#biting chomping maiming those arms

[livetogether--diealone]

what's the prize? one million jelly-beans?

#fever induced edits let's goooo #a girl (me) won't ever get over this moment in time #am really did a number got me watching this on a loop #biting chomping maiming those arms #sebastian vettel #f1 #f1edit #jo.gif #jo.digitals #sv5

[kathyprior4200]

Alastor Interview

Part 1: “I’ll Steal The Limelight!”

 On a TV screen, the 666 News logo appeared in neon outlines. A skeletal blonde woman was sitting at a desk, wearing a red dress and a pearl necklace. She had wide eyes, sharp teeth and bright red lipstick on. She was the news anchor of Hell, Katie Killjoy. Next to her was a man with a face mask for a face. He had short white hair and wore a business suit. He was Tom Trench.

 “Good afternoon to Hell’s First Circle!” said the woman. “I’m Katie Killjoy.”

“And I’m Tom Trench,” the man added.

“Another drug dealing brawl is taking place by the 666 Store along Maim Avenue and Broadslay Street.”

The image showed a tall great white shark wearing a teal suit and an anchor necklace, snarling at a tall black spider wearing torn jeans and a t shirt. Both started fighting, the shark chomping at the spider, almost biting off his neck.

“That’s right,” said Tom. “The loan shark wasn’t very happy that Black Widow the Third didn’t pay him back for the bag of cocaine. Instead, he got high off the cocaine, stole the shark’s stash of meth and sold it to an arachnid mafia at an even higher price!”

The spider screamed as the shark opened his maw, rows of sharp teeth shining.

“Looks like Black Widow is in the jaws of fate this time,” Tom added as a loud snap shook the miniature screen.

The screen changed to a red wall displaying plaques with fancy papers taped onto them. “Employee of the Month” was printed in headline format at the top and a row of smiling black and white pictures of Katie.

“Now for a special public program, here at 5! To commemorate me earning “Employee of the Month” for the tenth time in a row this year, me and Tom will be answering a series of questions in an exclusive live interview!”

She fluffed her short hair.

“You may be wondering why 666 News is Hell’s number one news station. Well now, you can get a sneak peek behind the scenes as I explain to you folks how my hard work and stylish outlook made all of this possible!”

She spread out her arms with loud cracks, bonking Tom Trench in the head.

Tom Trench rubbed his head as Katie moved her arms back and put her hands together in front of her.

“If you would like to apply to be part of the set and news crew, please call the number on your screen, 1-800-666–NEWS or go online at 666news applications.com.”

“Gays need not apply,” Katie added, with jazz hands.

Fast rapid music followed as the logo appeared again, and the words “Exclusive Interview with Katie Killjoy (and limp dick Tom Trench)!” appeared in stylish gold letters.

 After the I.M.P. jingle played, the screen cut back to the two news anchors sitting at their desks.

A rapid knocking sounded from Tom’s left.

“Oh, that must be our two never-before seen interviewers,” Tom said. “Brain Brimstone and Cecilia May! Come on in!” He stood up.

 The sound of footsteps, muffled grunts, and dragging steadily grew. Two shadow figures were thrown off-screen with thuds on the floor. Tom Trench took one look at the third figure and took several steps back. He breathed out loud in surprise.

Katie scratched her nails on the desk and looked over. “What now, Tom?!”

“Why hello there, news people!” said a loud radio voice. “Fancy seeing you here!”

Both of them were staring into the pale, red-eyed face of Alastor. He wore his usual long blood red dress coat, dark pants and black shoes. Dark gloves covered his four clawed hands. His hair was red and black and two small antlers were sticking up from his head between two furry tufts shaped like deer ears. A monocle rested under his right eye, connected by a thin chain.

“What a splendid surprise!” Katie chirped, looking at the camera. “The one and only Radio Demon has decided to join us for the interview. I hope he has some good questions up his sleeve, ‘cause I’d be more than happy to answer them.” She smirked and swayed her hips suggestively.

Alastor laughed forcefully. “Nonono, that’s not what I came here for. You see…” he mentioned to the two demons in the background, slowly getting up. “I came across those two fellows who were chatting about interviewing someone important. Seeing how easily bored I can get, I decided to follow them to your station to see what all the commotion was about. It was pretty funny seeing the terrified looks on their faces when they turned around and saw me. They were going to come in, but I brought them here for you. Wasn’t that so considerate of me?”

Katie and Tom Trench looked at each other, worry on both of their faces. Katie cleared her throat and cracked her neck, standing up. “Well, then, shall we get started? Take a seat and let’s begin with your first question.”

“Sure,” said Alastor, not moving, a smile on his face. “Here’s one, may I take things over from here? I’ve been bored as usual and I believe it’s my turn to provide some fun for the sinners.”

Tom Trench gulped, whole Katie narrowed her eyes.

“Excuse me, sir, but this is my program. I’ve been named the best employee and news anchor for ten months now! This is a perfect way to increase the good ratings! I’m the star who answers the questions, not you.”

She blew him a kiss. Tom’s eyes grew wide as he realized Katie’s big mistake. He shook his head, but Katie ignored him.

“My dear,” said Alastor, leaning closer, eyes glowing. “That wasn’t a request. This is my show now. Broadcasting on the radio is fine and dandy, but I enjoy looking for new entertainment platforms.” His microphone staff lit up.

Katie gave him a side hug. “My time is money, good sir, so I suggest we get started.”

A low growl rumbled from Alastor’s throat. He forcefully shoved her away. “Touch me again, and I’ll break your already broken body.”

“Why I never!” she responded. Katie transformed into her insect form, eyes glowing, pinchers out. “Get out of my studio!”

Alastor’s eyes turned into red radio dials. He spoke in a low voice. “How about, no. If any dumb Dora needs to get out, it’s you.”

Before Katie could react, she found herself ensnared by a couple black tentacles snaking around her feet, one wrapped around her right wrist.

“Let go of me!”

Tom Trench was yelling and hanging upside down by more tentacles grabbing onto his legs. Katie tripped in her red high heels and fell to the ground. A flaming portal formed from the floor nearby. Katie dragged her nails into the floor, scratching sounds piercing the air as she was pulled in further against her will.

“Why won’t anyone help me?!” Tom yelled as he was swung in the air as the crew fled the scene.

Katie swore loudly and screamed again as she fell through the portal.

Monstrous roars and yells came from below. After a few minutes, a tentacle flung Katie back up and onto the floor. Her body was shaking and her dress was torn.  There were cuts all over face and arms. Her eyes were briefly red, her pale face full of fear.

She stood on shaky legs and mumbled to herself.

“Those visions…my studio gone…crushed again…they rejected me…”

Alastor’s shadow let out a bone-chilling laugh and spoke in reverse: “.der ni dalc nomed eht eraweB”

Katie had gotten a glimpse of her worst subconscious fears and her past. Her parents comparing their worthless daughter to beauty patents in magazines…being fined for animal abuse…the press badmouthing her after being on air for the first time…a wealthy boyfriend rejecting her for a brunette model…smoking and gasping for breath…cameras and machinery falling and crushing her to death…

But her worst fear at the moment was a red and black haired man, glaring at her with glowing red eyes. She screamed and scurried out of the room. Tom Trench was thrown by a tentacle out a window, glass shattering. The portal in the floor closed.

 “Apologizes folks, but now that those two are gone, it’s time to begin my show with those two over there.”

Alastor’s shadow appeared and floated around him. With a snap of his fingers, the 666 News logo on the wall was replaced with large red letters reading “The Alastor Show!” The two demon interviewers hovered over in the air, surrounded by red auras. They were dropped into leather chairs. The desk vanished and Alastor sat in a tall leather chair of his own, with antlers extending from the top.

He beamed at the two in front of him. He stood up and walked over to Brian Brimstone. “The name’s Alastor, it’s a pleasure meeting you. And you are?”

“Brian,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Great to have you here. And you, what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Cecilia.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well!”

He sat back down. “So you’re here to interview me, yes? Well feel free to ask whatever you’d like. No pressure or anything. But I do warn you, the price for asking any personal questions, is your souls. Are we good?”

Both nodded.

“Excellent! To make this even more entertaining, I’ve invited some fine imps from Immediate Murder Professionals to join us.”

Blitzo, Moxxie, and Millie opened up a portal to Earth, a circle of flames between space and time.

“I paid them several souls to create an opening for the living world. Thanks to them, I can now broadcast this interview to those on Earth. While I provide some dad jokes and murder broadcasts for a while, these two here will travel to Earth and talk to the human mortals. If they have any questions they’d like to ask me, then my two associates will report back to me in the next hour. Have fun, you two!”

Brian and Cecilia were tossed into the portal off screen.

“By the way, did you hear about the day two radios got married? The wedding was great but the reception was awesome!”

He laughed out loud as a shadow spirit did a “ba dum tis” sound effect on a drum set. “Hahaha! Oh that one never gets old! For my radio listeners out there, just a reminder that my show starts Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays at 6:06 AM. Get it? A M.” He laughed again.  

“Tune in after the break. The Alastor Show is proudly sponsored by: “Dan’s Cannibalicious Cooking Segment. It’s Damn Delicious! By Murder King’s large Fat Nugget Bacon Burgers. The Perfect Snack for a Heart Attack. And by Princess Charlie’s Hazbin Hotel. The place to stay to wash your sins away!”

Part 2: “I’ll Make Music!”

“Welcome back everyone!” Alastor said happily. The two interviewer demons scurried out of the portal and took their places behind the camera in their chairs. The interviewers, obscured by darkness flinched as Alastor’s shadow hovered between the chairs, growling and showing sharp teeth. Antlers extended from the shadow’s head. Alastor continued. “As you can see, my two interviewers just came back from their journey to talk to the humans. They now have their questions ready. So, without further ado…let the show begin.”

 Brian cleared his throat. So…uh…we picked up several questions for the humans and…those in an exclusive group seem to know a lot about what goes on in this version of Hell. They call themselves “Hazbin Hotel fans or supporters.”

Alastor shook his head and chuckled. “How can any mortal possibly know about the Hazbin Hotel?” He spoke in a low whisper. “It’s nothing more than a pit and a joke if you ask me.” He spoke up, “But hey, I was happy to help out and rejuvenate the place. I just summoned Husk and Niffty, my associates to help assist Charlie and her friends. I believe they are named Vaggie and Angel Dust. I was there to seek out entertainment, to find a cure for my nagging boredom.”

Alastor’s shadow laughed. “.enorht s’reficuL ekat ot nalp ew dnA”

Understanding his shadow, Alastor whirled around and spat, “Shut it!” The shadow apologized in French and retreated.

“Where were we? Oh of course. The Hazbin Hotel. You say people know about it? Probably from I.M.P. I imagine.”

“No, sir. They say you’re part of a show they watch.”

Alastor chuckled. “Aren’t we all the stars of our own shows? For me, there’s an audience out there just waiting to see what I’m capable of. Like I say, the world is a stage!”

Cecilia turned to Brain in the darkness, “Don’t try and explain it to him. We’re breaking the 4th wall enough as it is.”

Alastor’s microphone staff lit up. “Hello there, fellow humans! I’m your host, Alastor, the only and only Radio Demon! I can’t really see you as I’m in the fiery depth of Hell, but I hope you’re doing swell wherever you live.”

“And the 4th wall has been broken,” Brain muttered.  

“Now that both demons and humans can witness this interview, let’s get started. Now, state your questions.”

  Cecelia looked at the list.

“Question 1: What instruments do you like to play?”

“Glad you asked,” said Alastor. “I enjoy playing the piano, trumpet, and saxophone. Electro Swing and Jazz are my favorite types of music.” Shadow spirits rose up from the ground and began to play a jazzy tune. He moved his body to the beat and hummed along. “Music has always been central in my life. Growing up in New Orleans back in the day, jazz was everywhere there. Singing and dancing was my way of bonding with people, plus it was a great hobby to do in my spare time. Well, besides murdering people and eating them.”

Alastor’s eyes lit up. “Oh ho ho ho ho! I have a special surprise for you folks. With the help of Blitzo and his crew, I was able to track down a curious British fellow who had invented a very unique musical instrument. What was his name again?”

Blitzo looked up from a computer. “LOOK MUM, NO COMPUTER.”

 “No need to shout it out, good sir. Are you sure that’s his name?”

“It’s written in all caps. That’s what he calls himself.”

“Whatever. Mortals sure are strange. Anyway…”

He snapped his fingers and a large object was covered with a black tarp. I present to you…one of my favorite instruments to play, when no one’s looking…”

The shadow spirits did a drum roll…

The tarp was lifted away into the air…

“The Furby Organ!”

 It was a grotesque combination of an old fashioned organ and a children’s plaything. The organ had a wooden stool to sit down on and a row of white and black piano keys. The frame was polished oak.

Six long rows of colorful furry robotic toys stood close together like toys displayed in a shop. The furbies had long soft ears, yellow bird becks for noses and little mouths that could open and close. Their large plastic eyes opened and closed at random…their eyes looking disturbingly like human eyes. They all had soft furry feet to hold them upright. Their fur was a variety of colors: gray white, blue and black, brown, orange and red, and yellow. There were 44 furbies in total, all hooked up by a complex array of colorful wires criss-crossing in the back of the machine.

Below the furbies was a series of round metal knobs with notes as letters written in silver sharpie below them. Slightly larger knobs were off to the right. One of the switches was labeled “wake” another, “vowel” and another, “loop.” “LOOK MUM, NO COMPUTER” was written on the front.

 A tall white young man stuck out his head from the portal with a shocked and angry expression. His hair was dark and slightly messy.

“Hey, you there! I saw you and some gazelles steal my instrument the other day. I’d like it back!”

Blitzo fumed. “It’s imps to you, ya piece of…”

“Ha! No,” Alastor cut in, pushing Blitzo back. “I believe this marvelous organ belongs to me now. You’re smart. Go make another one.”

The YouTuber stood, flabbergasted. “You don’t know how much I spent on those furbies!” he exclaimed. “They’re rare to find. I wanted to find a use for them and I’m still not done with it.”

“I must say, I’m quite impressed with your work,” Alastor mentioned, running his hand on the polished wood. “It looks done to me. Go make me some more, and I might consider sparing you.”

“What?! What the heck even are you?” the man asked.

“Alastor, Radio Demon, pleased to meet you! Now sit back and enjoy the show, No Computer Man!”

“That’s not my name…” he began, before he was held in place with a yelp by several shadow spirits.

 Alastor sat down at the stool as the camera was focused on him.

“Please sir,” said the YouTuber. “Just let me have my machine and I’ll be on my way.”

“Sure, okay, go ahead,” said Alastor. He waved his hand and the silver letters changed to red on the black front structure. “LOOK MUM NO COMPUTER” changed to “ALASTOR RADIO DEMON.” Red voodoo symbols decorated the front and sides of the instrument. “But first, I’d like you to hear me play my favorite song, “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile! Congratulations, human…you’ve got a front-row seat!”

 He moved his eyes over toward a switch to the far right of the machine. Below the switch read “Collective Awakening,” in silver letters.

He hovered a long finger over the switch, his grin growing wider.

The man’s eyes widened in fear. “No, no, don’t…” He couldn’t explain where his internal fear was coming from.

But he knew the answer soon enough once Alastor flicked the switch upwards.

All at once, the furbies came to life in a high-pitched discordant. The ears, eyes and mouths of the toys moved on their own accord. The furbies’ voices overlapped each other, almost sounding like screams. A few furbies were still and asleep, unaware of their Matrix-like fate of being part of a musical machine.

Alastor sat down on the stool and laughed. He played around with the knobs and notes. The furbies’ eyes glowed red. He turned the loop button and the furbies screeched and stopped in mid sound. He began to play the keys expertly with his fingers as he sang out loud in his radio voice:

   “Hey Hobo Sinner, hey Dapper Winner

You’ve both got your style

But brother you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Your clothes may be, Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother, you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 He snapped his fingers and Rosie, Mimzy and Charlie were lifted up from portals via tentacles. Charlie looked around, her pale face framed by her blonde hair, red circles on her cheeks.

“Alastor…what’s going on?!”

“My lovely companions!” he introduced.

Mimzy giggled and danced along. Rosie, having agreed to the plan prior, also hummed along.

The three of them did the backup sounds: “Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo doo…”

  “Who cares what they’re wearing

On Maim Street or Inferno Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear!”

 He held up two severed ears…

“…and not from head to toe…”

A severed head and toes appeared in his other hand…

“That ma- ah- ah- ters…”

 He took several bites of the human flesh and swallowed, playing a solo with the shrilling and singing of furbies. LOOK MUM, NO COMPUTER shut his eyes tight, trying in vain to get the shadows off him. Alastor tossed the parts aside for the imps to retrieve, along with a bag of souls and coins at the imps’ feet. He cleared his throat as he played some more.

    “So room and board, so Overlord

So long for a while

Remember you’re never fully dressed without a smile!

It doesn’t matter how you dress…

Though you make look the best…

You’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 Charlie took one look at the furby organ and screamed. “What in Satan’s name is that thing?!”

“My fabulous furby organ!” Alastor exclaimed.

“It’s my invention!” the YouTuber yelled, eyes open.

“Who’s that?” Charlie asked.

Alastor ignored her and finished the song. The furbies talked and moved their mouths in a frenzy before falling still.

Audience clapping sounded from the microphone staff as Alastor stood and bowed.

“Thank, you, thank you! I hope you all enjoyed my little performance. Now to send everyone home.”

He snapped his fingers and the shadows gently carried LOOK MUM NO COMPUTER back through the portal and into the human world. The portal closed behind him, leaving the YouTuber with nothing but a pamphlet advertising the Hazbin Hotel. Under the pamphlet was a hard piece of paper with detailed instructions on how to build another organ made of scales and sea creatures…complete with Baxter’s signature.

Charlie protested but she was soon sent back to the Hazbin Hotel through another portal. Mimzy waved goodbye and Rosie led the way out the door.

After playing several more songs, Alastor snapped his fingers. The organ vanished back to his interdimensional lair and the imps were sent on their way.

Part 3: “I’ll Annihilate Your Assumptions!”

  “Alright, next question,” said Brian. “Question 2: Why were you made asexual?”

“Pardon me?” He titled his head in confusion.

“Asexual. Aromantic. Not interested in love?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that. Where did those peculiar terms come from?”

“Well, don’t you know about heterosexuality and homosexuality? Being straight or gay? Everyone uses them.”

Alastor shook his head. “I’ll never understand the random out-of-the-blue labels that you modern folk use. Asexuality? That didn’t exist in my time.”

Brain stared, confused from his seat. “Ok, boomer.”

Alastor snapped his fingers and an explosion tore open a hole in the wall right behind Brain. He yelped in fright.

“Was that a good enough boom for you? Angel Dust told me that “ok boomer” was somehow an insult. I could make you explode, oh that would be fun!”

“Nononono! I didn’t mean anything!” Brian called, in a stuttering voice.

“Alright, let’s fix that wall,” Alastor mentioned.

He snapped his fingers and the formerly broken white wall became a repaired red wall with golden antler designs on it. A black and white picture of a dark skinned woman hung nearby.

The camera focused on Alastor walking up to the wall where the picture was and briefly embracing it.

“Hey, I gotta get my hugs sometime when I’m alone.” He stood up and walked back to his seat. The picture disappeared.

   “Alright, about this “asexual” business. Let me explain the best way I can,” said Alastor. “When I was alive, nearly everyone assumed that men liked women and vice versa. Those who did behaviors outside the norm were arrested or imprisoned. At the earliest, that “heterosexuality” term…meant someone with an abnormal passion for the opposite sex. There were no official terms…you were either accepted or condemned by others. As for me…I wasn’t interested in men or women. Dealing with messy emotions and meeting other’s expectations wasn’t worth my time. Sure, I had my fair share of friends male and female…and yes, I did enjoy flirting and touching the ladies. Kind of amusing and pathetic how they could fall for me just like that. Humanity…so gullible! So easy to dance with the women, give them compliments, lure them into my house, and then watch as they screamed for their lives in my basement. I’ve found dames to be the much more tender gender…”

He licked his lips.

Brian and Cecilia shivered in their seats, legs ready to spring and flee.

Alastor shook his head, and spoke back in his normal voice. “Oh sorry about that. I got lost in my thoughts. So, what was the question again?”

Brian repeated it.

“No one is “made” into anything. I was born who I am and then was raised with certain beliefs. Were you born to love the opposite sex? Was I somehow destined to become a demon? No one really knows the answers.”

A pause.

A narrowing of red eyes.

“I can sense that these questions are becoming more personal…”

“Okay, okay,” said Cecelia in a trembling voice. “We won’t ask anything else…”

“On the contrary, it’s quite enjoyable to let my thoughts out,” he said. He snapped his fingers. The doors slammed shut and the locks clicked into place.

“Stay tuned for more, next time on The Alastor Show. For now, you can only imagine what fate I have in store for my guests.”

His microphone blinked off and the TV screens burst into static.

Brain and Cecelia found their arms and legs pinned down by red magic.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you guys escape. Wouldn’t want anyone to taint my reputation by revealing personal details. I mean, heheheh, you still have lots of questions to ask me, and I wouldn’t want to be dismissive of your hard work. But how to dispose of you when the interviews end…”

The shadow hovered by Alastor and whispered in his ear.

“.senob rieht htiw yalp nac sllod oodoov eht dna meht no tsaef em teL”

“Oh, that’s a great idea, Rotsala! Then again, I always have great ideas.” The shadow grinned and sat in a shadow chair beside Alastor.

 “In regards to your strange question…why would I love anybody down in Hell?” He burst into laughter. “They’re all a bunch of lost causes anyway! I do make deals here and there but I just use people for my own entertainment. I’m not interested in any sexual activity. Those like that pervert Angel Dust…they can just do their own thing far away from me.”

“But,” he continued, “I will say this.  I don’t want to see dear Charlie and her friends get hurt. Especially by my rivals Vox and Valentino and other sinners and demons. I should be the one who decides what to do with them.  Those who harm me or my associates would be in for a rude awakening.”

“Um,” said Cecelia. “You’re not gonna…you know…”

Oh, don’t worry, they’re still safe and sound at the hotel. I’m just taking a break. Dear, if I wanted to hurt anyone here…”

He paused…

 “I would just get bored again later,” he said in a normal voice.

Cecelia and Brian looked at each other.

“What?” Alastor asked with a smirk. “You thought I was going to say something else?”

“The fans do love it when you’re creepy…” Brian mumbled.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing.”

Alastor held out his hands and a plate of shrimp, sausage, rice, and vegetables appeared on a small table that emerged from a small portal.

“Jamabalya?” he offered with a smile. “It’s my mother’s special recipe.”

The two demons dug in off screen while Alastor enjoyed the dish as well.

“Yes,” said Alastor after they had finished eating. “I’m affectionate with my friends, but I’m not into sex and romance. I assume that not many humans or you demons understand that.”

“Uh…yes we do,” said Cecelia, her voice trembling. “Yeah, I have a friend who’s not into romance…”

Alastor held up a hand. “Of course you wouldn’t. None of you would. Only I can understand my feelings and aversion to intimacy. My Creole heritage, my love of Hoodoo, Voodoo, the radio, and theater…the thrill and desperation when I hunted my own kind during the Depression…No. I’ll remain an elusive enigma to all of you.”  

   Part 4: “I’ll Tell You About The One I Truly Love”

 “Is there…anyone you do love?” Cecelia asked.

“Like I said before,” Alastor mentioned, “I don’t care much for anyone in Hell. However…” His red eyes took on a faraway look, the shades of red descending into darker shades of red, until ending at black holes.

“I loved my dear mama with all my heart. Back when we lived together in New Orleans in a small house by the bayou not too far from town. Others called her by her name, Loretta Duvalier. Beautiful lady, dark skin, black curly short hair, loved to wear red cotton dresses and dapper hats.”

“Wow,” Brain breathed. “I didn’t know she had a name.”

Alastor scoffed. “I didn’t know you had an identity, but here we are. As a matter of fact, no one else knows what you and your friend look like. Even the camera doesn’t want to know.”

“Why you disoriented, deer-brained…”

Brain strained to lift up his arms in the darkness, reaching for the camera in vain.

“Goodness, don’t wear yourself out just yet,” Alastor chuckled. “I still have more to tell you!”

“You have no soul, redhead!” he sputtered out.

“That’s because I need live souls to warm me up,” Alastor retorted. “Be patient; you’ll be next soon enough.”

Brain stilled in defeat.

“That’s better. Moving on.”

He cleared his throat. “In case any of you are wondering what I looked like as a radio host and serial killer as a human…”

Morphing from shadow, was a black and white picture that appeared in Alastor’s hand. It briefly revealed colors. A young man grinned widely, wearing a white buttoned shirt, a sandy red shirt over the white one, dark gray pants and a black bow tie underneath his pointed chin. His hair was short and brown, with a faint reddish tint that sometimes shined in the light. Light brown skin, brown analytical eyes, and a pair of round glasses. He held a dark gray hand-held microphone in his right hand.

“I…thought you were white…” Cecelia added. “All the fan art and the comics say you are.”

“What exactly is ‘fan art?’” he asked. “You seriously want to believe what is portrayed in the human world? And just after an hour? You’re even more stupid than I thought.”

“I am part French, part Creole,” he continued. “My race and my personality were several reasons why I was bullied throughout my school years…and my working life. You two should be grateful to be getting these facts first hand. I almost never tell these to anyone.”

In a blink of an eye, Alastor walked over and twisted Brain’s arm hard.

A wailing wheezing scream followed a millisecond after the sickening crack. Moments later, he did the same thing with one of his legs. The demon yowled again.

“Heh, it seems that my stories cost you an arm and a leg to listen to,” he smirked. The smiling shadow spirit did the “ba dum tis” sound effect on the drums again.

“Anyway, back to my dear mother, Loretta. She once made a recipe for Jambalaya that nearly killed her. Mind you, this was before she died from an illness and I had her for dinner in despair. You see, several of the voodoo deities liked to consume rum, blood, and gunpowder in the legends. She had a bit too much Southern Comfort drink and she put gunpowder and wasabi sauce in the jambalaya. The stove was on and some of the powder exploded in her face. I warned her not to eat it, but she decided, with her face all charred, that she would taste test it. The wasabi sauce almost gave her a heart attack and I had to take care of her for a while. But when I tried the dish…it was so spicy and so splendid!”

He burst out into laughter.

“Oh,” said Brain, through pained gasps. “That’s what you meant when you said that her recipe nearly killed her and that the kick was right outta Hell.”

The shadow spirit did the drum effect again.

“That’s seriously getting annoying,” Cecelia complained.

“And so are you,” he retorted before continuing.

“My mom told me that her mother was a well-respected Voodoo Priestess and Hoodoo oral traditionalist. She followed in her footsteps, though like many women during the time, she worked in second-class jobs, not very well-paid. I remember her warning me not to delve too deep into the dark Loas and evil magic. She also said, “Never resort to cannibalism unless as a last resort.” Well, she only ate one human who had already died of starvation, and that’s when we had no food for several days. When it came to the Great Depression…it was both survival and the thrill that got me into cannibalism. Oh the irony!”

“W-where is she now?” Brain asked.

“In Heaven, of course. She went there because she was pretty much the only light in my human life. She comforted me after my father and uncle…took advantage of me. My father and uncle were sent to Hell for obvious reasons.”

His smile appeared strained.

“You know…it’s okay to show emotion other than happiness all the time,” Cecilia said.

“Frowning makes one weak,” Alastor replied. “Both my parents told me that. I’ll never forget mother’s saying she often used, “Always remember to smile, Alastor. You gotta appear confident and fully dressed to others.” I can see why she told me that, with the racism and the lavish-centered culture back then…”

“Will you ever get to see her?” she asked.

“Not with being stuck down here,” he replied. “Charlie’s whole plan of “redemption” is a big joke. But, since she’s nice enough, I still want to help her out…for entertainment, of course.”

“I bet you secretly want her plan to work so you can go back to Heaven to reunite with her!” Cecelia claimed. “He wants to dance with Charlie and love her forever and ever!”

“Or,” Brain countered. “He wants to lure her into a sense of false security so he can take over Hell and be king!” He spoke in a high voice, “Oh Charlie, if only there was someone who actually loved your hotel and ideas!”

Radio static filled the room. “Assumptions, assumptions,” Alastor growled. “I tell you facts about my life and here you go making up stories to fit your puny ideals! You’re even lower than the mortal humans. I’m usually very kind and patient…but I’m literally this close to ripping your eyes out and leaving your corpses for the voodoo imps to feed on.”

“.ti od ,erofeb dias I tahw s’thaT”

“That’s what I said before, do it.”

“Not now,” Alastor hissed to his shadow.

He turned back to them. “Only questions come from you two. Not another word, unless you want me to use your tongues for decoration.” His voice lowered. “You hear me loud and clear?”

Both interviewer demons nodded.

“Good. Now, let’s move forward.”

 Part 5: “I’ll Describe Rosie and Mimzy, My Fellow Female Friends!”

Part 4: “About Charlastor…”

 Part 5: “About RadioDust…”

 Part 6: “Other shippings?”

 Part 7: “Gender and race of my victims doesn’t matter”

#hazbinhotel #alastor #furbyorgan #radiodemon

[thehelleniclunarwitch]

Partners

Pairing: Jason Todd & Wade Wilson (friendship)

Fandom: DC, Marvel

Warning: Language

For: @boosyboo9206    @asanotheronebitesthedust

(This was one of the first ones I wrote with the pair. Their dynamic gets better over time)(But I still hope you enjoy it!)

Jason covered his face with his hands. He was done. So completely done with his partner. He wasn’t sure how much more of his he could take. Dropping his hand, Jason turned his cold glaze up at his partner.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Jason hissed.

“What? What do you mean?” Wade asked.

Jason was about to lose his cool. He sucked in a deep breath trying to suppress his anger. Wade shoved the last bite of his chimichanga into his mouth and as Jason had to listen to him chomp on his food every bite just irked him more and more.

“Just take off that stupid hat!” Jason suddenly roared.

Wade stopped mid-chew.

“What’s wrong wif my hat?” Wade asked around the mouthful of food.

“If it isn’t the smell of your disgusting food that doesn’t give us away it’s that godforsaken sombrero!” Jason growled.  

Wade gasped and clutched his chest in shock.

“We’re trailing the cartel this is the perfect disguise!” Wade exclaimed with a mock cry.

“God damn it, Wade! You wear a fucking bodysuit!” Jason shouted.

Wade wiggled his eyebrows at Jason before slipping his mask back on.

“I love it when you call me, Wade.” Wade grinned.

“You’re the absolute worse, I hope you know this,” Jason sighed.

“I like it even better when you call me, daddy,” Wade teased.

Jason reacted quickly, he grabbed Wade by the back of the head and slammed his face into the dashboard. Wade groaned, Jason released his head and sat back.

“Harder, daddy,” Wade said.

“I knew I should have asked one of my brothers to come along,” Jason said.

“Now that was hurtful, the words, not the face slam, I didn’t feel that all,” Wade said as he sat back up.

Jason only scowled as he sat back in the chair. Once again, Wade removed his mask so he could wipe the blood away from his nose.

“You know I like it rough,” Wade began.

“Wade,” Jason hissed.

“So now I’m going to have sit here with a raging boner,” Wade finished.

Jason rolled his eyes.

“You know you caused this so you could help me out,” Wade suggested.

Jason whipped his head around.

“Do you want me to put you in time out?” Jason asked him.

“Are you going to chain me up, daddy?” Wade asked.

“Fuck you,” Jason snarled.

“Yes, please,” Wade giggled.

Jason had never been so happy in his life when he saw people finally leave the warehouse. He swatted Wade on his arm to draw his friend’s attention towards the warehouse.

“Well, well, well, I finally get to get my hands dirty,” Wade said as he slipped on his mask.

“Please remember we need to leave at least a few survivors so they can go back to tell the head boss that we mean business,” Jason said.

Wade said nothing before slipping out of the window.

“Jesus, Wade, the fucking door works,” Jason hissed as he climbed out of his car.

Wade ignored his friend and was already halfway across the street. Jason tucked his gun in the back of his pants before running after Wade. Catching up to his friend, the pair quickly moved around to the back of the warehouse to find the men loading the van.

Jason glanced over at Wade. Jason nodded to him. Wade quickly stretched causing Jason to roll his eyes just before Wade went skipping around the corner.

“Hiya boys!” Wade greeted.

“It’s Deadpool!” Somebody shouted.

“Yep! That’s me!” Wade exclaimed.

“Kill him!” Another person shouted.

“Now that’s not nice, it’s a good thing I brought back up,” Wade said.

Jason came around the corner already firing shots. The men dove out of the way as Jason unloaded his gun. Wade went skipping through swinging his prized ninja swords around. The men began firing back at Jason, but he easily took care of several of them.

“And a slice for you and a slice for you,” Wade was mumbling to himself as he cut hands off people.

“Leave a survivor or two, Wade, I won’t remind you again,” Jason snarled.

Wade scoffed. “The old ball and chain never lets me have any fun,”

“Please, sir,” The man began to beg.

“Ooh, I like that watch!” Wade gasped and then cut the man’s hand off just above the wrist.

Wade bent down to pick up the severed hand and ripped the watch off.

“I think my Petey will love this,” Wade gushed.

Jason shot off one more round before coming to join Wade.

“Did you leave anybody alive?” Jason asked.

Wade pointed to the two men who were lying in front of him in agony both missing a hand.

“Jesus, Wade,” Jason hissed

“What? You didn’t say I couldn’t maim them!” Wade exclaimed.

“Whatever, let’s go, we need to check in with the others,” Jason said.

“But look at his watch! I bet there are more treasures around here,” Wade said.

“Car now!” Jason growled.

“You never let me have any fun!” Wade stomped his foot.

“If you get in the car we can stop at your favorite taco truck on the way back to our place,” Jason suggested.

“Can we bring some back for our boys?” Wade asked.

“Yeah, sure, whatever, as long as you get your ass in the car,” Jason hissed.

“On it, Jaybird!” Wade shouted as he began to skip away.

Turning back towards the two men that Wade left alive, Jason bent down. He grabbed the first man by the front of his shirt and dragged him forward. The man hissed in pain, but Jason didn’t care.

“Make sure, Diablo knows that the Rogue’s will come back and finish the job if he doesn’t stop crossing the border,” Jason snarled before dropping the man back down.

Jason walked past the dead bodies and back to the car where Wade was patiently waiting. He could see Wade admiring the watch in the sunlight. Jason climbed in behind the steering wheel.

“I called the boys and told them we’re bringing tacos,” Wade said.

“Of course you did,” Jason sighed.

Wade shoved the watch into Jason’s face. “Do you think my Petey will like this?”

Jason pushed Wade’s hand out of his face.

“Peter’s going to love it, Wade,” Jason sighed as he started the engine.

“Roy wanted me to tell you that Eddie didn't have any issues with V today,” Wade yawned as he leaned his head against the window.

Jason knew the second he started driving Wade would fall fast asleep.

“Sounds like he’s finally getting more control,” Jason said.

“Yeah, Roy marked it down on the calendar,” Wade yawned once again.

Jason pulled away and turned the corner. Wade was already fast asleep clutching the watch he had stolen to his chest. Jason rolled his eyes at his partner before speeding towards the taco truck. All in all, Wade earned those tacos and it would put a dent in his bank account Jason knew it was well worth it in the end.

#Jason Todd #Wade Wilson #Red Hood #Deadpool #DC #Marvel #friends #best friends #language #little blurb #just a drabble

[jaegertango]

The Hall of Tarsalai

So I wrote a thing with Pent in it. I haven’t written combat in fucking forever, so I’m definitely rusty. This also has Amilaine in it, because why wouldn’t she be there hunting with him? Anyway, stuff in Gilneas happens, and it’s pretty damn important, so I got off my ass so I could actually do the thing. 

With a ragged inhale, Rasputen Tarsalai took in the cold, wet air of Gilneas that his body had long since deemed unnecessary. Even over ten years since he had last needed to breathe, and the oxygen slid through his lungs like slime, the Huntsman still reveled in the chill that grasped within him. Few things could still bring him happiness in his new existence as an Undead, and the weather of the rainy, dark region of the Worgen was amongst them. Even better was the rifle he held in his hands, his sharp, bone fingertips cradling the firearm lovingly as the stench of gunpowder clung to the barrel warmly. Storm clouds and bullets – what could possibly be better?

Probably the pale-haired woman close behind him, Amilaine’s nimble fingers testily rolling a knife between them with ease.

“Any luck?” She whispered curiously, and there was a hint of excitement testing in her gentle voice, an edge of sadism as warning as the glint of steel in her hand.

“Lotta blood in the air,” the Deadeye grunted back gravelly, his only-working eye lazily glancing around the foggy tree trunks. Even if the Forsaken woman could not see as well in the mist, Rasputen could easily leer at the splattering trail of red soaked onto the white like a painting. His initial shot had only grazed the beast’s shoulder, but a graze was all he needed; the brute was bleeding. There was nowhere in Gilneas the two undead wouldn’t be able to hunt the Worgen now. “Keep an eye out, Kitten.”

“I’ll keep out two~” Amilaine teased, to which Tarsalai grumbled loudly, but affectionately as he trotted along. His boots crushed the damp grass underfoot with muffled thuds, while the woman’s bare feet were not even audible in comparison. Even as the two descended deeper into the woods, and the fog devoured the leafy canopy overhead, Amilaine moved with such fluidity that she seemed to nearly vanish like a ghost in the mist. A true wraith – she was the polar opposite to the Huntsman’s heavy step and menacing aura, and she was excellent at being his spotter. As Rasputen looked down, he gestured towards a scattered trail of blood drops, only growing thicker with every few feet. Perfect.

“Watch my arse, gotta bad feeling,” Tarsalai murmured, his brow narrowing as he shouldered his rifle.

There was an audible pause before he felt a sharp nip in his backside.

“OI! WATCH, NOT TOUCH!” Rasputen hissed, but he couldn’t retaliate with his own pinch before Amilaine giggled mischievously, practically disappearing into the fog where not even his enhanced senses could track her. Growling more in exasperation he couldn’t get the butt-touch he wanted, he bolted off after her despite knowing he’d never catch up. Worgen hunt be damned, he had his lover to bother-

-as he ducked just in time to avoid an outstretched hand bigger than his entire head sweeping at him.

The Huntsman’s reactions flared, and his scarred face twisted into a horrid grin to match the savage maw of the wolf-man gnashing his fangs at him. His firearm aimed up, but the Worgen was already lunging forward with a rabid snarl, towering over Tarsalai easily. Swearing colorfully, the undead shifted to the right, just under the beast’s outstretched arms. Yet, even with that dodge, the Worgen was already twisting around under the same momentum, ready to cleave at him with a vicious claw; as Rasputen instead also charged forward, upsetting his rifle’s position to instead bash the furry brute across the jaw with the stock of his gun. The sudden attack was all the Deadeye needed to surprise and stun the Worgen as it yelped, but he wasn’t fast enough to aim properly as he squeezed the trigger. The round gouged itself harmfully into one of the beast’s arms, but not lethally as he howled in pain. Another curse left the Deadeye as he reached for another bullet, slamming the round into place with mechanical precision. Taking that time was not good for him though, as even with its injured limb, the Worgen surged at Tarsalai, tackling him and trying to snap at his gray throat. The wolf-man had weight on Rasputen, and one of his arms was already occupied trying to keep those teeth from chomping his neck out. Enraged spittle showered onto the undead’s face, and he bellowed furiously back as he struggled to aim. This was turning into far more of an annoyance than it needed to be, and the Worgen was starting to gain the advantage. Inch by inch, it was getting closer to the Huntsman’s throat, claws trying to hold back the barrel of the gun as it roared victoriously-

-and Tarsalai immediately jammed the rifle into his open maw with a surge of strength, the Worgen practically helping him shove the weapon there. The beast choked on metal – and then on blood and bone as Rasputen immediately transformed the back of his head into an eruption of brain and gore. All life in the beast dissipated on the spot, and the Huntsman instinctively kicked out at the brute to shove the corpse away. A new shock of pain washed through his right side as the claws that had embedded themselves in his side were yanked out, the sacrifice he had to make in order to aim at the monster. Grumbling in disgust, he clambered to his feet, cocking his smoking rifle back and gazing out around him – to notice that Amilaine had appeared at his side again.

“Where th-“ was as far as he managed to get before he realized that her appearance had become far more vivid – she was now utterly soaked in vermillion life fluids, staining her chest and even bits of her cheeks and hair as she stared at Tarsalai with a bewildered expression.

“What the fuck HAPPENED?” He growled, now concerned for his Kitten as he glared at her gorestained visage. “Is there another bloody one!?”

“No, no! This is-“ Amilaine started, holding up her fingers to a trickle of blood leaking down her cheek. The barest hint of a smirk crossed her face as she looked at her soaked fingers, and lapped at them curiously. “I went to help you with it, and just as I was about to stab him in the back, he kinda…”

She made a finger-pistol motion, complete with its own “pschew!” sound effect. This apparently made no sense for Rasputen, for he kept gazing dumbfounded at the Forsaken woman.

“The dogs don’t bleed THAT goddamned hard, do they?” He hissed, shaking his head and turning towards the Worgen corpse. “Dunno how they could-“

He stopped himself as he realized that there wasn’t actually a back of the Worgen’s head anymore – everything passed its muzzle had been blown clear out by the force of the Huntsman’s shot, and that there was a conical spray from the gore geyser – and a definite gap of someone standing right in the blast zone.

“Oh. Never mind.”

“It’s okay, I thought it was funny,” Amilaine spoke happily, sidling up next to Tarsalai and rubbing her cheek along his shoulder – probably to also clean herself up of the blood. “His heart will be intact too~”

“Yeah yeah Kitten, I know how much you love your ruddy-“

That Worgen wasn’t the one they were hunting.

It was only when the Deadeye noticed the absence of his first tracking shot on the slaughtered beast that it occurred to him this wasn’t his initial prey. The realization hit Rasputen nearly as hard as the actual Worgen they had been hunting, the wolf-man sinking his claws into each of his already-maimed shoulders. Roaring in furious pain, Tarsalai barely avoided his second death by stuffing his rifle sideways into the Worgen’s vile maw, its fearsome jaw unable to clamp down passed the steel holding it in place. Unfortunately, there was now no way for the undead to fight back as those fangs winked ominously at him, and those claws kept their knifelike digits in his shoulders. It was taking all of his strength just to hold this brute back from yanking away and shredding his throat to pieces. With boots kicking wildly to no avail at the Worgen’s gut, the hunter was forced to think far quicker than he wanted to. The Deathcannon wasn’t aimed correctly in this position, but he could certainly use the explosive force to free himself; if the blast didn’t kill him anyway. That could-

-The Worgen surprised him by suddenly rearing back, tugging the rifle out of Tarsalai’s hands and bringing a final set of claws upward. Oh FUCK-

But fate never arrived for Rasputen, for just as the beast started to seal the undead’s fate, a bullet suddenly rocketed into its left eye, crashing out of the side of its snout grotesquely. The Worgen howled in agony, but not before five-foot-two of pure rage pounced onto his back, the glint of a dagger moving so fast that it seemed to sway like water. The assailant immediately jammed it into the beast’s jugular, nearly hilting it before drawing it in a precise arc across the Worgen’s throat. The smoothness of the strike was almost unnatural – as was the obscene amount of blood that came gushing out of the open wound noisily, splashing onto Tarsalai thickly. He grunted mostly in annoyance over revulsion, but couldn’t hold back a wild grin as he looked towards his slain foe – and how his Kitten was still stabbing the corpse’s chest in a berserker delight.

“Oi Kitten! Ya got him, he’s – OI! You’re GONNA BUST THE HEART!”

It was only when Rasputen made mention of the organ that the Forsaken woman froze, and she finally stopped ripping into the Worgen needlessly. She was panting heavily, though judging from the bright gleam in her eyes and the way she was biting her lower lip, it wasn’t entirely from exertion. Her hands were now as coated in blood as the rest of her torso, entirely matching Tarsalai’s own gore-splattered visage thanks to her killing blow. When she looked over at her lover, she smiled cheerfully, looking quite innocent despite the sheer amount of red soaking her form.

“I’ll let you do the honors, since you gave me the kill~” she teased, booping the Deadeye on the nose with a bloody fingertip and offering her dagger hand towards him. He snorted gruffly, but kept smirking as Tarsalai accepted the knife, and gazed up the massacred brute.

“Bleeding hells, not like there’s much holding this fuck together anymore,” he grumbled in amusement, his own ministrations with the dagger clumsier. He lacked the dexterity that Amilaine did, but that didn’t stop him from carving up the Worgen’s insides regardless. It didn’t matter if the rest looked like chum and dog food – there was only one part that he needed to get towards. And as he approached the meaty, bulging heart, his single eye lit up eagerly. Perfect.

With a few quick slices and a wrench of his hands, he yanked the beast’s heart out grotesquely, bits of blood and shredded organ spraying out with the motion. Chuckling to himself, he reached into his longcoat pocket with his free hand, yanking out a handkerchief to hold the heart in place, as if to present it in a more delicate way for his lover. Looking over towards Amilaine, he now held the heart with both hands, starting to kneel as his gaze shined brightly towards her.

“For you, Kitten. My heart, I give to you,” he spoke with a surprising fondness, offering her the heart tenderly. A sparkling sheen even drove itself along the side of the organ in a pristine fashion as he offered it to her. Amilaine smiled widely, eagerly snatching it from his hands as she nodded towards the Huntsman.

“Ever the gentleman,” she cooed, to which the undead looked shocked. His eye shot from the heart to her hands, and as she began to dip down, he began to stand up in confusion.

“Wait, hol-“

It was too late – she was already biting down onto the heart hungrily, its juices and bloods squishing outward wetly. Her eyes closed blissfully at the taste of it, oblivious to Tarsalai’s surprise – until they shot open as her teeth tried to crunch on something much harder than flesh. Gasping, she froze with a mouthful of flesh still in her mouth, and gaped at Rasputen, who was still halted in shock. She looked down towards the heart, and then tried to politely dig in her mouth without showing off the contents. The half-chewed chomp looked the same as all of the other hearts did – a dull crimson, several valves, oozing with blood-

-a gold band sticking out of the side of it.

Everything turned still. Not even the branches or the walls of fog within Gilneas seemed to move. With shuddering fingers, she reached towards the ring, pulling it loose of the heart-chunk with an excess of shivers. Even in the blood, even when it was soaked in those thick life fluids, her eyes could just make the engraving within the band, making out her name within. Almost bemusedly, she turned towards Rasputen’s wide-eyed expression

–and she wailed at the top of her voice.

Holy fuck, this wasn’t what he was expecting. Tarsalai even shouted back in surprise, to which Amilaine was still yelling incoherently, but not before she had tackled onto him tightly. His arms came around her in confusion, but she was already pelting his scarred face with kisses, the little lady easily beating him into the ground with her affections.

“Kitten, you gotta say-“

“Yes, yes! Of course, yes!’

“Yes?! IT’S A YES?”

“OF COURSE IT IS!”

For as wild and as confusing as the proposal was, Tarsalai no longer cared. He had gotten the answer he wanted as Amilaine clung onto him as if releasing would send her off into space. He hadn’t expected her to actually take a bite before seeing the ring, but it all worked out. When she had finally calmed down, she was still cradling his face gently, the utmost affection marking her own cheeks as she intertwined her hand with his own, her new ring shining in the dim light of the forest.

“I don’t think I could be happier now,” she murmured breathlessly, squeezing the Huntsman’s hand warmly. Her smile was the widest Rasputen had ever seen it, and he had a feeling his face was doing the same. Euphoria surged through his body, easily beating back the pain his shoulders were going through, and nearly forcing him to his feet. He doubted he could be any happier himself as he rested his nose against Amilaine’s-

-as a bestial growl echoed from around them.

Immediately, the two undead looked up from their surroundings, and saw that they were not alone anymore. Three more Worgen had come across them, and their hateful eyes were tracked viciously onto them. Their snarls grew steadily louder as Tarsalai looked back towards Amilaine, and a sadistic gleam fired through his eye.

“Ready for dessert, Amilaine Tarsalai?”

“I’ve never been hungrier, husband~”

#Jaegerwrites #sorry this took so long Pepto #and sorry this is as bad as it is