then move it to the right one

-“Gee, sorry Stevie. No wonder it was so tight…”

-Steve chuckles and blushes a bit from the accidental implication

#the outsiders hcs #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #dallas winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #ponyboy curtis headcanons #johnny cade headcanons #sodapop curtis headcanons #darry curtis headcanons #dallas winston headcanons #two bit mathews headcanons #steve randle headcanons #urlocalnonbinarybastardwritesanswers

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patchwork-crow-writes · 2 days

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The RalsAlmanac, Volume I

Okay, here it is! A series of essays that will attempt to definitively explain just who or what Ralsei is, referring to scenes from the game as evidence, as well as external sources where appropriate.

There will be some conjecture, as there's just so much we don't know about him, and what little we are given isn't exactly the most revealing. However, I've done my best to cleave as closely to the source material as I can, and I believe there's a strong case to be had here.

Hopefully you'll be able to see where my points come from, or at the very least you'll learn something you didn't know before. Either way, thanks for your consideration!

Volume I - Ralsei Is A Character In A Role-Playing Game.

Self-indulgent reference out of the way, lemme ask you a question.

Who is Ralsei?

It's a question that seems like it should be easy to answer. He's the Prince From The Dark, the third of the three Delta Warriors, he exists to serve the lightners, and is the most precious little cinnamon roll that ever lived. He enjoys baking and crochet, can hold a tune, is a decent interior-decorator, and holds his friends Kris and Susie in very high regard.

Thing is, that's about all you can really say about him without veering into speculation and headcanons, and they're more surface-level observations than anything else. What exactly does "Prince From The Dark" mean, for instance? Prince in what sense, exactly? Ceremonial, or with the actual power that royalty conveys? Where does he rank in comparison to, say, King or Queen, both actual rulers of actual kingdoms? The title of "prince" would suggest that he answers to them, but while they rule their own municipalities, Ralsei's title implies he rules over ALL dark worlds. You could go on asking these questions forever, but I think you see what I'm getting at.

A more productive avenue of questioning might be: What role does Ralsei play in the story of Deltarune? Perhaps more of his underlying character and motivation could be gleaned by looking at what he does for the story and the game. And this would be correct... sort of.

We tend to think of him as the squishy healer of the party, the Heart and moral centre of the Fun Gang. And he absolutely is that, but he's also quite a bit more. He plays all sorts of different roles and character archetypes in the first two chapters of the game, including but not limited to:

the old man whose purpose is to wax poetic about the ancient prophecy...

the know-it-all tutorial fairy who walks you through the basic game mechanics...

the straight-man DM trying to keep everything on the rails...

the young sheltered noble experiencing the outside world for the first time...

the demure love-interest to the main protagonist...

the Polyanna determined to see the good in everybody...

the mysterious waif who knows things he shouldn't...

...eye candy…?

...and so on and so forth.

And so what, I hear you cry. Characters in video games can have more than one personality trait, after all. And yes, this is true! But usually, the different aspects of a character's roles, how they interact with, reinforce or contradict each other, can tell us more about their inner world - what motivates them, what they actively like and dislike... in short, it grants them depth and allows us to engage with them as actual people, rather than just a series of game functions and character traits dressed up in a pretty bow.

But that's not what we see with Ralsei. In fact, far from showing us any real, deep aspect of his character, each new guise he dons and part he plays in the narrative further obfuscates him from us. We learn no new meaningful information from any of these exchanges... except for one thing, but we'll come to that in a moment.

This vexes us, because we WANT to know more about him, but all we end up getting is stock JRPG tropes dressed up in a warm, fluffy coat. There HAS to be something deeper, we reason - he's hiding things from us, so he must be a secret villain. Or his backstory is so tragic, so traumatising, that he cannot properly articulate it to us right now. Or maybe what we see really IS what we get - a simpering, airheaded fool whose only desires in life are to be cute, please his betters and do what he's told. Yet even this explanation seems... unsatisfying, especially since we KNOW he harbours some angst about himself and his sense of identity.

And speaking of which, that one thing we learn? Right at the end of Chapter 2's Acid Tunnel sequence, he utters a single sentence:

This is arguably one of the most significant lines of dialogue in the entire game up to this point. But what does it mean, exactly? I believe most people assume it means he doesn't have a clear sense of who he is outside of his ordained purpose, which is certainly valid, and definitely something I believed for a long time. And yet, this explanation does not deepen our understanding of his character in any meaningful way; looking back over all his interactions with the cast, it does not allow us to glean any further information about him.

And you can say that's because he himself doesn't know what he's like... but again, this doesn't actually change anything, and we just end up with a circular logic trap. We don't know anything because he doesn't tell us anything, and he doesn't tell us anything because he doesn't know anything, so how can we be expected to know anything, except that no-one seems to know anything about him… which is very frustrating to us Ralsei scholars, and gets us no closer to truly understanding him.

But look at what he says again. Really look at it. It’s a very strange way of saying “I don’t really know who I am”, isn’t it? After all, if that’s what he means, then why doesn’t he just say that? I’m certain you’ve realised by now, but it’s because that’s NOT what he’s saying at all. He literally has no clue what being “himself” is supposed to be, because he wasn’t even created with a sense of “Ralsei-ness” in the first place. Little wonder, then, that we can’t discern anything about his internal world, when there is nothing there to be discerned.

But before I elaborate any further, I want to talk about a couple of scenes in Deltarune that are just... puzzling. This is relevant, I promise. The first is during the dialogue with Rouxls Kaard before the rematch with K.Round. Ralsei says something interesting in the lead-up to the fight:

Note Susie’s baffled reaction to this. Then not long afterwards, he continues with:

Throwaway joke, right? We laugh because Susie's right - K. Round and its crown do look exactly the same to us, and so Ralsei's dramatic utterances are deflated and lose their impact. We laugh, beat the boss with Susie's help and forget all about it. But here's the thing - if K.Round looks the same to us, and it looks the same to Susie, and presumably by extension the rest of the in-game characters... when why exactly does Ralsei take the time to insist otherwise?

Is he... lying? Our most precious little boy, guilty of perjury? Say it ain't so! :O

The second scene is in chapter 2 - Queen has challenged us to a game of Punch-Out on her absurdly tall arcade machine, and we can talk to the characters before trying to interact with it. Talk to Ralsei, and if you answer "Gaming is my life" to his prompt, he says this:

Most people don't even come across this in their playthrough, so I wouldn't be surprised if it's new to you reading this. But again, note this strange discrepancy between what Ralsei reports is happening and what Susie says is actually happening. It becomes apparent to most people that Kris can affect the tone of their voice when saying what we tell them to, which affects how the response is taken by other characters and gives us a subtle clue about how they actually feel about certain characters or situations.

Are we to assume, then, that Ralsei isn't actually listening to how Kris says things, but only what they're saying? And if that's correct, then... what does that say about him?

Taken at face-value, within the context of the game, neither of these events really make much sense. It just looks like Ralsei is being overly-dramatic, or lying, or perhaps even insensitive to what their friend is trying to tell him, which doesn't quite track with his per-established shallow traits of kind, all-loving and moralistic. It's perplexing and seemingly out-of-character for him. So it might help to consider, in each of these scenarios, who exactly Ralsei is talking to.

Is it Kris and/or Susie? This would make the most sense, but it's actually not that likely, considering the aforementioned discrepencies between his descriptions and Susie's observations. So is it himself? Again, if he can see things the same as everyone else in-game, that wouldn't make much sense, because then he's just saying stuff that... isn't true? Or in the latter example's case, just completely ignoring what Kris is saying, which doesn't seem to entirely gel with what we know about him.

So, who does that leave? Well, the only other person - or should I say entity - who is present for both of those scenes is... us. The player of Deltarune. And that might seem even stranger than the previous options, until you realise what it is he's actually doing - providing flavour text, additional exposition informing us of details that we wouldn't - or shouldn't - be able to make out on a pixelated display with no voice-acting, attempting to give us a richer sense of these events in order to increase our sense of immersion in the game and world of Deltarune. In effect, he's playing the part of a character in a role playing game, doling out “flavour text” that contradicts another character’s experience of the same scenes, and he's doing it entirely for OUR benefit. Not Kris’s, not Susie's – ours.

He tells us that K.Round's crown is different, and that it is in pain from its forced control, to try and increase the stakes of the fight, and to give us a motivation that's not "here's the exact same boss again lul". He responds to Kris's words the way he does, not because he doesn't understand the nuances of their tone, but to try and amp us up for the upcoming challenge, and to validate our choice when we select the dialogue option "Gaming is my life". Because we cannot hear Kris's tone of voice - and Ralsei knows that. To him, Kris's tone literally doesn't matter, because he doesn't believe it matters to us in that exact moment.

And here’s the thing: if not for Susie’s asides immediately contradicting him, we’d likely take what he says here as what’s actually going on. To Ralsei, the reality he and his friends experience is not important – it’s the image of that reality that he’s trying to convey to the player. It’s like he knows he’s part of a game, meant just for us to experience and enjoy, as opposed to a real world filled with real people having real experiences.

And the reason I brought this up is to illustrate what I believe Ralsei to actually be - namely, that he a walking, talking, singing and dancing amalgam of stock JRPG characters and tropes that's trying very hard to present as an actual person, to the point of knowing absolutely nothing about who he even is outside of that. Put in even blunter terms, he's literally a fluffy goat-shaped vehicle to set the player on their journey through the game, to keep them playing and to keep them invested. People looking for deeper aspects of his character come up short and are disappointed because they're looking for something that does not currently exist.

And just so that I'm clear, I do not mean that Ralsei is "acting", or that he's "wearing a mask", because that would imply that there was actually something underneath his "facade" to begin with. No, this is who the Prince of the Dark is - a very convincing fascimile of a person, following his directive to ensure that the story of Deltarune is resolved, and that the game of Deltarune is played to completion. And once you realise that, a lot of things that Ralsei says and does that seemed strange before suddenly make a lot more sense.

As for the why... well, that'll have to wait for another time. But hopefully you can begin to see how my future essays in this series all tie in to this one, because I think you can only really understand those with the framework that this text provides. I hope that my reasoning made sense and wasn't too difficult to follow, but I'll be happy to provide additional information, clarification, or even just discussion on any aspect of this essay... even if we just wind up (respectfully) agreeing to disagree. Would love to hear what people thought about this!

Thanks for reading!

#Writing #essay #analysis #theory #Deltarune #Ralsei #character study #The RalsAlmanac #deltarune chapter 1 #deltarune chapter 2 #essay collection

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mars-ipan · 27 days

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they're so GROSSSSSS (<- desperately wants what they have)

alt color under the cut:

#martzipan #komahina #hajime hinata #nagito komaeda #2 final colors bc my brain is allergic to desaturation. i needed to have One Bright One for my sanity #anyways i think they have this thing when they finally get together #where komaeda will just say. Anything basically. in an attempt to fluster hinata #and it does fluster him! but also sometimes he decides to do something about it #which flusters KOMAEDA even harder bc the dumbass forgets that like. affection can happen to him #which makes HINATA flustered again because 'you can say all that but one kiss is overwhelming?!?'#and they do this. all the time. especially early on before they're really used to each other #and they're gross about it. they do this in public. everyone else has to watch them do this like. thrice daily #they're awful. and also i envy them #tried some new things this time. more character interaction practice which is fun #i think this is likee... the third???? kiss i've ever drawn??? good for them #but i care more about the lineart. i tried to think about line weight at least a little bit :] it is Difficult lmao #this one made me realize i need to do a hips study lmao. also a neck study #in other words a girl needs to practice her joints more #there's still smth bugging me abt hinata's face in the 3rd one. but. i don't care it's done i'm not touching it

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tstain-is-an-idiot · 2 months

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New (mini) hyperfixation unlocked???

yeah... him🥺🥺

#hi-fi my beloved #i got into a show about seven toys #and got emotionally attached to the one with an obvious speech impediment #now where have i heard that before??#anyways im trying not to be too autistic about the raggy dolls anywhere else #especially on twitter #the three known raggy dolls fans are on twitter #and it just feels awkward you know?#it took one hour long video essay to get me into this show #which is a new record for fastest time obtaining a hyperfixation #though of course im nowhere near done with CU #also weird little hc about hi-fi but he definitely has at least a partial endoskeleton #fuck uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #the raggy dolls #whatever that just means i can say whatever i like without fear of embarrassment

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take-ya-to-the-ghey-bar · 5 months

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Just a quick PSA of sorts...

as the title says, this is just a little psa sort of post, but anyways… i just wanted to take a second and say that it's come to my attention that i'm probably a person who misjudges boundaries more easily than i thought i did… sure, i feel like most of you guys i'm mutuals with, and chat even a bit with ooc are people i'm close to-- but i guess sometimes i let the line for that blur a bit too much, and don't end up picking on the fact that the other person i'm talking with might not feel the same way i do…

so in relation to that-- i'd just like to ask all my mutuals, that if we're chatting about something, and i bring up something that makes you uncomfortable-- or i try to send/do go ahead and send you something that you didn't want me to-- please, please make that clear with me-- be a little blunt or rude if you feel that's what needed for me to get it, but just… be clear with me, and communicate if i've done something to mess up and overstep anywhere, please…

#{|ooc post|}#i know the main person this was indirectly meant for isn't likely to see it...#but for the sake of wanting to say it for my mutuals as a whole as well-- i'm still gonna post...#and hell-- i might be taking this whole thing harder than i need to-- but still... i treasure all you guys--#so knowing i've done anything to fuck up a relationship we built or were trying to build... it fucking hurts--#and i guess just as a closing comment for this-- since i can't think of much else to add--#is that given my mood has now taken a dive thanks to this-- and thanks to the fact that i have cooking to do here soon--#it'll likely be a bit before i can manage any writing-- but... if i feel up to it this evening/tonight-- then i'll give it a shot--#either here or on at least one of my other blogs

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skrunksthatwunk · 4 days

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found out that rascal's owner took him again while i was out, and he's probably not gonna be back since the semester's almost over. i don't even know if his owner's coming back next semester, if i'll ever see him again. if he'll ever see me again. why do they wait until im not around to do this? why do they never let me say goodbye to him?

#i didnt really get to process it bc i found out when i was hanging w a friend but. im processing it now #sigh.. i dont know. i dont know.#at the end of the day he is and has always been someone else's cat. i can't control what she does with him #no matter what i think of it. she can always take him away. but every time it happens im just. im tired yknow?#it's worth it to me to have him around. i love him dearly and i want him to be in a home where he's actually cared for (which i have done my #best to provide) but he's just. not mine. and every time it happens i back up and think man. im such a sucker.#i don't think people manipulate me often. not in an ongoing way i mean. i don't think ppl see me as valuable enough to most of the time.#but damn. she really found my weak spots didn't she. free petcare courtesy of one chump who can't live without animals around. sigh #he deserves stability but he deserves love more. this weird shared custody thing is better for him i think. and frankly i also love him.#im not the priority here but my feelings are like. there. him being taken away without even telling me first hurts. i'd like to be able to #say goodbye to him. im not saying he has to stay or this has to go on but couldn't they just.. consider my feelings a bit more?#just bc you're fine with dropping your cat off somewhere for weeks not knowing when you'll see him again and not visiting doesn't mean i am #and i kind of feel like my roommate is part of this. after all it's not like his owner can just break into our room and take him #and if im always out when they do it there's a chance roomie's just shipping him off whenever she gets sick of him.#she's done it before. even after she agreed so vehemently with me about never wanting him to go back to such treatment and stuff early on.#she's been spraying him for little reason lately too. and i mean i get being a little more cautious with some things bc her neck's broken #but she's really fixated on how much he smells and bites and stuff and talks about how if i wasn't around she'd consider eating him #and then other times she's like that's my pookie. i don't get it. like yeah i tell rascal to fuck off sometimes bc he hurts me but it's not #like a hateful thing. i dont resent him for it i'm just annoyed sometimes bc he's maiming me a little. he's my baby. how could i loathe him?#so it makes me think that roomie might be blaming his transfers on his owner bc she doesn't want me to judge her #and like. this is her room too. it's not her fault she's more bothered by the smell than me. if she doesn't want to be bitten and clawed all #the time i can sympathize. i don't wanna force her to house him. but i wish she'd just be honest with me i guess #like. what if his owner decides to give him away without telling me? i'd take him in in a heartbeat. even though i know it's a bad idea.#but i'm worried he'll fall out of my reach completely. and at the very least I'd like to be able to say goodbye first. that's all.

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verycoolsnails · 1 month

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YAYYY MISHA THEME!!!

MISHA 💖💓🩷❤️💕💖💓🩷💖❤️💖💓💓💖🩷💓

#i loevev them so much did you know that #currently saving up for him and it is HELL after spending it all on sparkel .so many quests and not enough timw .........#and . ouhhh havent had the chance to talk abt . shit what is it called . lemme go see real quick .#A CHILDS DREAM . yknow that one map with the text on the walls and the melted clocks and stuff .#that was done . SO incredibly well it makes me INSANE...........#so like . im 100.1% sure the speaker (who talks abt mikhail a lot) in that room is misha.#like that IS her voice right . im not going insane #its just . auuh... the dreams (or at least golden hour) in peacony are so childlike .... like . some of the puzzles are jigsaw puzzle ;#turn into a small cartoon character ; and help the cartoon character find his cartoon gears .#and then you get to clockie . who can only be seen by someone w a childs innoence (or smth around those lines)#and that misha can see clockie . which like . cool right ? yeab. UNTIL YOU GET TO A CHILDS DREAM ..#where theres something just ... sososo off .#and its ... its just gotta be misha . its gotta be . idk if theres anything outside of main story im missing (there probably is)#BUT . augh . auf even .#childs dream still has these childlike qualities to it (the paper birds; walking on walls) but just ... more warped #(the general atmosphere of the place; the monsters even .)#the music having a music box to make the tone of the song more distressing ... how its so much more smaller than golden hour ..#aughhhhhh ... its just such a good parallel..... i could talk abt it all day really .#anyways . i WAS going to tell u abt my misha theory (which may or may not be confirmed) bu t i got DISTRACTED.#uhh anyways . my theory is that misha is somehow trapped in peacony .#when misha goes onto the parlor car they mention that theyve never been outside of peacony before and that she can t stay for long .#which i imagine is very normal! BUT its this combined w her lock motif (pupils; most of the doors in childs dream) thag make me suspicious #i mentioned before that golden hour has a very childish quality to it. and that misha has that childish quality.#okay well . what if mishas being kept there so that golden hour can keep on being a dream for other people?#and so that would make golden hour mishas dream. (or part of his dream? could be more people the familys keeping)#and that would imply that childs dream is . well . mishas nightmare .#uhm . i think thats it ..? if i come up w anything else ill . ramble abt it somewhere . definitely not the most eloquent but #i hope i got the point across <33 #i think its an understatement to say i love misha . i LOVE MISHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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starmansymphony · 1 year

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when i say "i like time travel stories but they have to be done in a certain way" i really mean "i don't like time loops"

#my brain has trouble wrapping itself around the fact that things can happen AFTER the loop #when i imagine a time loop it looks like a snail #there are things before it (the snail) but once you get to the loop (the shell) there's.... nothing else. it ends at the shell.#or at least it ends at the shell for the person/people IN the loop #like. aren't you just dooming yourself to repeat a sacrificial cycle for all eternity? wouldn't you get tired of that?#wouldn't you long for freedom?#side note but when i say ''i like time travel stories but they have to be done in a certain way''#i might actually be referring to pmd2. jury's still out on that one tho #larimar says

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aliceramblez · 3 months

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Dating the Hazbin Hotel Residents 😈

Tags: GN!Reader, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Mature Topics (ie. Suicidal Thoughts, Alcohol Abuse, SA, etc), Spoilers For The Show, etc.

A/N: Ahhh yes, more brainriot for the pile 😌 I was more of a Helluva gal before the show aired, but now I gotta say these blorbos are a dear part of my heart! Hopefully y'all enjoy these as much as I did writing them!

Consider following my main blog @taruchinator for more solid content & feel free to leave a request here for future HCs~

Charlie 🌈

When the Happy Hotel first opened its doors and all of Hell started making a mockery of it, you were probably the only one who took it as a sign to try and improve from the low life that you were. It's not like you had anything else to live for, anyway.

As soon as you enter the building, you're immediately greeted by the bubbly Princess of Hell herself (along with a reluctant Angel Dust) who is more than happy to show you around and welcomes you with open arms.

You've never been shown this much kindness and sympathy for your situation before, so it naturally takes you aback and makes you wonder what the catch is. Turns out there's none and the Princess is probably the only sweet soul to live in this shithole.

As you grow closer, she asks you to drop the title and just call her Charlie. She also shares a bit about her situation and how her mother wanted to save sinners from the extermination each year, and now Charlie felt like it was her duty to continue this legacy until her dreams came true.

You can't help but feel touched over how much she cares, so you silently vow to yourself to help her in any way you can, just like she's done for you.

It doesn't take long before the two of you grow even closer and feelings begin to blossom, but you decide to ignore them since why would a Princess ever like someone like you?

But Charlie proves you wrong yet again, since one day she comes to you a blushing mess and confesses her own feelings, asking if you'd like to go out with her. You can't help but vocalize your shock since she could do so much better than a random sinner. She deserved better, too.

She looks at you with fondness in her eyes. “You've been by my side for so long and supported me every step of the way. Who wouldn't fall for someone like that?”

And thus, you are the luckiest person in Hell because you scored Charlotte Morningstar, and whoever says otherwise can get a knife to their throat.

She's the perfect definition of a sweet and patient girlfriend, never pushing you to do anything you aren't comfortable with (since you really aren't used to such adoration in a romantic relationship), but as soon as you give her the get-go, she'll be sure to shower you with as much affection as she can until the doubts in your mind disappear completely.

You aren't that far behind either. Albeit not as good as her, you do your best to be a comforting partner whenever she needs you. This is especially necessary after an extermination happens, which always leaves Charlie devastated and in need of a hug or words of encouragement because she doubts herself sometimes and wonders if the hotel is even working at all.

You remind her how it brought the two of you together, to which she smiles and agrees that at least something good has come out of it so far.

Vaggie 🎀

Both you and Vaggie used to work in the same legion under Adam with the rest of his exorcists. You knew of each other's existence, but didn't really talk much aside from whatever was needed in the midst of battle.

The day she spares a demon child's life, you're doing your rounds nearby and witness the whole exchange, including Lute coming over and ripping both an eye and Vaggie's wings for showing mercy. You don't know why, but it makes your blood boil.

“HEY! What are you doing?! It was just a kid, why not let it slide?”

And just like that, you become a target of Lute's rage as well, being ripped from your angelic status along with receiving a few nasty cuts, yet surprisingly not as bad as Vaggie herself.

Once the two of you are left to die, you immediately try to tend the girl's wounds with whatever you can. Vaggie can only stare in disbelief at what you'd done and questions why you even did so in the first place—now you were stuck just like she was.

“Guess I just don't like seeing injustice... Who knew Heaven could be so fuckin' shitty?”

You both laugh at the irony of it all, and that's when luck is finally on your side as Charlie finds you in the dirty alley and brings you back to the hotel to heal properly.

For the next three years you two stay at the Hazbin Hotel, helping Charlie in any way you can to try and make her dream a reality since deep down you hope that despite Heaven's corrupt system, there can be a small chance that souls can be redeemed. You hide the fact that you're ex-Anges though, since you don't wanna cause unnecessary drama.

During this time period, the two of you become better friends, having your own inside jokes regarding things you didn't particularly enjoy from your time as Angels, as well as learning more about one another.

You're the one to come to terms with your feelings first and decide to lay them on the table for Vaggie to see—she's always been a straight-to-the-point kind of gal, so if you're about to be rejected, might as well have it be done quick. But of course, she replies with her own declaration and desire to give a relationship a shot, which you're ecstatic about!

It's a bit hard at first since you never got to see much of romantic relationships in Heaven while training for murder every year, but you try and make it work. Both you and Vaggie work endlessly to try and make the other happy, and it only makes you fall for each other even more.

Also Charlie is your go-to wingwoman who will be there to give you the best advice to try and woo your girlfriend. She ships you two so hard.

Angel Dust 🕸

Working at a porn studio under an Overlord who owns your soul can be exhausting. You know this better than anyone since everyone who works under Valentino has contracts that won't let you get far with a leash. This is especially true with your friend Angel Dust.

You know about the things Valentino does to the spider demon—hell, everyone in the studio probably knows, but know better than to say anything about it. You're always there for Angel after particularly rough shoots, doing your best to comfort him in any way you can, though there isn't much you can do given you're in the same spot.

When he tells you he's moving to Princess Charlie's Hazbin Hotel, you're so happy for him! At least that will give him some distance from Valentino and his disgustingly filthy hands when he's not working.

This unsurprisingly doesn't bode well with the Overlord, causing him to throw fits of rage around the studio when Angel leaves for the day. You can't help but make a snarky comment that you definitely regret moments later.

“Can one blame him for wanting space from such an overbearing asshole?”

Without his favorite stress toy around, you end up paying the price for such comments. The kind of pain and suffering he puts you through is completely different from what you're used to. Is this the stuff he does to Angel? He leaves you naked, bruised and bloody in your room, and all you can do is muster what little strenght you have left to head for the Hazbin Hotel.

As soon as the door opens, you immediately tumble forward and start losing consciousness. The last thing you remember is Angel's horrified expression before it all fades to black.

Once you wake up and have been patched up, you explain what happened at the studio, and you could've sworn you saw fire in Angel's eyes as he holds on to you, fearing you might disappear at any moment. He begs you to stay in the hotel with him, and you agree without hesitation.

And so, your new routine of heading to work and then coming back to the hotel becomes blissful, not having to deal with that lunatic mothman more than necessary. You also get to spend time off with your best friend, which is always a plus.

Well, ‘best friend’ might not be the best way to describe it. You'd developed a crush on the spider demon even before this whole incident occurred, and now that you were spending more time with him, it only continued to grow.

With the line of work you two had, romantic relationships didn't seem to be a thing that crossed anybody's mind since why have a permanent partner when you could just go around fucking the hottest people in Hell? But you knew your feelings were far beyond from sexual, but didn't wanna ruin what you already had going for you.

One heartfelt drunken conversation after work however, makes you do a double take—Angel likes you back. And that both scares and excites you. But with both of you going over the pros and cons with each other, you decide to give it a chance.

You make sure to always have Angel's consent when it comes to physical intimacy—anything from holding his hand, to kissing to just cuddling. He jokes about not being a porcelain doll, but deep down you know he appreciates it.

You're also there for the rough nights, when he comes home wanting nothing more than to die again and let the earth swallow him whole. Words of reassurance are spoken and you can only hold him and let him cry as you vow to do anything in your power to stop this from happening again.

Husker 🍺

As one of the first guests of the hotel, like any wayward sinner, you find yourself in the bar more often than you'd like. Alcohol killed you in the first place, yet not even in the afterlife could you seem to pull yourself from its grasp.

It's a somewhat welcome surprise to find out that the bartender is going through a similar struggle. He still serves you drinks and lends and ear whenever he's not busy, but will occasionally drop the words of wisdom to watch your fill.

Eventually you two find yourselves doing this little back and forth and aid each other when you're in your dark places—Husk won't let you near the bottle if he sees you're about to knock yourself out, meanwhile you're there to look after him when he has one too many drinks and can't take care of himself.

Not to say he isn't a good drinking buddy—you've found out most of the gossip around the hotel thanks to this sneaky little cat demon and there's never a dull moment with him around.

You learn about his deal with Alastor during a particularly bad night, when Husk's had one too many and isn't thinking straight. You don't bring it up, but now have an eye open for whenever the Radio Demon drags your friend away.

Angel's the one who brings up your questionable relationship to the surface.

“So... you two like, fuckin' each other, or what?”

Your entire face goes red, and if it weren't for the dark fur you could swear you see Husk looking the same. He's quick to get rid of Angel's nosy ass, but now the seed has been planted in your brain—do you like Husk that way?

After careful consideration, you come to the conclusion that yes, you do. And it's honestly kinda terrifying considering how relationships don't usually work out in Hell, at least from what you've seen. Besides, even if you did try and confess, there was always the possibility of him not feeling the same and just being embarrassed by Angel's comment.

So in an attempt to make your feelings disappear, you stop frequenting the bar. Who knew the best way to stop drinking habits was trying to avoid spending time with your unrequited crush?

But of course, Husk isn't stupid. He sees the change in your behavior and let's it slide for a while, until he eventually corners you and asks what's wrong. You decide to get it all out of the way and tell him how you feel.

To the embarrassment of both of you, he holds your hand firmly between his and darts his eyes toward the corner of the room. “Next time you should ask before going off assuming things, ya got it?”

And so, your glass may have been empty that day, but your heart had never felt fuller.

Sir Pentious 🐍

You meet Sir Pentious when you sign into the hotel, and your immediate thought is just how can this snake man be so adorkable, it should be illegal.

As you greet the other residents and staff, you're quick to strike a conversation with him, which based on his body language he was not expecting. He starts telling you a bit about his weaponry and other contraptions, and you can't help but be fascinated by it.

You're a bit of a tinkerer yourself, albeit you've only dabbled in small scale projects—nothing compared to the massive canons and aircrafts that Pentious seems to be familiar with.

He acts like a kid opening gifts on Sinmas when he talks to you about his inventions, clearly never having anyone show interest before. Eventually he'll even ask for your input on certain smaller projects he wants to work on to help around the hotel, all to thank Charlie for being so kind to him and giving him a second chance. You're obviously eager to help!

You two start spending so much time together that the egg boys have started calling you ‘Boss #2’, much to Pentious' embarrassment and your amusement.

One afternoon once exercises are done for the day, the snake demon seems much more fidgety than usual as he invites you over to his room to continue working on his security system prototype. He's a blabbering mess once he has you sitting down and your heart just can't help but swell at each little syllable.

“Dearest (y/n)... you've, um, well... you are a huge inspiration for my work! A-And I wouldn't have been able to create any of this... without your help. You are kind, and smart and very talented.... and w-well, um I-”

You gotta silence the man with a kiss otherwise you two would be here all day. He's puddy in your hands and you can only giggle in return. “I really like you too, Pen.”

Everyone is either saying they called it or groaning in annoyance because fucking FINALLY, you two were just dancing around each other like idiots. The egg boys are just so happy to have someone else besides Pentious to be in their lives, and will do their best to look out for you just like with their own boss.

So yeah, prepare yourself for some sickeningly sweet gestures from this guy cause he will go above and beyond to get you what you need/want even if it kills him (again). And you can confidently say that you'd do the same in return.

Alastor 📻

After running in the same circles when you were alive, it's no surprise to you to end up in Hell, although you never would've suspected that you'd find yourself in the same place as him. It was honestly a huge relief not having to go through this all by yourself.

As Alastor exerted his dominance over Hell as the Radio Demon, you were powerful enough to be an Overlord yes, but rather liked keeping it on the down low instead of making a spectacle of yourself (Alastor was the one for theatrics anyway). Because of this, only select few knew of your true power and what you were capable of.

Instead, if there was one thing you were known for, it was being the only soul allowed to be close to the Radio Demon without the risk of death.

Yes, Alastor was a sadistic, cold-blooded and egotistical mastermind, but he wasn't a monster. You knew that better than anyone. Although the reactions he had to other demons treating you like a joke or calling you the ‘Radio Demon's Pet’ were not helping his case.

“ł₣ ɎØɄ V₳ⱠɄɆ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ, ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₩₳Ⱡ₭ ₳₩₳Ɏ Ɽł₲Ⱨ₮ ₦Ø₩ ฿Ɇ₣ØⱤɆ ł Ɽł₱ ł₮ ₳₱₳Ɽ₮ ฿ł₮ ฿Ɏ ฿ł₮...”

“Al, chill. You're gonna make them shit their pants.”

After his seven year absence, you immediately noticed something was wrong with him, and wouldn't stop pestering until he told you the truth—A deal he made and how his soul was now bound to someone much more powerful than he was.

You were obviously mortified and started looking into ways to try and find a loophole to this, but alas the Radio Demon would just give you his signature grin and tell you not to worry about it. It was his battle to face.

But of course you're quick to remind him that you've stuck together through thick and thin even in life, so there was no way you were letting him handle this by himself. You work as a team—always have and always will. You engulf him in a hug.

“We're gonna figure this out, Al. I promise...”

The grin remains, but his eyes widen slightly in surprise. He hesitantly returns the embrace, patting your back and wiping the tears you didn't even know you were shedding.

“There there~ To think such a sweet and innocent soul wound up in a gutter like this. I cannot say I complain as long as I have your delightful company beside me.”

And so when he says he has a plan that involves Princess Charlie Morningstar and her new Happy Hotel, you follow along. Whatever fate has in store for you two, you'll be ready.

Also Charlie is a sweetheart who could do no harm. Knowing Alastor, he'll probably do whatever he can here and there to help around for the cause. You also offer your services as an undercover Overlord, much to everyone's surprise when you reveal your status.

The Radio Demon may have a plan, but something tells you it won't involve bloody murder (unless extremely necessary or if someone really pissed him off).

Like you said—he's not a monster.

Lucifer 🍎

You and Lucifer were good friends at the beginning of Creation. While you were stuck with the tedious task of designing blueprints for the new ‘Human Project’ that headquarters had in store, Lucifer's Seraphim status allowed him to bring creations to life with the flick of a wrist, much to your delight and wonder.

His ideas and pitches for Earth were always so entertaining to listen to, and you would do your best to encourage him to show them to the higher ups to get them approved—His mind was just filled with joy and love and wonder that you'd never seen before.

Which was why it was always so disappointing whenever he'd come back and say that he was shut down and even mocked at. How could Heaven shut down such an imaginative mind in the creation of their biggest project yet?

To say you were devastated when you heard about his fall would be an understatement. You mourned the loss of your friend, knowing that he'd done nothing wrong and thinking it wasn't fair to him to receive such punishment just because he cared for the future of humanity.

Thousands of years later, you overhear the plan for Extermination of Hell kind. You didn't mean to walk by, yet here you were, under the direct eye of the Head Seraphims about to be downcast for something you had no control over—just like Lucifer.

“You're all self-entitled pricks! You think you can do whatever you want just because it doesn't follow what you define as good!”

You get a few good arguments before being cast downwards, leaving you in bad shape in a random alley with no wings and no means of escape. That is of course, until destiny seems to be on your side and Lucifer finds you, completely perplexed to see you here at all.

After getting treated, you tell him about the Extermination so he and Hell can prepare. The conversation of you getting cast down by Heaven gets glossed over, but he can feel the fury building up inside him. You were always doing things by the book—how could they do this to you?

Once the slaughter is over, Lucifer gets a meeting with Heaven and secures protection for both his daughter Charlie and you, to which they begrudgingly agree to keep him outta their hair. You can't help but feel touched by this gesture.

He's also quick to offer you a room to stay in, but you compromise by living in a seperate building from him and Charlie so you aren't a bother even though he says you aren't. In fact, ever since Lilith left, he's had to take care of his young daughter all by himself, so he's more than happy when you offer to help.

It doesn't take long for your feelings to start coming into the surface from all those years ago, and you gotta push them away because he's both married and has a child to look after! Besides, why would the King of Hell ever look in your direction?

Eventually though, he brings up the question with nothing but sweaty palms and a customized rubber ducky that says ‘I love you’ whenever you squeeze it. You blush furiously, but can't help but bring up your concerns, not wanting to replace Lilith in his heart. He looks into your eyes and says that he hasn't been as happy as he is now in the past thousand years.

Cue baby Charlie walking in on everything, and she just smiles and goes innocently. “Daddy! Is (y/n) staying home with us now?”

You two can only chuckle at the cuteness of it and you immediately go to hug her. You couldn't believe that you were blessed with such a wonderful family.

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