#good ass fics

[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

#dp x dc #Jazz fenton #tim drake #that one time Tim specifically hired a fake uncle so that Bruce couldn't adopt him #free to a good home #Jack Fenton knits btw #I'm not going to continue this but i thought it was a cool premise and needed its time. Have fun with it if you want to! #this is dedicated to all the fulltime nannies at the library who are fully just college girls raising babies #dpxdc #dcxdp #Jazz said is anyone going to raise this baby and was targeted by ninjas for it #I don't have any future plans BUT there is a moment where Dick tries to sneak into her apt to 'check it out' and she fully Gets Him with a #TBI and a Fenton CreepStickTM #also. parents who try to shape their kids by denying them every form of human comfort and access to their interests. You're dead to me #also also also I'm still a Tim Drake Autistic truther #not NOT inspired by the Say Uncle by Megarakles. This one's for you fellow fans #also. if he goes with her. He gets parented for the first time ever and it Sucks Ass lol. #faer fic

[p4nishers]

no but actually imagine being immortal and meeting THE LOVE OF UR FUCKING ENDLESS LIFE and spending SIX THOUSAND MFING YEARS imagining an ETERNAL future with them and fucking knowing that you want to spend ACTUAL FOREVER with them like dude im gonna fucking choke and die how can love like that exist even in fucking fiction?? HOW??? this is making me so emotional imagine someone wanting to spend actual fucking eternity with you i would die at the mere fucking possibility. "and we spend our EXISTENCE pretending that we aren't (...) and i would like to spend–" are u fucking kidding me rn man??? fuck off fuck u shut up

#i mean yeah theyre endless beings and time never meant much for them but ohhhhh myyy goddd dude this is insane #YHEY MET MILLIONS OF YEARS AGO THEN REMET AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME ANS FUCKING OH MY GOD THEY WANT TO SPEND THEIR EXISTENCE TOGETHER FUCK ME #i have very strong emotions about this someone hold my hand #i just read a fuck ass fic and now i cannot be normal #good omens #good omens s2 #azicrow #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable spouses

[nimrism]

constantly thinking about the PERFECT setup supergirl season 1 had to make kara queer;

"oh my god, you're a lesbian" – winn to kara, in the very FIRST episode.

"hell, i wanna date her" – kara, about lucy lane.

"she does kinda give off a sapphic vibe, with that big old butch S chestplate" – leslie willis (livewire) about supergirl.

there were so many other instances in s1 alone, let alone in later seasons when lena showed up (recounting every queer-coded supercorp interaction would require a whole podcast). it was the PERFECT pretext to make her even just a little bit fruity, but the cw just couldn't handle it i guess

#QUEER kara danvers #because i said so #i'm rewatching s1 rn and it's insane how much queer coding they had weaved into the show's core #only for the cw to take it and do absolutely nothing with it #this is my villain origin story #i'm a supercorp shipper first and foremost but i really can't resist a good supercat or supergirl x livewire fic #the sapphicism was just perfect in s1 #cat grant owner of catco also known as owner of my ass #i get the appeal behind the supercat ship i really do #cw supergirl #supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #kara zor el

[insanesonofabitch]

AU where destiel gets confirmed like, 3 seasons before the finale because Cas unknowingly hooks up with a siren, revealing his love for Dean. But then the siren uses that to make him attack Sam and Dean.

Sam’s trying to pull him out of the situation, “Dean! DEAN!!! We need to get out of here!!!! DEAN!!!!!!” But Dean is just standing there, unmoving. Every moment spent, every word exchanged, everything. Everything came raining down, crushing him underneath. Cas is pointing his blade against him and he cannot move a single muscle.

#i may or may not be writing a short fic about this #or maybe a comic #my writing may suck ass but i know I’m at least good at drawing #I’m faster at writing tho 😔 #i can’t win #destiel #deancas #casdean #dean x castiel #team free will #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #oh and also if you’re thinking of making a fic/art abt this pls feel free to do so I wanna see your takes on this #reiotalks

[yashley]

fearne: *is an Animal* imogen: *Gives Scritches*

#critical role #imogen x fearne #imogearne #ygifs #honestly god himself had 2 stop me from adding John mulaney's I Think Imogen Temult Is a Furry but yk what I don't need 2 see it 2 see it #imogen calling horse fearne a good girl like I've read enough 1 fic to have that ruined for me but I will absolutely definitely take it #not shown here but snake fearne in episode 3 just flicking her tongue at imogen to say hi ok yeah I mean sure #also rat fearne and imogen hijinks of imogen tryna shove her tiny rat ass through the BOTTOM of the door like sure I mean yeah #fearne turns into an animal and imogen goes I mean yeah thats mine #also means NOTHING to me that Imogen suggests quokka and fearne goes so I'm going with quokka as if that's not druid flirting OK I hate it h

[purgetrooperfox]

I can’t be the only one who looks at fanon for Quinlan Vos with moderate to severe levels of “he would not fucking say that”. y’all know he’s like, intelligent, right? he can have a sense of humor and be nonchalant and fool around with his friends and Also be smart and cunning and professional. he can be painfully genuine at some times and a world class liar at others. his JOB is deception and infiltration and covert ops. he's trusted to act as a liason for the Jedi. he can be reckless but he has to be measured too. he can be flippant but he can also be ruthlessly efficient. like come on guys he's not an idiot and his personality doesn't revolve around being a stoner or a dumpster fire or a one-dimensional lifeless counterpart to [Obi-Wan / Ventress / Fox / Aayla]. let him be his own guy with his own complexities or face my wrath

#it fucking REEKS in here #i just saw a series of rancid ass takes and fic descriptions and i simply. i cannot. #justice for my man good god #quinlan vos #the antiblack racism in this house isn't even veiled #grinding my teeth into dust. i have to digress #leo.txt

[alastorsfuckassbob]

Killing Me Softly- 4

AlastorxFem!Reader part 4

A/N: Ok so this is..uh LONG but its finally here!!! Val's text is in purple, yours is in blue, and Alastor's is red! As always bolded portions are the past..Yes I did revert to using another song sue me. As always: MINORS DNI

Plot: Valentino is a piece of shit You and Al are so shitty at feelings and communication..thats basically it.

⚠️Warnings:⚠️

-Sexual innuendos (they aren't graphic but they are spicy)

-Domestic abuse (this got a lot worse so please be mindful of that and use your own discretion- you are responsible for your internet consumption)

-Alcohol use AND abuse

-Violence!! ~mentions of blood~

-A LOT of cursing 🤠

 You had decided to take “small nap” to rid your body of the final remnants of exhaustion from night before. That so called “small nap” somehow lasted a good ten hours, leaving you with only two before you needed to arrive at the club again. You sat on the edge of your bathroom counter, the excess silky fabric of your slip cascading over the edge. You grab a stray eyeshadow pallet and begin to apply your makeup. You had decided on an inky toned smoky eye and a lightly lined liquid lip. It was a bit different from your usual look, but it complemented your new wardrobe perfectly. You glanced over at the folded scarlet fabric, excited to wear it again. 

You had decided to get ready at home today. Angel wasn’t working tonight, so there was no sense in being at the club earlier than you really needed to be. You snapped your fingers, and the shadow behind you began to style your h/c hair in his place. It wasn’t often Angel didn’t have to work on a Saturday night. Even in Hell, weekends came with higher foot traffic. Val insisted he had earned a break after yesterday’s long shoot. It was a rare occasion but not entirely out of character. Val couldn’t break his favorite toy.

After a few more pins, the shadow dawned a bright smile and jazz hands upon completing your hair. You looked absolutely gorgeous, the pitch black entity had done a fantastic job. Your hair was twisted into bouncy side swept curls adorned with tiny sparkling gems. You wanted to meticulously appreciate the effort it had so graciously put in, but your guilt riddled conscience kept you from any real form of enjoyment. 

 You needed to stop thinking of him. The more you let yourself fall back on memory, the more you would love him. The more you loved him ,the more it would hurt when he realized he couldn’t love you anymore. It wasn’t his fault, no one could. This was your penance. It wasn’t supposed to be easy. 

Memory had sunk its claws into your wrist. It hopelessly dragged you along by its blood lined chains and scarlet stained fingertips like an old desperate beggar. The hold Valentino had on your soul was insubstantial in comparison to the grasp Alastor had on your heart. You didn’t understand why that was. Val was your whole life, and he would be until eternity itself figured out a way to die.  It would make sense for him to reside in the core of your thought, but he didn’t, he never stayed there long.

 Unlike Alastor,  Val owned you. 

Unlike Alastor, he was there 

Unlike Alastor, 

you could actually feel his lips on your skin.

He had a predictable consistency to him. It was always the same constant battle between his unquenchable hatred and guilty heart. 

Val  insisted he “loved” you in his own way.  From the shackles on your wrists, he had tied you to the stake-All so that he could look for your love. He struck the match against your skin, and lit you both ablaze because he hated that he wanted it. In the end it would never matter how many times the heat touched your skin, it wasn’t going to feel like love.      

You knew what that was supposed to feel like. You had shared your heart with a great many souls in your time on Earth. Love was bathed in forgiveness and brushed with magnolia petal kisses. That love didn’t see you through eyes lined with antagonism, sparkled with fury and blended out with shades of exasperation.

 Valentino did. 

His lips were colored in hot pink brutality. It would smear across your skin with every kiss. He would leave you haloed in messy lipstick stain bruises and be on his way.

 His absence never lasted long. The color in his cheeks was permanently rouged with the lethality of your figure. Eventually, the guilt would seep through his pores, and the chemical reaction would wash his face of your blood. He would return with a silver plated tin bracelet and a few mangled words of affirmation. 

“ Y/n, you know I love you. I didn’t mean a word of it Mi Amore. You are the most beautiful demon this side of hell. I just get so upset sometimes there’s nothing else I can do. I can’t control my anger Amorcito, you know that.”

It’s not that he couldn’t control his anger, he was fully capable. He just didn’t. He never thought it was important to try. Even in his time on Earth, he didn’t care to put forth the effort. He was born with distain and died with detestation. He had always been this way. The guilt he felt afterward would never amount to the freedom found in his bloodied hands. There wasn't a finite limit to the apologies he could patch the holes he punched into your heart with. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Any remorse he felt would slip from his conscience like every instance before it. It made sense how quickly he was able to rise into over lord status.

  Your focus shifts to the cherry fabric folded beside of you. You haphazardly grab the dress, lifting it over your head. Its crystal beads babbling in your ear as you slide it on. For a moment, the ghost of your human body silhouettes your demonic figure in the mirror.  Distant memories began to bubble up to the surface. In the true spirit of avoidance, you hopelessly shut them out as you grabbed your satin purse and walked out the door. 

As you left the building the newly warmed breeze swirled through your hair. The sunny weather practically lifting your wings for you as you flew towards the club. You reveled in the distance it granted you from your life. From the above clouds, Hell was actually rather pretty. The seemingly dull color scheme found a bit more variation the higher you flew. The different areas of the city blending into one. With each flap of your wings, the clouds whispered murmurs of freedom into your ears. For just a moment, it almost didn’t feel like hell.

 The rest of the flight is relatively peaceful, excluding the occasional scream from the city below.  Eventually you arrive at the club and head to your dressing room. You plop down on the velvety plush sofa seated against the wall.  It was still a bit early for places, so you elected to read one of Angel’s trashy magazine to pass the time. A ginger knock at the door draws your focus from celebrity scandals and tv drama. 

“Amorcito”

Valentino’s voice worms itself into your ear. He leans against the door frame looking for any indication of fear on your face. He didn’t want to scare you off before he had the chance to explain himself. You shoot him a tired glare and return to your magazine. Even if you wanted to answer it’s not like you had the ability to.

“Right, I forgot.”  He muses, his smirk practically bleeding into his eyes. With a wave of his hand , the sigil on your wrist begins to spark in a hot pink glow. In a puff of smoke, your voice returns to you. 

“Do you need something Val” you ask.  It comes out a bit raspier than you had intended. Hopefully he didn't take it as a form of aggression. You had somehow landed yourself in his good graces, and you didn’t want to fall from them any sooner than you had to.  

“I can’t have you sitting silent for your dear clients now can I y/n?” 

You didn’t respond. Mentally, you rolled your eyes. The statement was laughable. He would tear your soul to pieces if he could hear the sarcasm racketing around your brain at the current moment. 

“Mi amor, you know I didn’t mean it. I can’t have my favorite muñeca upset with me, can I?” 

You stay silent. Your body still wept with the soreness of the night before, but he had come here with the expectation you would nurse his pride back to health.

“You know that I love you baby” His tone was permeated with an emotion you couldn't quite place. For the first time, the desperation on his face surpassed the bloodlust. It lacked his usual innuendos and crude curses. If you hadn't known better you might have believed he really did- yet something deep within you really did want to believe he could be good. Maybe he didn't love you but he did feel slightly sorry and maybe that would be enough. You stood up from the sofa and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"I know you do Val. Don't worry about it" The words are sweet but the emotion behind them is entirely dead. His arm slinked around your waist, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. 

"I want to thank you, for the dress. Its really beautiful. You have great taste” You added. Your hand layered on top of his, a gentle, but very obviously fake smile curving into your lips. Val loved compliments, the antennae on his forehead usually perked up whenever he received one. 

To your surprise, he started to laugh, his shoulders shaking in its ferocity. “ Y/n you can’t be serious.” 

You didn’t really understand what was funny or why you were nervously laughing along with him. You didn’t have to know why, you just had to go along with it. If you had to guess, he was probably intoxicated in one way or another. Most of the other performers and employees constantly were on some level. It would make sense if he was too. “I’m almost insulted you would even pretend that I would put you in something that tacky, and not to mention conservative. I treat you better than that don’t I?” 

With that, you were even more confused..Did he not gift you the dress? Where the hell else would it come from?  You couldn't even begin to craft a response. You had to come up with something quickly, and improvisation(lying) was not your best skill. Your mind darted from one lame excuse to another. You didn’t have time to think critically about it you just had to say something.

“Yeah I thought it would be a funny joke, I agree it is a bit old fashioned, It definitely needs a little update..I liked the color though.” You lied straight through your teeth. It wasn't clear if he had bought into your practically incoherent rambling. As all good liars do, you dug the hole a few feet deeper with a few more details to seal the deal.  “I wasn’t sure how to alter it so I thought I’d ask you for your opinion”. 

Even if the excuse was lame, it covered all the bases. 

“In my opinion we shred it”  His quiet laugh sounded egotistical to say the least. If something or someone didn't fit his taste he saw no reason why it should exist.

Disappointment drapes your frame from the tips of your horns to the bottom of your heels. Even if the dress had apparently spawned from some freaky stalker, you really did like it. 

“Are you sure I couldn’t just wear it as it is for one night? I could add a slit or something for the next time "Hope laced your bargain as you spoke. You knew he would probably say no but you couldn't help but ask. 

“Y/n, Baby, as hot as I think you look in anything. This dress is going to need some serious alterations if you expect to wear it in front of our rowdy crowd. I can't let you go out there dressed like a nun, it would be awful for business” His face twists into a sly sneer. An idea bubbled on the surface of his thoughts.Before you can register what is happening, his hands are tracing the outline of your hips. Each separated claw of his fingers ran down your body until they stopped just above the outer edge of each thigh. On the surface the action didn't exhibit his typically harmful nature, but if you dared to look even a fraction of an inch closer you would see its minatory subtext. 

“Don’t worry, I think we can figure out something simple out for tonight”. His fingers draw together into a unified line. He digs his nails in a little deeper into you as he drags them down your leg until they reach the floor. He had effectively sliced a high slit on both sides of the dress, with little to no effort. He had pushed a little too deeply in some areas, small pricks of blood leaked from a few irregularly shaped scratches in consequence.

“You look like perfection in red baby”, he breaths out. He stayed crouched on the floor for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he was admiring the surprisingly straight lines of his work or the dots of blood that speckled your skin. He takes your hand in his and places a wet kiss on your wrist where the sigil had been burned into your skin. 

“I can’t wait to see you shine tonight Amorcito” 

He kissed up your arm as he rose from the floor. The way his tongue slithered around your forearm made you dreadfully uncomfortable. The feeling was slimy and otherwise indescribable. You were almost grateful you didn’t have the words to describe your disgust so that the feeling would die with you instead of being passed around to others by language.

You were eternally grateful when he finally walked through the exit. He was finished with his fun with you, at least for now.The club had opened a little more than ten minutes ago. As its owner, he had an obligation to fulfill his duties (flirt with hot guys) ,and supervise the club floor (get blackout drunk and fuck aforementioned hot guys ). Val loved to watch as sinners got down and dirty in the corners of his dimly lit clubs. It was a bit of an ego boost to know he had helped create an environment that led to that sort of thing. He enjoyed the epigrammatic conversations and miscellaneous substance his customers brought with them. He was great at sharing when it came to things that weren’t his own. He loved to hear them praise his accomplishments, and disclose the desire they shared for him and his performers almost as he loved to get high. By the look of tonights crowd, he was in for another pleasurable evening, or so he thought. 

A curt laugh track interrupted the regularly scheduled cycle of conversation. Val’s head practically spun backwards upon noticing the deer eared demon lounging at the edge of the balcony. 

"What the fuck is he doing here" Val grunted under his breath.  He was supposed to be dead.

Alastor, apparently, never received the memo. He sat with a glass of indifferent whiskey in the VIP segment of the balcony above. He was fitted in a well cut vermilion pin stripe suit and a pair of wing tipped oxfords. Despite his polished exterior and perpetual smile, his eyes were glossed in boredom. 

The conversations of lower demons never really intrigued him, they didn't speak much about anything outside of the bounds of recreational drug use. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he had spent time in that particular circle back in his younger days. Perhaps it was the drastic change of aesthetic, or maybe the culture surrounding it had just shifted too much for his liking, but it just didn’t appeal to him anymore. Alastor found the environment dreadfully exhausting. The distinct loud bump of electronic base and synthesized beats made it hard to hear his own thoughts. He was in for a long boring night. There really wasn’t anything more for him to do than pass judgment on the tasteless decor. 

He looked around at the tacky overtly sexual paintings hung against the walls. It was one of Valentino’s classier clubs, but that doesn’t mean the interior designer wasn’t entirely delusional when they picked out its color pallet. For lack of a better word, it was just ugly. The Deep pinks and vibrant reds of the walls accented the white porcelain pillars that framed them. (Vaguely reminiscent of a tampon) The dark purple of the leathery chairs somehow blended in with the black marble tile in such a hideous way the word “unity” didn’t even begin to spark his mind. 

With the exception of its more intimate performance space and higher end clientele, it wasn’t that much different than the typical club experience Valentino provided. It still featured his usual sex rooms and coke lined tables, despite its overall calmer energy. Alastor didn’t understand how you ended up in a place like this. It didn’t seem like you. He had instructed the newest soul under his contract to follow you and figure out your daily routine and “basic facts of life”. He would never admit it, but he was mostly curious to learn of your relationship status. He wanted to know if you had gotten married or if you had moved on. He had been dead for years ,it would make sense if you had. He didn’t want to step back into your life unless he knew everything.He needed to know what approach would work best on you.  “Evidently” you weren’t just outwardly spouting that information into the hilltops. The poor soul came back with a list of two locations and not much else. Naturally, it didn’t get to live much longer. He was not a man to have his time wasted. If he wanted something done correctly the first time he should have just done it himself. So here he was, awaiting your performance.  

 Valentino walked across the crowded floor, his clenched fists glued to his sides. Alastor’s bored expression made his blood boil. He carelessly dodged dancing couples and trays of champagne in his quiet anger. Val never liked that old timey prick or his rickety dated voice. It grated his ears endlessly, not to mention he was just flat out annoying. If Val wanted to listen to some random lanky old man’s diet British accent and senseless uppity rambles;  he would have turned on Downton Abby or some other old pretentious shit. Each step he took towards the radio demon deepened the scowling smirk growing on his face. If Alastor was going to ever so nonchalantly seat him self and a glass of whiskey in the VIP section of HIS club, at least one of them going to have his fun with it. 

“I didn't take you to be a fan of my work Alastor, lovely to see you as always” Val slid into the booth across from him. The remaining groups still seated at the surrounding tables grabbed their drinks and found a better place to be. It was a well known fact the two of them weren’t friends 

“I am most decidedly not! however the streets of hell will not stop praising a certain canary singing on your steps, and I am by far intrigued" His eyed narrowed as his grin grew wider. 

“Oh really? It is my little siren you are interested in? Don’t let her pretty little face fool you, she’s a real bitch to work with. She thinks shes hot shit just because the sound of her voice is enough to chain any demon.” He feigned disinterest, flicking his nails to the side to observing their color.

“Oh really~Where ever did you find her? Surely if she is this talented I would have heard of her already"  Agitation seethed through Alastor's voice. He had never liked Valentino, he found his methods to be crude and unseemly. The way he spoke of you hazed Alastor's vision in permanent red. He had killed far greater demons for far less than the disrespect he had sent your way. However, he knew he couldn't act on that urge quite yet. He was on a mission. He needed to know more about why you were here first in the first place. No one here would know better than the sleazy club owner himself.

“ I don’t really think that’s your business" Valentino accused, venom dripping from his tongue. He didn't really care why the radio demon had taken such a fast interest in a lowly sinner like you. It didn't matter. It gave him something to work with. He had something he didn’t. Pride is a fickle thing, he could use this to get under his skin. 

He didn't want a physical altercation by any means, not in his own territory anyway. Vox would never let him live it down if he started a fight in his own club and accidentally tore it to the ground in the process. A verbal sparring session would have to do for now. Val loved starting any sort of argument he could conceive. 

"My little dove tends to shy away from the limelight. She used to do all of her performances behind a mask, but don’t you worry I was able to coax her out of it." (are you secretly the masked singer?? omg) "You'll be in for a wonderful show tonight." Pride overtook Valentino's usually mendacious features as he spoke. He had something Alastor didn't. Val wanted nothing more than to spark jealousy in his heart. Alastor, wasn't oblivious to his intentions, it just wasn't his primary focus. More-so, he felt frustrated with questions he couldn't ask. You couldn't have been in Hell for more than a few days. How many performances had you really had time for? The possibility you had existed down here for any longer than that didn't exist to him. 

"Now Valentino, there's no reason to be secretive, unless you have something to hide. Surely if this woman is as fantastic as you say she is, there is  no need to hide the details of her origin, I'm sure it must be quite the story"  A deceitful glimmer coruscated his smile, as he took another careless swig of whiskey. His pointed fingers gripped tighter around the glass, cracking its edge.

" Actually-it’s the opposite, trust me its not even worth mentioning” Val laughed. “Why not enjoy the present and focus on her current skillset a? Surely you must have seen her around somewhere, she’s a real star on film." His tone was maliciously sweet, but the dry rasp of his voice revealed the truth. A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he thought of your previous work. 

Getting information out of "barney the big purple pimp"  Valentino was going to be harder than Alastor had previously anticipated. Any information he might’ve had on you was under lock and key. At this point, he considered just ripping off Valentino's stupid little egg shaped head and calling it a day. He didn't understand what you saw in him or this dingy sweat stained bar. In your time on earth, the two of you had spent many nights dancing together in the speakeasies and glitzy clubs of New Orleans. This wasn't the type of establishment you would usually go in for. He had always known you to see the best in others, even if they so evidently didn't deserve it. You sharpened your sword for those you deemed worthy even if they despised you for it. If you were here it must meant you had seen something worth redemption within him. 

"You must be very proud of her accomplishments to rave on about her in this way" Alastor’s voice was fitted in the same snarky tone you often took with Valentino, but unlike you, he could tear the whole club apart with a snap of his fingers. Val didn’t want to deal with that, not here. He would have to wait and slit the radio demon's throat outside of his territory. 

"Enjoy the show Alastor.” He quipped promptly showing the conversation to its end. Valentino walked away before he could get in a word otherwise. 

Val didn’t know the nature of Alastor’s apparent attraction towards you, but he personally knew the pain desperately wanting something you couldn't have caused. Ironically, Alastor was the indirect cause of that familiarity. Through Valentino's partnership with Vox, obsession had sprouted.  Something about the way his televised voice distorted in anger drew him in. He had been caught on his snarky personality and quick wit almost as much as the pitiful reassurances the TV demon would occasionally throw his way. He knew the feelings he had amounted for Vox were never going to be reciprocated.  He would never look his way so long as the radio demon walked the streets of hell. Even if Valentino couldn’t bring about his revenge in his typical violent way, he was determined to get it. You were the key he didn’t know he had. After all, no sinner could resist the call of your sweet song or the appeal of your hips. The radio demon would be no different. 

Eventually, one of Val’s assistants called you to places. You walk through the backstage area, a trail of glittery red streaming behind you. You always loved the moment before the show began. It was typically quiet, everyone attended to their own business. They rarely stopped to bother you, it offered you a moment of order before the chaos this performance would plunge you into. You grab a sugar rimmed shot glass from underneath the bar cart left for the performers. You didn’t bother to read the labels on the bottle as you poured a heavy handed shot. As soon as the liquid touched your lips you realized it had been gin. Despite the burning in your throat, and the sour taste it left in your mouth, you refilled the glass a few more times. On some level, you felt guilty for the amount of alcohol you had just consumed.On a deeper level, you knew you couldn’t make it through a set without it. It was a means to an end, nothing more. 

 Valentino’s compulsion for revenge had led him towards the velvety amethyst curtains of the stage you stood behind. Whatever good mood he was in earlier had vanished, his disposition was dripped in murderous rage. He storms up to you, roughly taking your chin in his hand. 

“I don't fucking know why or how but the radio demon is here. You better make me look good-I’ve already throughly sung your praises and I will not be embarrassed in front of that shit head”  He paced as he spoke hostility following at his heels. “For some reason, he has taken an interest in you. I need you to give an extra little show to the balcony he’s seated in the center. Hes the lanky washed out red asshole with the bitchy little antlers, you can’t miss him.” The words he had spoken jumbled in your brain. You weren’t really paying attention, the calming aura of the alcohol had begun to hit your system. 

“I thought he was dead, are you sure it’s him?” you mumbled as you picked of the remaining sugar crystals from your glass. 

 You had briefly heard of the radio demon in your time-He hadn’t been around for years, most demons speculated that someone finally managed to kill him. He disappeared three years after your arrival in hell, but his methods left a lasting impression. The agonizing screams he had broadcasted still echoed in your dreams occasionally. However, despite your deeply rooted fear, you admired him on some level. He was clever to say the least, and his morals weren’t entirely questionable either. He thought dealing in cheaper souls was crass and frankly unnecessary. He left weaker demons alone, unless they stepped in the way of his path.He wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone he didn’t deem strong enough to fight back. 

 His hands shoot against your throat, the force of the action drags you into sobriety.  His fingers thrust deeper into your skin as he lifts you from the floor by your neck. He had a lot riding on this, and he wasn’t going to let your indifference ruin that. Your grasp on the shot glass loosens as your vision begins to spot from the lack of oxygen. It falls from your hand and shatters with the impact.

“Your job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to get out there and make me look good” he drags your body closer and growls into your ear. 

He slams your body against the floor of fragmented glass. The sole of his foot makes contact with the palm of your hand, pushing the shards deeper into your skin. Crimson flowed through the wounds  in a steady pour. Hot tears took residence in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. 

“ If you fuck this up for me, I’ll do a lot worse than just take your voice Y/n. You don’t want to see me angry. I promise you, you won’t like it.” His foot presses harder against your skin. His dark tone sends shivers down your spine. He had released his grasp on you, but the syllables that slithered out of his mouth constricted around your throat. 

Despite your decision not to cry, the tears began to spill. They weren’t entirely motivated by the pain. The situation had become too similar to those that had existed in your life, and this was your body’s reaction to that. The heat from his glare could have cauterized your wounds. He removed his foot from your hand as he crouched down next to your tear stained figure. His fingers graze the edges of your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he wipes droplets from your face.

“I can’t wait to see you tonight Amorcito, you always put on such a good show for me.” He kisses your injured hand, the cuts begin to close as his lips come into contact with your skin. He licks the remaining blood from his lips and returns to the club floor- leaving you in a pool of maroon colored regret and splintering glass. 

You watch the stage manager’s eyes roll as they grab a mop to clean up the mess. Whatever they were getting payed, it wasn’t enough. Although the ordeal wasn’t out of the ordinary, it was definitely inconvenient. You stand up from the floor brushing the remaining glass off of your dress and walk through the curtains and onto the stage. Even without a physical mask, you were still wearing one. You dawned a bright sultry smile and an uppity attitude as you waved to your adoring fans. At times the outlandishly theatric persona could be fun. The ecstatic cheers of the crowd after each movement made you feel powerful in an odd way. The attention often fueled your performance into the more seductive destination Val had wanted to begin with. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

“Good evening to all of my lovely sinners in the audience” The sound of your voice echoed over the endless chatter of the club. You sat down at the edge of the rounded stage, your legs dangling over its edge. The short demon in front of you practically drooled as your body edged a little more off the platform in his direction. You noticed his reaction and wanted to take things a step further. Your wings spread, taking you closer to the table he sat at, the edge of your finger tilting his head up to meet your own.

“I’ve got a wonderful show in store for just you tonight” Seduction over took your tone as you blew the demon a kiss leaving the entire table absolutely dumbfounded. You travel back to the stage with various sexual remarks towards the other inhabitants. You sit back on the stage, slowly extending your legs to the side, crossing them as you do. You tease the slits in your dress to the side revealing a bit more skin. The patrons erupt into a sea deafening screams. 

The lights suddenly cut out, you dissipated with them. The shred of an electric guitar echoed throughout the space. An array of red and purple spotlights flood the center of the stage. You reappear in a puff of smoke as they do. The music was a bit “edgier” than what you’d usually go for. The genres you listened to spanned a vast array of styles, but you usually preferred to sing the softer tunes of the earlier decades. Valentino’s typical clientele however, needed a newer, rougher pop/rock sound. The drum set clicks in tandem with the percussive click of your heels as you begin your dance. 

A wickedly wide grin stretches across your face, you were ready to start the show. You began to sing.

“I heard he sang a good song

I heard he had a style”

This was your compromise. You could sing anything you wanted to so long as you updated the instrumentals. Most of the people in the club were too wasted to listen to the lyrics anyway. It didn’t really matter what you sang as long as you sounded good and looked hot doing it. Hell’s population would eat up anything you served them. Their mouths began to water as you drop to the floor, arching your back away from them. The music flowed through you, awakening a deep sensuality in your movement . Each twist of your hips accented the intense chords and high hat hits of the accompaniment. Your hair formed a halo around you as you turned onto your back. Your legs extend into the air earning an influx of vulgar cheers from the surrounding demons. Any softness your voice had once held disappeared as growled into the next phrase.

“And so I came to see him

To listen for a while”

You slowly slid up from the floor, your hands following the shape of your curves until they reached pit of your neck. Your fingers splayed against its circumference as you rolled your eyes back into your head.  You glanced up to the balcony to make sure the radio demon was watching, the dim lighting prevented you from seeing anything more than his silhouette. 

Alastor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the glance you threw him, or your performance. On the one hand, he was endlessly enamored with you. Alastor would have dedicated the rest of his life to sing your praises in that moment if you had just asked him to. He loved to listen to you sing and watch you dance in any context.

On the other hand however, it made him extraordinarily jealous. He hated the lewd comments and desire filled glances of the other demons around him.  It made sense they were attracted to someone like you, but that doesn’t mean he liked that they were. He would remember each face that dared utter such filthy things about you, and deal with them later.  His attention shifted back to your voice as you spun your voice into a decadent riff. 

“And there he was this young boy

A stranger to my eyes”

 You turned upstage to the silver pole that spun in its center. Hundreds of eyes glazed over in pure lust as your spine pressed against the pole. You were practically suffocated with screams as your form flipped upside down. You dropped one arm from the pole, the tips of your wings grazing the floor as your newly freed hand followed the lines of your body. 

 Your exaggerated and frankly pornographic expressions as you twisted against the pole made Alastor apprehensive. The feeling of unease was not caused by disgust but concern. As much as he loved to listen to you sing, this  didn’t feel right for him to watch. It felt too fake. You looked far too uncomfortable for his liking.He had seen you in a more intimate light before. Even decades later the mere thought of your gentle gasps and fluttering lashes dragged him up from hell and sent him straight to heaven. He was familiar with the grind of your hips against his own, and the feeling of your hands in his. He knew every freckle on your body and the exact degree of your spine’s curvature. He loved nothing more than to worship each fold in your figure. He adored the gentle light that always seemed to flicker in your eyes in those sensitive moments. He reveled in your loving glances and gentle touches he was not bothered with the sexuality of it all but rather its performative nature. This felt too over the top. Despite your energetic movements and sensual smile, your eyes were cold and dead. He didn’t want his memory caught on your legs wrapped around his waist or his head between your thighs if it was just a performance. It didn’t feel right to. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the sound of your voice. Even with its dolorous tamber the whisper of your gentle heart found its way to seep through. 

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

You notice Val seated between two tall blonde demons with their legs crossed over his. He was very clearly not impressed with them or your movements on the pole. His disinterest grew with each sip of his drink. He gives you a pressing look. In that moment you knew exactly what he wanted. He had had enough of your stalling. You looked good but you needed to look better. 

"Killing me softly with his song

Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

With a slight roll of your eyes, you fly up to the balcony. You place yourself onto the thick marbled railing with your back to the radio demon. With a quick twist your of your hips, you straddle the banister your body rolling against it ever so slightly. You make direct eye contact with the patron in the center booth. He wore a mask crafted in wilted black rose petals and the scent of death, but underneath he held your late lover’s face. His deep red eyes meet your own e/c ones The glimmer of his previously golden swirled dark brown eyes clashed against his current ghostly red ones  He brushed a strand of his straightened two toned hair  to the side of his face. He carried the same nose, body, and expression as Alastor- Your Alastor. You turn upstage to compose yourself. You sway your hips to the beat of the music in order to keep up appearances. You turn your weary head behind you to his table to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. Even in its outstretched state, his smile gave him away. It really was him. After years of searching, you had finally found him, or better yet, he found you. For just a moment, you had forgotten your penance and your heart flowed with oceans of love. You floated within them in pure ecstasy. In that moment, and animosity you held for him faded away with the weight of your excitement.

"I felt all flushed with fever

Embarrassed by the crowd"

Abruptly the realization hits you, he was seated where the radio demon should have been- that must mean that Alastor; Your  Alastor, was the radio demon. Your mind flipped to the initial radio broadcast he first spoke to you with, as well as the note signed “yours truly”.  Alastor had used that phrase so often as a sign off from the radio show…..Perhaps you weren’t the sharpest little crayon in the demon filled box- considering the embarrassingly long time it took you to put the pieces together. 

"I felt he found my letters

And read each one out loud"

Realizing this sent a wave of relief through you. Perhaps he could free you from this life, he was one of the strongest demons in hell. If anyone could break your contract with Valentino, it would be him...Would he even consider it? Your mind swirled in a storm of questions. Why the sudden change? As the relief of the initial realization began to fade and a new understanding took root. He had left you in life, why would he want to help you now? 

You couldn’t help but wonder why he was really here. Considering his previous track record, nothing made sense. Why would he speak to you within his broadcast, or gift you the dress, or show up to your workplace if he hadn’t payed you any mind in such a long time?

He must have wanted something from you. That would be the only logical reason for his sudden appearance. If he truly had always been the radio demon, he held power. He had all of the necessary resources to find you and he never did. He didn’t need to. 

"I prayed that he would finish

But he just kept right on"

You think back to the various gifts he would purchase you before he asked something of you, or the roses he would send to your apartment if you two had an argument in your life together. Your years of wondering why he had left boiled down to one simplistic answer…He had always just needed something. The more you thought on this, the more painfully obvious it became. He wasn’t here because he loved you. He was only here because you had become convenient again.The second he deemed you impractical, he would leave you as he had before.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You fly away from the balcony, sliding down the metal pole in the center of the stage to reach the floor. You were thankful the stage lights blinded you from his pressing gaze once you were on the ground. You would ignore the balcony entirely for the remainder of the performance. It didn’t matter if Valentino would be upset, you couldn’t bear to look at Alastor anymore- Yet even with your newfound distance, he had chained you to memory. You were transported back to the downtown apartment in which you had previously spent so many hours with him in.

 1930 New Orleans: Your apartment 

The candlelit room was a patchwork of miscellaneous vintage furnishings and modern decorative trinkets. You had moved into your apartment not long after your father had passed. Most of the items within it were gifted to you upon his death. He preferred victorian architecture over all else, it was natural his taste in interior design would follow. You leaned against the sage patterned love seat with a cooling cup of tea in hand. The star speckled sky, and tepid air of late April seep through your opened window.

You awaited the arrival of your lover. Alastor wasn’t a man to be late. He was meticulously early and always prepared. His absence had begun to torment you in anxiety. The grandfather clock stationed in the corner of the room struck midnight, furthering your worries. He was supposed to arrive at 7:30, obviously it was long past that. 

He had promised to take you out dancing to make up for the late hours he had begun to keep at the studio. He had become more withdrawn than you cared to admit. He disappeared for days at a time. On the few days you managed to get ahold of him, he dismissed you, insisting he needed to keep working on his show. It aggravated you to no end, but you would never want to be another obstacle on the way to his dreams. It was easier to let it go and enjoy the time you did have with him.

You had the bad habit of jumping to the worst scenario.You didn’t live in the safest sector of the city, it was entirely possible he had been attacked along the way. Your mind shifts to the uprising of missing person’s cases New Orleans had been plagued with. The media speculated a killer of some kind, but the police department denied those theories. They hadn’t found any of the bodies, and refused to believe they were going to.

 If he wasn’t here within the next hour, you were going to search for him yourself.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

An abrupt knock steals you from your worries, you rush to its source without a second thought. You open the door to the dark curly haired man you had been waiting for. To your surprise, his usually tidy hair was unkempt and rumpled around his newly bruised face. His disheveled blood stained clothing reflected the crimson pouring from his nose. You froze like a deer in headlights, it was one hell of a way to show up for a date. 

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

“Oh my god” you whispered under your breath. Your hands appear at the sides of his face tracing each little scratch and the deep bruise forming around his eye. “Love..what happened? Are you okay?” You stuttered out.

He sent you a sheepish smile, not wanting to raise any concerns.“May I come in” he asked placing his hand on top of your own.

  His “previous activities” were rather impromptu. Usually, his targets were much better thought out, and handled much more methodically. Although he enjoyed the anguished screams of his victims, he would never hurt anyone who wasn’t actively or indirectly hurting you, the same applied to this kill. The timing wasn’t ideal but it was a necessity.

He had decided to walk to the flower shop from the station so he could surprise you with a fresh bouquet before your date. He felt tremendously guilty for his recent absences, and wanted to alleviate that with a gift. Even if he missed you dreadfully, New Orleans birthed the scum of the earth. It was more important to keep you protected than to keep long expanses of your company. He would never forgive himself if something he could have prevented happened to you.

Upon his arrival into the shop, he was rather annoyed with the short brutish man that held up the line. He shamelessly flirted with the owner of the shop, who very clearly did not care for his advances. Alastor wouldn’t stand for such behavior. It was better to deal with the issue then instead of allowing you to continue to exist in a world full of degenerates. He would do anything to keep you safe. 

 Once the man had finally left, he followed him until they reached a quiet alley. He pulled the knife from his coat pocket, ready to strike. He stabbed the man’s back and twisted the knife in as far as it would go. However, the man was a bit stronger than he anticipated. It was the first time anyone had bothered to fight back.

His most recent kill had gotten sloppy, and here he was covered in blood on your doorstep in consequence. He never wanted any of the evidence to be tied to you, so he had learned to keep his distance. On this particular occasion however, he didn’t have much of a choice. He had dismembered the body and left it tucked in an alleyway, to be disposed of later. The only evidence remaining was the blood staining his clothes. If someone saw him walking through town in his disorderly state, that would raise questions; questions that could indirectly put you into harms way. Although this wasn’t ideal, it was the only option. -Besides, he had accidentally missed your date, you were probably worried sick over him.

“Yes of course I’m sorry, please follow me” You stammer out grasping his hand and leading him to the bathroom. You weren’t entirely sure of the nature of his bedraggled  state, but you were determined to fix it. You reach under the sink and dig out the first aid kit you kept on hand. 

You reach for the bandages and a dampen a small cloth. You press it against his bloodied nose and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Are you alright” You ask hesitantly. Your mind burned with questions, what had happened to bring him here in such a state?

“It’s nothing I can’t manage I’m sorry to drag you into this.” He replied, remorse seeping into his tone.

“No it’s alright I’m just glad you’re okay.” You responded as you began to bandage the scuffs on his hands. From his demeanor, you gathered he didn’t really want to talk about this, but you couldn’t help but ask.

“What happened Al?”  You questioned. Your shoulders were slumped in his direction while you carefully washed the cuts on his face.

“It’s not important my dear.” He responded with a nonchalant smile.

"Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

His indifferent attitude did anything but calm you. 

“You can’t show up on my doorstep like this, and not expect me to be concerned for you. Please, just tell me what happened love” You begged. 

“I  had something to take care of. It’s not important” He dismissed you again as you unbuttoned the clasps of his shirt to tend to anything below the surface. Through his bloodied exterior, you couldn’t discern what stemmed from him or another person. 

“Clearly-" you huffed. You examined the small contusions that littered his chest. “Please don’t run from me Al”  Even though his injuries are less severe than you’d thought your lips contorted into a deep frown. “I’m worried about you.” Your e/c eyes bore into his smooth brown ones.

“I just.. got involved with the wrong person y/n, please save your worries for a worthy cause.” He murmured. He attempted to dissuade your worries with another smile, it only multiplied them.

“We should report this to the police Alastor I don’t care who you got involved with they don’t have a right to leave you like this” You urge, your fingers mindlessly trace the edges of each forming bruise.

“Y/n just drop it.” He finally snapped, his voice is intense and almost feral. His shoulders tense up almost as quickly as they release.

“Please”. He softens, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

"He sang as if he knew me

In all my dark despair"

1930: New Orleans: Your apartment, six months later

Another pressing knock awakens you from your sleep. You didn’t even have it in you to be upset anymore. It had become habitual, he would show up on your doorstep a little before four in the morning speckled in bright red blood; just as he had done every few weeks for the last six months. It wasn’t worth asking for explanation anymore. He would ramble out the same tepid excuses and unconcerned reassurances. 

You opened the door to his typical scarlet splatted clothing. The longer his little escapade expanded, the less injuries he sustained afterwards. It was a double edged sword. You were glad he never walked in branded in bruises or dripping his own blood, but it also made you apprehensive. How was he able to hurt another so easily with no more damage than the occasional scrape on his knuckles? Nothing about the entire affair made sense. You recall the vague details he had mentioned after the first incident. If he truly had been accidentally whisked into the company of the wrong individuals, why didn’t he just leave? He worked in radio, theoretically he could accomplish the same goal in a different location. There wasn’t anything to stop him. You had assured him you would drop everything and go with him if he only asked you to. New Orleans had no reason to hold onto you in his absence. You were a matching set.  

With a small kiss between your drowsy eyes, he walked into your bedroom to shed his dirtied clothes. Upon his return, he flitted about your kitchen collecting the necessary materials to make you both a cup of tea. It was routine at this point. Accompanied by the smooth lull of the radio, you would drink your tea and chat. He was never at a loss for words, and you loved to listen. You didn’t really talk about anything meaningful, just whatever happened to cross his mind.  You sit curled into his arms tea in hand. You couldn’t help but wonder why this was all happening. You wanted him to open up to you. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. Maybe if he told you, you could find a way to help him out of this

“Al..why don’t we just leave here? I don’t like that you keep showing up like this. I promise I won’t be upset with whatever details it holds…I just want to know that you’re being safe.” You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, as you speak.

“My dear, we have been over this, it is nothing I can’t handle. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it” He smiles down at you and presses another kiss against your forehead. He admired your care, but he feared your judgement too harshly to admit the true details of his actions.

"And then he looked right through me

As if I wasn't there"

“This is the second time this week Alastor. I’ll support you through anything but I deserve to know the details”. You plead, lifting your head to better observe his features. He looked completely and entirely unbothered.

"And he just kept on singing

Singing clear and strong"

"y/n I'm telling you to drop it" His hand cups your cheek.

"No you don't get to tell me that anymore. I'm concerned for you Alastor.” Your voice gets louder as you pull away from his touch.

"I've told you before darling, you needn't worry" He tucks a stray loc of your hair behind your ear. "I promise I would never hide anything from you for longer than I needed to dear.I will always be truthful with you y/n” He pulls your body back into his lap as he speaks.

“ I just can’t tell you yet… It wouldn’t be right to involve you in this.” His voice is indistinct and distant, as his arms wrap around you into a tight hug.

“ I can’t risk you getting hurt, You are my perfection dear” 

Your heart falls from your recollection as your body finally drops to the from the spinning pole. Alastor didn't end up keeping his promise of eventually veracity. How many other things did he simply “not tell you yet”.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You were convenient and gullible, you had loved him too much to even consider that he might have been hurting others and not a victim himself . You lived in the middle of the city, giving him a central location to act from. He hadn’t lied when he said you were perfect.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

It was much deeper than you previously thought. You weren’t just someone he kept around for the occasional favor or entertainment. It was deeper than that. The bloodied clothes and unexplained absences finally made sense.  He would’ve needed to harm a lot of people to hold such an astute amount of power upon his arrival in hell. You were the unknown tool that helped him reach that status. 

"Telling my whole life with his words"

No wonder you ended up in hell. Any sinful actions you may have taken or blood on your hands was nothing in comparison to the amount he spilled with your help. You were nothing more than an accessory to his crimes. You had wasted your life on counterfeit kisses and meaningless utterances of  love. You had wasted your afterlife believing they held some merit.

"Killing me softly with his song"

He didn’t come for you because he didn’t need anything from you. He never actually loved you enough to search for you beyond that. 

The music crescendos into its final note. You take a slight bow as the crowd exploded into a sea of cheers.

“Thank you for being such a darling audience, I’ll be out to speak with you soon” you announce as you blow a kiss in their direction. Val would have to be mad later. You needed to get out of there

As soon you walked off stage, the lively armor of your theatrical persona was thrown aside, leaving nothing to guard your wounded heart. You stumble down the hall towards your dressing room ,a freshly opened bottle of wine in tow. You wanted nothing more than a moment of clear unfeeling peace. Valentino preferred you to mingle after a performance, but you needed to collect yourself and dampen your anger before you had to speak with your untamable fans. Alastor’s appearance had shaken you to your core in ways you weren’t prepared to confront. You didn’t have time to accurately process those emotions so you would settle for a second alone to compartmentalize. By the time you reach the dressing room’s door, the bottle in your hand is nearly empty. You turn the knob to reveal to a vase of crimson roses reflected in your mirror and the shadow of his antlers on your face. 

“Why are you here.” You asked pointedly. Your voice held the typical icey air of a frigid hellish morning. You had no intention of letting him stay long enough to propose whatever twisted favor had brought him back to your door.

“It was you that contacted me dearest” He ignored the frostbite forming on his finger tips from your cold shoulder- His frankly untrue statement struck more than a few of your nerves. 

“If I had, don’t you think I would have done it sooner?” You seethed with aggravation. Alastor hadn’t a clue as to why you were so cross with him. Perhaps guilt motivated your responses and he was simply caught in the overtly anguished crossfire. You had always been slightly oversensitive to your effect on him- maybe that was it?

“Now my dear you haven’t been in hell very long, you mustn’t blame yourself for needing a bit of extra time to understand your skillset. I was pleasantly surprised to hear your sweet voice interrupt my usual broadcast- Although, I must say I wasn’t aware you were so interested in continuing show business after death. Had you asked before finding your own way, I could have connected you with a classier establishment" 

“A bit of extra time is the understatement of the hour” you huff under your breath. 

“Most demons take weeks to learn control, you on the other hand managed to do so in a couple of days you really should be proud” He sent you a reassuring smile.

You laugh dryly, confusion overtakes his features and seeps into his smile.

“Oh sure you’re absolutely right! I should be proud it only took a day or so- give or take a few years” The sarcasm radiating from your response would have slit the throat of a lesser demon. This confused Alastor even further. 

“y/n, how long have you been in hell.”Bewilderment etches across his lips, he had never considered the possibility you weren’t another new arrival before then.

“Ten years, eleven next week.” you admit. His eyes grow wide in remorse.

“Dear I am so very sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Between your anonymity and my little leave of absence, we must have just missed each other. I assure you had I known you were here I would have been chasing at your heels.”  Despite his deeply genuine intentions, you perceived his words as nothing more than another manipulative tactic to persuade you into whatever twisted plan he had in store.

“Please- Al, you can cut the act already. To be entirely frank, I don’t need any more of your sweetly worded lies, I know who you’ve always really been now. I’m telling you it’s not going to work anymore- I’m not that stupid.” Your retort was accompanied by the roll of his eyes.

“You left me without a care in the world, and with a child for that matter. It stands to reason your sentiment wouldn’t change, even in hell. I don’t care for whatever old favor you’re trying to call in. I’m not helping you.” Even across the room, the edges of his raven tipped hair practically singed at the weight of your words. For the first time in his hellish existence, his everlasting smile dropped. He didn’t know he was a father. He had died before you had chance to tell him.

“ We had a child?” His voice is weak and raw, entirely devoid of its usual crackle. His eyes hold a deep sadness you had only ever seen in your own reflection. Your posture visibly softens at his sorrowful reaction. The realization hit you: He never got to meet his son. At least you were granted a moment with your baby swaddled in your arms. Alastor hadn't been so lucky. 

“ Yes.. his name is Eugene. He turned 50 last year...He was such a beautiful baby. He had your brown eyes and curly hair. I swear I could almost hear you in his laughter.” The corners of your mouth begin to peak up in response to the remembrance. Despite the short time he had been a part of your life, Eugene was everything you lived for. You endured every sleazy comment and blood splattered old fashioned in the hopes you could see him again. You even went as far to marry the bar’s immoral owner. You suffered a lifetime of abuse and the plight of that man's own children on the half hearted promise you might have been able to regain custody in your newfound stability.

“Did he live a good life?”  He was overtaken with dream-like sun spotted snapshots of you and his son. The hypothetical moments alleviated his guilt slightly. At least in his absence you weren’t entirely alone. Alastor's legs carried him to your side. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the melancholy from your face and offer you comfort. His hand gently outstretched to your shoulder. The silence that overtook the room was hinted in comfort instead of animosity.

“ Yes..he did" you finally respond. 

Your mind wanders to the flower shop he owned downtown and its painted green exterior. The lavender cursive of the sign above it read "Eugene's Fanciful Flowers". He was a complete and total dork, just like his father. The older you got, the more you found yourself walking past it. He had sent you a bouquet of daffodils once. You kept them in the vase next to your bed long after they had begun to wilt and shrivel. You weren't sure how he knew of your existence or even where you lived. He was only 18 months old the last time you had held him in your arms. You weren't really his mother, just a circumstance of his birth. You never had the chance to watch him grow. 

"I just never got to see it” You snap out of your memory inspired daze.

He never got to meet his son because he chose not to. Any remorse you felt was quickly scrapped from your system. You could have watched your son’s mind grow and learned the nuances of his little voice if Alastor had just stayed. That’s all he had to do. You didn’t care if your eventual marriage with him would have crumbled in the process. For all you cared, he could continue his distant nature and whatever wicked deeds he pleased, just as long as he stayed…He made his choice to walk that crestfallen path alone, separating you from him and your son in the process. You shrugged off his soothing hand and turned away, effectively burning a fire flecked wall between the two of you. 

“I had to give him up. The radio show shut down in your absence. I couldn’t support the both of us with what little I made at the bar.” Bitterness seeps into your previously softened voice. You weren’t going to allow yourself to be manipulated by his falsified concern. The mirage of imagined moments you had collected of your son over the years flashed through your mind all at once. You were devastated by the memories you didn’t get the chance to make.

“Y/n.. I am so sorry.” He is nearly frozen in place, shocked by the sudden shift in your demeanor. If you weren’t so angry, the pathetic broken string of words would have shattered your desolate heart.

“ You can stop pretend to care Alastor. You had no issue leaving us then- What do you really want from me? Just get it over with so I can go back to forgetting you exist.”  The short horns peaking out from your hair nearly doubled in size. You were growing frustrated with his half assed excuses and blatant lies. In that moment, you didn’t care if he disappeared entirely. The deserted lovesick island you had so often found yourself stuck on burned to the ground in the back of your mind. 

“Why would I, an overlord, want something from a weaker demon such as yourself. I don’t know who placed that foolish notion into your head, but I assure you, I don’t want anything from you” Anguish accented the pungent inflection of each word. Alastor was growing tired with your antics he didn’t want anything from you other than your forgiveness. He had apologized for the first time in decades, and meant it. Why couldn’t you just accept that? Your resentful resolve exasperated him to no end.

“ I just wanted to see you again, I thought you might like the same, evidently I was wrong.” His typical smile pressed into an uncharacteristic sharp line.

“Will you please just stop?” Your voice raised far more than a few decibels. He couldn’t take the hint, and you were not sober enough to keep reiterating it.

“Darling it has been agony sitting around waiting for you here, only to find out you’re cavorting around with Valentino. Leaving you wasn’t my fault, you can’t blame me for something I didn’t wish to do. As much as I wish to I can’t control my circumstances. I’ve already apologized I don’t know what else you want me to do."  He would gladly do anything you asked to mend the bridges you had set ablaze in your unreasonable fury. He hadn’t meant to die, it just sort of happened. Were you really blame him for his untimely demise?

“Didn’t wish to do? How stupid do you think I am?” You scoffed.

“The only thing I want you to do is leave.” Your voice wavered but the sentiment was strong. He could almost see the fighting spirit that traced your form. Alastor couldn’t help but laugh. He had done nothing but answer your call, and you had the audacity to reject his answer. If you wanted to fight, he would fight with you. If nothing else, it kept you talking to him.

“Naturally, because you are just so much happier leashed to Valentino and spinning around that pole” He taunted, his scornful sneer seeping into his cadence.

"Believe me I'd rather be anywhere else-" You snapped. He had added fuel to the fire and the weight of its introduction flooded you with spite.

“Don’t pretend that you’re any different from him Alastor. You are two sides of the same coin- except unlike you, Valentino actually owns my soul. I have to put up with this shit from him. I’m under no obligation to take it from you. I am not a toy for you to pick up and put down whenever you need something to play with- I’m not some tool for you to use whenever decide you need a favor.” 

You didn’t really believe the words coming from you, you just wanted to hurt him the way he hurt you. Evidently it worked a little better than you anticipated. His eyes contorted into the shape of radio dials, the static erupting from his core in tandem. His height over you nearly tripled, as the horns on his head wept out jet black roots that stretched into the ceiling. His voice distorts into a vicious growl.

“You don’t get to stand here and pretend that I am entirely to blame. It isn’t my fault your life went so poorly. Let’s think reasonably for a moment, provided you haven’t completely lost it. You could have made any number of different choices, but you went with the easiest option, just as you always have. As for your current situation, you did the same. Although I regret not finding you sooner, you clearly had the ability to reach out if you truly needed something. You don’t get to blame me because you finally started to regret your careless mistakes. You have no right to be angry with me for your own choices. Look at how pathetic you’ve become y/n.” He grasps your chin, tilting it to meet your eyes in the mirror. 

“I don’t know how I ever managed to love someone stupid enough to waste their soul on nothing more cheap liquor and lust rolled cigarettes.” 

The radio static that had permeated the room just seconds before fizzled out leaving you alone in the silent pit. His antlers returned to their normal size as he observed the void that replaced your sparkling eyes. As soon as he saw the tears welling up within you, he realized what he had said. 

 In actuality, he didn’t mean a word of it. In his time in hell, he had grown too accustomed to uncovering the insecurity of his opponents. In that moment, he had forgotten you really weren’t one. 

He didn’t truly blame you for anything that had happened. How could he?  He knew he was mostly at fault for the more unfortunate aspects of your life. His heart incessantly throbbed with guilt just thinking of what you must have gone through. He hadn’t known what he left you with in such an unforgiving world. If he had, he would have found some way to pluck the bullet from his skull and return home to you. 

As for the quality of your after-life, he knew the blame belonged entirely to Valentino. You had always been strong, but you had never been cruel. To survive in this hellish landscape, you had to be on some level. You probably would have ended up just another lifeless body bloodying up the street if you hadn’t taken the offer. Valentino had taken advantage of that, and Alastor hadn't been there to help you find another solution. Even if you didn’t want his help, he would never forgive himself if he didn’t find a way to break the deal you had made. 

 “Get out.” You didn’t have enough strength for anything more than a whisper.

 His eyes bore into yours as a single tear slipped down your face. He hadn’t noticed the deep scratches that decorated your cheeks or the dark purple bruises that formed under your contour until that moment. They had been hastily covered in concealer and he hadn’t been close enough to notice the jagged indentations until then. The ears perched atop his head began to twitch as his mind sparked with an entirely different form of rage...As soon as he figured out what twisted soul had dared to lay a hand on you, all of hell would hear their screams. 

 His grasp on your chin softens as he traced the edge of each scratch with his free hand.

“Who did this to you” 

“Get out.” You tear your face from his hold. 

“No I’m not leaving you here” he stated, the desperation of his tone rimmed the edges his lanky frame. He took a step towards you and you took a step away. 

“Get the fuck out Alastor. Now.” Your eyes began to glow a familiar pink. 

“Y/n, I didn’t mean t-“

“Just go” you cut him off before he has the chance to put a word in edgewise. You had been through enough. You didn’t need his excuses to confuse you more. Your eyes squeeze shut as the objects in the room began to float. All you wanted was for him to go away. 

“I won’t leave you again” He stood his ground.

“Leave me alone” You were practically screaming at this point. If he couldn’t listen to your request, you would just have to be louder to make him listen. Your voice reverberates throughout the room, effectively shattering both the light bulbs surrounding your mirror and the mirror itself. The residual glass scattered through the space and into your hair. 

To your surprise, he doesn't respond. The remaining floating objects fall to the ground in a piercing clatter. Your eyes shoot open at the sudden noise.

Other than the abundant mess, there was no trace he had ever been there to begin with. Even the roses he had brought for you had dissipated. You stood alone in the glass covered room, thankful he had taken his leave. The swirling overload of emotion made you feel ill. You replayed the conversation a few times in your head, each replay inspired a deeper feeling of regret and a plethora of questions you no longer had the opportunity to ask. 

A/N:

Hey yall thank you sm for the support I adore each and every one of you!!

Also a note about the content revolving around abusive relationships: This is going to be a bit long winded but I feel it's important to be said. The content in this chapter as well as chapter 2 features some pretty awful depictions of abuse. I want to check in and make sure that this isn't coming off as an overly done cliche or a cheap plot device to further the story. In no way is that my intention. I know that I am a very small writing page but it's important to me that I dont accidentally wind down the same path a lot of larger entertainment companies follow. I've drawn from the experiences of my friends who have gone through similar things as well as my own to try and prevent that. However I am also aware my writing style is a bit..dramatic? If you find that it is coming across negatively, and if you feel comfortable, don't hesitate to message me normally or anonymously. I will gladly listen to anything you have to say!!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #valentino being a nasty fucker #Alastor really just can't communicate well and you are lowkey stupid #like ok ms girl jump to conclusions #tbh if i was her id give him a lap dance and forget everything #why am i like this #valentino #...can die #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #you best believe the shitty song fic titles are coming back next chapter #omg theyre back! #i was high off my ass writingn this so no guarantee its good.

[teethkid67]

i went up and came down different

separates & details under the cut

been running with this concept that ctommy post revival is a uneven .... skull not quite realigned and jaw not quite relocated . as a result his eyes are off and his depth perception is fucked . thank you all and goodnight

#something a little more abstract and by abstract i mean not perfectly rendered #dsmp #things i make #gore #blood #death #ctommy #tommyinnit #tommyinnit fanart #dream smp fanart #dream smp tommy #bleh bleh bleh bleh bleh #little two sentences is from a fic ive got a good couple thousand on but cant be assed to finish. maybe ill put it up soon #text beneath revived tommy said quote make that motherfucker lopsided

[wynnyfryd]

Eddie flounders, arms flailing as his feet slip out from under him for the fourth time, and he lands chin first on the scuffed-up ice with a hard thud.

“Oww,” he moans miserably to himself as he sits up. He lifts a numb hand to his mouth to inspect the damage—fingerless gloves doing fuck-all to defend against the stinging cold—and the tips of his frozen fingers come back speckled with warm red from where he bit his tongue on the way down.

Fucking ice skating. Max better appreciate the effort he’s making.

He’s in the middle of a mostly empty rink (arms crossed over his chest, ass wet from the ice, fully pouting in public but who cares his tongue and chin fucking hurt), and he’s thinking about just staying there—sulking in place for the remainder of the open-skate session until a Zamboni comes to sweep him away—when an employee spots him and comes skating over to help.

The guy moves with a graceful, practiced ease, swift enough to send his honey brown hair flowing out behind him as he glides over the ice, and he stops neatly in front of Eddie with a tap of his toepick. “Need a hand?” he asks, offering his, and oh no he’s hot why does he have to be hot jesus christ

“‘M fine,” Eddie mumbles into his knees, face flaming. His eyes are wet, and his cheeks are all splotchy, and he’s being such a petulant, wounded little baby right now, but like.

If Hot Guy could kindly fuck off instead of witnessing this ridiculous behavior, that would be so cool and sexy of him.

“Hey,” Hot Guy says, voice gentle. His downturned puppy eyes go soft with concern when he spots the blood on Eddie’s lip, and he crouches down into a squat and rests a hand on Eddie’s knee.

The fingers of his other hand reach out, hesitant, hovering in the space between them like he wants to cup Eddie’s chin but doesn’t want to hurt his bruised skin. Eddie’s eyes widen at the gesture, kind of humiliatingly turned on by how tender it is, and his lip wobbles and oh God he is not about to cry in front Hot Guy he’s not doing it he’s not—

The guy offers him a reassuring pat. “Bit your tongue?”

Eddie nods. Hot Guy smiles sympathetically. “Yeah, that’ll do it. I bit the shit out of the inside of my cheek last week trying to race my coworker,” he tells Eddie, shaking his head with a little laugh. “Hurt so bad.”

Fuck, his laugh is pretty. Eddie can’t help but smile, too.

The guy claps Eddie’s knee again and shoves himself back up to standing. “Come on,” he says, offering a hand. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Eddie takes it this time.

He lets himself be hoisted to his feet, gripping the lapels of the other man’s jacket for dear life as he gets his balance. Hot Guy, bless him, just brackets Eddie’s waist between his hands, steadying him with warm, broad palms splayed beneath his ribs, and then they’re toe-to-toe, standing so close that their breaths fog into a mingled cloud.

H.G. flashes a brilliant smile. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” he says sincerely. He slides his hands from Eddie’s waist to his elbows, trailing down to take both of his hands in a sure grip, and then he swivels his feet and starts slowly skating backwards across the rink, dragging Eddie along with him. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

Eddie snorts, rolls his eyes at himself. Yes, what, indeed, he thinks, blowing a wild curl out of his face. “It’s a long story.”

Steve grins. “I have a long shift.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie drabble #steddie fluff #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #eddie offered to take max skating because her mom is never around #only then he remember ‘oh right i don’t know how to ice skate. shit’ so he’s trying to learn before he goes with max #because she WILL mock him until the end of time if he she sees him busting his ass every twelve seconds like this #thankfully steve is there to help him learn (and be very ridiculously good looking while he does it)

[hyperfixationspam]

when a fanfic describes ed with a long beard: 🥰

when a fanfic describes ed getting a shorter beard: 🥰

when a fanfic describes ed shaving it all off: 🥰

when a fanfic describes ed cutting his hair short: (starts shrieking and throwing tables)

#why would you cut an angels wings like that 😭😭 #i just read a rly good fic but he got a haircut so i just pretended it was a fuck ass bob i can deal with that #listen ed with short hair is just taika i dont give a fuck about that guy i want my special princess

[p4nishers]

no really ALL im saying is if aziraphale was infront of ME and me only and even gave me a smallest amount of attention i would've already confessed right there. wouldn't have taken me 5 minutes let alone 6000 YEARS. nuh uh. especially if he slutted me out while dressed like THAT in 1793 or rizzed me up in 1941. i may be oblivious but im not dumb as fuck and i would've taken THE FUCKING HINT. unlike SOMEONE. ugh if only i was in crowley's place this shitshow wouldn't have taken more than aziraphale's eyelashes to flutter once and i'm done for the wedding is already in full swing oh lookie here a priest appeared completely out of nowhere how odd how mysterious!! anyway we must not waste this opportunity let's just get over w it for completely normal regular reasons YEP!! nothing to see here just a perfectly regular every day wedding !! like come on man atp u gotta blame urself for wasting opportunities like that

#lets all be completely absolutely dead fr rn. if aziraphale smiled at YOU and complimented YOUR stars u would've fallen ass over heels in #love too dont deny it now #just SOME OF US would actually do something abt that shit rather than sigh and yearn and crave and whatever tf that simp ass got up to #im joking btw but COME ON he's soo pretty i wouldn't have been strong enough to wait any time at all #im reading a fic where everyone is under a love spell over aziraphale and fall immediately in love w him the moment they look at him and im #just now realizing that's unironically how i'd act around him if he was real and that's embarrassing as shit #good omens #good omens s2 #azicrow #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable spouses #aziracrow

[blushweddinggowns]

Contrary to popular belief Eddie was no blushing virgin. Sure, the whole metal head mixed with nerd thing wasn't a cheerleader's cup of tea, but there was a certain type of Hawkins girl who dug the whole bad boy aesthetic, and even a few boys. He'd managed to get into the pants of more than one closeted jock over the years to know his way around the block, for men and women alike. 

So no, Eddie was no stranger to relationships, he had his fair share of partners over the years, and had even managed to be an alright boyfriend to a few of them. But even with all that, he had still been woefully unprepared for dating Steve Harrington. 

Maybe it was because he got to bear witness to him being a sexy badass who bit the head off of demons, or maybe it was because Steve turned out to be the sweetest guy on the face of the earth and saved him from literal hell, or maybe Eddie had just never expected to even get this far, but whatever the reason Eddie was obsessed with the guy, in a way he just wasn’t used to. He had been since Steve kissed him for the first time, or if he was being honest with himself, since he had that bottle to his throat. 

Besides the shallow fact that Eddie had never been this attracted to another person before, Steve was just so...fun. And he made such an effort to get to know all of Eddie’s nerd shit. Even if he was a snarky bitch more than half the time in their DnD sessions, Eddie didn’t miss how much he was paying attention to the plot, even if it was just to make fun of the kids' bad party decisions from the sidelines. And that wasn’t even mentioning how much he tolerated his music. Despite the fact that Eddie had fallen in love with a pop princess, Steve still let him blare his metal tapes in his car, and when he got Eddie Metillica tickets for his birthday, Eddie had nearly passed out. Steve just made him feel so…free. Free to be himself, in any way he wanted, with no worries that he would ever be too much for him. 

He liked to think that Steve felt the same way around him. The guy had Eddie doing shit he never would have even considered before he met. If Steve wanted to go on a hike, then Eddie was more than willing to risk experiencing the horrible, great outdoors, especially since Steve always gave him a piggyback ride at the last leg of the journey. If Steve wanted to be at one of Lucas’ games, then suddenly postponing Hellfire was no longer a big issue. If Steve was having the kind of bad day that only corny ABBA songs could fix, then Eddie would happily blare Dancing Queen in the van, his image be damned. 

It’s not like he had had low expectations in terms of dating Steve, he just…hadn’t expected to be so whipped so soon. He had known he was Steve's first boyfriend (and planned on being the last, if he had anything to say about it) so he kinda figured he would have had the edge here. But no, of course, Steve had him wrapped around his finger by the end of the first week and there was really nowhere else Eddie would rather be. 

But as wonderful as all of that was, loving Steve so fully led to some unexpected consequences. Like the fact that Eddie had become a possessive freak overnight. He was jealous, plain and simple, and it was constant.  He was jealous of every girl that made star eyes at his Steve at the checkout counter of Family Video, he was jealous of the way every Hawkins housewife shamelessly flirted with him at any of the kid's events, christ, he was even jealous of how easy Robin had it when it came to being affectionate with him in public. 

Kissing his cheek, holding his hand, their weird platonic soulmate relationship didn’t bother him, but he wanted to be able to do all of that too. If he could just start making out with Steve everytime someone even looked at him the wrong way, he wouldn’t have a problem, but their options were so limited in shitty Hawkins. Everything had to wait until they were alone and behind closed doors and Eddie hated it. He was lucky when they managed to even link pinkies in public, when in reality all he wanted to do was stamp a giant Property of Eddie Munson across Steve’s forehead. 

He was lucky that Steve hadn’t caught on yet, just how much Eddie wanted him all to himself. And Eddie wanted to keep it that way. The last thing he wanted was for Steve to think he didn’t trust him, not with how hard the guy worked to be sure Eddie was fully aware he was loved.

It wasn’t an issue of What if Steve finds someone better than me and leaves? But more of, If that bitch doesn’t stop touching my future husband I’m going to flip a table. But Eddie wasn’t going to risk even the chance of hurting Steve’s feelings over something so dumb.

Somehow Eddie Munson, the exonerated, drug dealer who lived in a trailer park, managed to bag the best man in the state of Indiana, and he was not going to ruin that over some stupid jealousy. Even if all he wanted to do right now was beat the shit out of the jackass who wouldnt stop trying to dance with his boyfriend.

They were on an overnight trip to Indianapolis for Robin’s birthday, which of course meant they had to go to a gay bar at her insistenace, “This could be my only chance to kiss a girl before college, we have to do it!”

And from the looks of Robin making out with random girl #2 at a booth, at least they accomplished that mission, but that didn’t stop the fact that Eddie was about five seconds away from being a wanted killer all over again. Steve, his perfect, lovely Steve was too captivating for his own good because no one would stop hitting on him in this place. They saw one look at his pastel sweater and soft hair and swarmed and Eddie felt like he’d been beating them away with a stick ever since. 

Though Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t like the feeling of chasing them away, because at least here, he could be all over his boyfriend, in anyway he wanted. And he didn’t hesitate to use it. Someone tries to chat Steve up at the bar? Eddie’s there with a hand around his waist and his lips on his temple. Someone tries to slip him their number at their booth? Eddie's in his lap and tosses it away. Someone's asking Steve dance? Eddie will pull him onto the floor before the words are even out of their mouth. And sure, maybe he’s going a little overboard, but Steve was tipsy enough to let it all slide, or if anything encourage it. 

It worked well enough to keep them all away, all but one. Eddie wasn’t sure what the dude’s problem was, but he had had his eyes on Steve the second they walked in the place. Very fratboy-esque, and not the type Eddie expected to see here, more like someone he’d expect to see on the cover of Erica’s teen magazines. 

The type that obviously wasn’t used to the word no. 

Eddie had been in the bathroom for less than five minutes, but that had been plenty enough time for that asshole to crowd Steve on the dancefloor. He watched as Steve pushed him away again. Robin was with him now at least, drunk and pissy enough to stick her tongue out at the guy as she draped herself over Steve’s shoulders. 

It was enough to make him retreat back to the bar, alone. Eddie followed, taking a seat next to him at the counter. The guy barely glanced at him, eyes still fixed on Steve.

“Got your eye on someone?” Eddie asked, casual as he ordered a beer. He reconginzed the song playing, and knew that the crescendo was deafening enough to be of use. 

He nodded in Steve’s direction, “You could say that.”

He wasn’t paying any attention to Eddie, not even as he snaked his hand closer to his, already getting the perfect angle, “Pretty sure that one’s taken.”

The guy scoffed, “A few more drinks in him and he won’t be able to tell the difference. That’s all I need.” 

Eddie’s eye twitched, all of his rationality flying out the window. The music was finally swelling, perfect timing for Eddie to do what he came for. He jerked the guy’s little finger back, the loud snap and surprised cry completely covered by the music. 

Eddie leaned in, hissing in his ear, “Y’know, you should really learn to watch your mouth in front of strangers.” 

He let his finger go, taking a sip of his beer as the guy sputtered at him, “Are you crazy?!”

“Yep,” Eddie shrugged, “And if you touch him again and I’ll break your fucking hand.” Honestly, if he so much as looked at Steve again he was going to smash his teeth in, the fucking creep. Eddie wasn’t sure what his face looked like with when he let that threat out, but it was enough to make the guy turn tale, speed-walking for the front door.

Eddie turned around, fully intent on joining Steve back on the dancefloor, when he was met face to face with the man himself. Steve stared at him mouth slack, probably because Eddie just went full psycho on a stranger. 

Eddie froze, mind racing as he tried to think of what to say here, but Steve was already grabbing his hand and dragging Eddie out through the back door. He stopped when they were outside, crowding Eddie against the wall.

Eddie swallowed, trying to say something, “Stevie-” 

Eddie barely got a word out before Steve was kissing him, pressing him against the wall with a moan. Eddie’s brain short-circuited for half a second before he was pulling Steve closer. So not mad then. 

“God, that was hot,” Steve panted against his lips, “Love it when you get all jealous.”

Eddie pulled away to blink at him, not quite sure if he heard that right, “You do?”

Steve nodded, moving to start kissing at Eddie’s neck, “Mmhm, even at home, when you get all touchy and pissy over girls. You’re too fucking cute man, it kills me.”

Eddie grinned, heart full as Steve attacked his neck. All that worrying, for absolutely nothing. Because of course Steve just got it, “I’m so fucking glad you’re mine baby.”

Steve giggled against his throat,“Good, because there’s nothing I love more than being yours.”

Eddie groaned, chasing back after Steve’s mouth. 

Maybe jealousy wasn’t such a bad thing afterall. 

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #I know jealous beating people up aint it but this aint reality so we good #I've tried to post this twice before and it broke the whole ass app for me idk how technology works #last time I'm trying! #the chad eddie being destoryed by boy virgin steve #that sounded funnier in my head #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #you'll pry my insanely long posts out of my cold dead hands

[explodingstarlight]

all thoughts, head full

(psst you should check out this de!aged Donnie au by @snailsnaps 👉👈)

#*scuttling through the dash* no one can stop me im outta control #it's hard being a teen genius with a child's physical limitations #sleep? more like the vibe check from god for your hubris #fucking around and finding out #he eepy #good luck little man- i mean big man 😃 #it's a good thing he's a fictional construct or he'd kick my ass for these tags 😌✌️ #im not sorry #alphastage rise #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #explodingstar art #my art #rottmnt fic rec #de aged donnie #turtle tots #kinda #rise donnie #rottmnt donatello #tmnt #donatello #rise of the tmnt #work doodles on my phone

[lovesickeros]

can.. can I ask for an affectionate reader with characters who aren’t normally like… used to the love? like, not just through words but physical affection like hand-holding, kisses, hugs, all that shebang. probably with a few people like yelan, ei, basically any character that is either cut-off from society or seems socially distant or isolated. 😞

☆ affectionate reader with yelan, ei, & furina

[ 4.2 Archon Quest spoilers ]

× yelan

Varies between how you display your affection, to be honest. Just like being affectionate with people? She's cool with it as long as you don't pop by while she's working (mostly because she'll end up dragging you into it for a bit of fun). I don't think she's all that touchy feely herself, but she'll absolutely get you gifts instead– like pretty knick nacks? She'll make sure to snag any she thinks you might like. Like a good meal? Sure, she'll take you out to one of the restaurants in the city, doesn't matter how expensive. Her treat. If you do prefer physical gifts rather then being taken out, you'll eventually get used to the random unmarked letters and packages showing up where your staying pretty often. It's obvious to know who it came from even if she never signs anything.

Flirty reader, though? Whole nother can of worms and now it's a challenge. The more confident you are the more interested she is. The other acolytes would absolutely seethe at the idea but she has no hesitation at just straight up flirting back– she's as charismatic as they come and she's got a poker face that's basically impenetrable. She'll probably also make a bet to see who cracks first (she always wins, unsurprisingly). Probably won't get dragged into any of her schemes this way but if you ask politely maybe she'll consider it, anyway.

The smell of freshly brewed tea and the clatter of dice across wood was a common sight at the Yanshang Teahouse– less common was the woman secluded in the far corner, her lips pulled into a grin that flashed fangs and a look that would scare off the most confident of men.

She'd normally try to scope out any new blood that'd made the mistake of stepping into her teahouse and was equally stupid enough to accept a gamble against her just for the thrill of it, but she was far too absorbed in the warm body at her side, one of her die clasped tightly in their hand as she guided them through the motions– they had a knack for it, she had to admit. The thought made her preen, the clatter of the die as it rolled across the table giving her that subtle, familiar rush.

Even if she knew exactly where it'd land.

"Six. Hm, maybe you're just lucky," She muses, plucking the die from the table and holding it up to her eye like a prized jewel, "Or maybe you're not as innocent as you'd have us believe." There's a sharp glint in her eyes at the prospect, but everyone else has the sense to keep their heads down and their words to themselves as she tosses the die herself.

"So why don't we find out and make a bet, just between you and me?"

× ei

Varies between Ei and the Shogun, because you'll probably be seeing either as much as the other. Sometimes you gotta really squint to tell who it is sometimes, but you get used to it. Both are fairly similar, though, in that their first instinct (especially in public) is to tense up like you're about to attack them or something. Difference is Ei eventually relaxes after a solid minute of trying to process your sudden affection and, if no one else is around, she might even reciprocate. Just don't tease her for being a little stiff and awkward about it, she's trying. That's what happens when your only company is a robot and uh. Nothing. For like 500 years. She's trying. Raiden, on the other hand, is just about as awkward as you can imagine. She's polite (blunt) about it because Ei is fond of you and also you are. The Creator. But she's not really built to deal with personal relationships and so she doesn't know how to deal with affection.

..Depending on what you do you may or may not blue screen Ei hard enough that she retreats back to PoE

Ei usually isn't fond of sitting still, unless it's to meditate. At least then she goes in with a purpose, something to achieve– but now, she's just focused on trying not to make a fool of herself. Her muscles are starting to ache from how hard she's tensing, though, in an effort to sit as straight and still as possible as their hands glide through her hair, weaving it into a single braid.

She can just barely hear the subtle lilt of their voice as they hum– and though it is soothing, it is also..very distracting. She can't focus long enough to try and meditate, too lost in the gentle rise and fall of their voice and the care they take to braid her hair. If she'd had a heart, she'd sure it'd be beating so wildly against her ribcage they could hear it.

But then it stops– their hands fall back to their sides and their humming falters. She freezes, too, racking her brain for any slights she must have committed. Instead, she is met with a calm, tender touch on the back of her neck, making her inhale sharply.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Ei? You're so tense.." She has to grit her teeth to stop herself from bowing so low her head presses against the ground, her hands folded in her lap, clenching instinctively. "..No, Divine One." She answers simply, trying to contain the adoration swelling in her chest.

Yet as much as she tries to relax, to ease their worries, she finds that she cannot.

"Hm." That small murmur, a simple sound that nearly made her jump, was the only warning she got before they scooted closer, wrapping their arms around her stomach and resting their chin on her shoulder with a grin she would liken to Miko's, if she dared to make such a comparison. "Really?"

She swears she must've been feverish at the affection, lightheaded and dazed until she thought she might simply perish at the brush of their hands against her own.

Much to her embarrassment, however, she doesn't realize she's instinctively pulled back into Plane of Euthymia until she sees the familiar dull purples engulf her vision once again.

Though only a small solace, it seemed a little..brighter, this time.

× furina

Varies between pre 4.2 and post 4.2 archon quests to be honest.

Pre 4.2 she comes off as very vain– of course the most Divine would see fit to spoil her with affection! She deserves it, and is obviously their favorite! Just don't look too hard because she's terrible at hiding how flustered she actually is. Absolutely goes home right after and screams into her pillow for at least thirty minutes minimum.

Post 4.2 she's a lot more openly bashful and flustered. She's really not used to affection and even the smallest show of it has her folding immediately. Now that she doesn't need to worry about being found out she's a lot more receptive to affection. Cup her cheeks and compliment her and her knees are buckling. Like. Especially weak for compliments and praise (she deserves it. please spoil her).

She swears she must be hallucinating– she had been having trouble sleeping recently. But..no. The visage of the Creator was as real as the sweat beading on her brow as she stared at them for a long, awkward moment. Should..she let them in? But then they'd see the pathetic state she was in, and the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself in front of them-!

Her choice was quickly made for her, anyway, as she let out an undignified squeak of surprise when they suddenly tugged her forward into their chest, enclosing her in a hug.

Her first reaction was to freeze– her second was becoming absolutely flustered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink and her mouth closing and opening as she tried to find her words.

"I– ah..um." She stumbled over her words instead, floundering like a fish out of water. Yet she felt a distinct sense of emptiness wash over her when they finally pulled back, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry, sorry– you just looked like you needed a hug."

The silence spoke for itself, her shoulders tensing slightly. But the way the concern and affection bled through their voice made her waver, her hands trembling as she let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sigh.

"It's..It's fine! Fine, I'm fine." She repeated, trying desperately to ignored the way her voice cracked and how hot her face felt– though it was more an attempt to affirm herself that she was not thinking about how warm they felt, how much she..actually enjoyed the hug. She wasn't thinking about it all! Absolutely not!

..Maybe a little.

"Just warn me next time, please?"

#asks #sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #yelan #furina #ei #THIS DIDNT SHOW UP IN MY INBOX UNTIL LIKE #NOVEMBERBIM SORRY IM ANSERRING IT SO LATE?????? #tumblr working right is a miracle that will never happen #anyway can u tell i have. biases. there r so many characters I wanted to write for this (shenhe.........) but I forced myself to limit it #to 4 for my own sanity and everyones elses #also didnt know if u wanted just yan or sagau so I went for my specialty 🧍‍♂️ #was gonna include my beloved cryo archon but decided against it #ei the pathetic lesbian that u r....mwah #I'm sorry this took so long it took me 50 yrs to figure out yelan.. 😭 #i am still not confident abt my characterization of her but shes so good at her job even im confused abt her #reading her lore crying and sobbing in the corner. shaking her like a can of soda #checks note idk uhh cocky doesnt let herself form personal relationships charismatic uhhhhhhhh #idk dont ask me i just started praying and hoping for the best here #i think she'd get a kick out of getting reader into like. fudging rolls and shit. create an absolute menace out of reader #set them loose and see what chaos happens #just kicks back and watches it all unfold internally laughing her ass off #i didnt know whether to just do headcanons in uh. bulleted list or like #full on drabbles

[mamawasatesttube]

hi im lost in the kon & clark + kon & the kents sauce today.

thinkin about how clark takes him to live with ma and pa shortly after "our worlds at war" - after kon has lost guardian, and now mickey and dubbilex and everyone he knew at cadmus has vanished and left him on his own. after he's been used and discarded by knockout, tana, and rex leech. he's not even two years old and there is a whole list of adults who he relied on and who he's already lost because, as he believes, of his own inability to be what they needed him to be. he wasn't savvy enough to realize rex was using him for money, he wasn't heroic enough to save knockout from herself, he wasn't mature enough for tana to love him, he wasn't good enough of a superhero to prevent guardian from being killed in the leadup to everything with apokolips...

anyway, what i'm getting at is that he's used to nearly all of his relationships with adults having a time limit, and to being left alone to fend for himself when that time limit runs out. so, uh, the first time he has any sort of argument with clark, or clark expresses any frustration with him...

which, imo, is extremely possible because, like. kon's an impulsive kid who doesn't always listen to others or ask for help when he needs it (partly because he's so used to fending for himself!) and clark definitely has a protective streak, and i think it'd frustrate clark that kon didn't even tell him he had nowhere to go after cadmus went underground. like he gets that kon's got issues but also Please For The Love Of God. People Who Love You Want To Help You But You Have To Tell Them You Need Help. he wants to help and protect kon but kon doesn't even realize the things he's gone through are fucked up and that he shouldn't have had to deal with them, let alone on his own. suggesting that he should lean on others would make him bristle. and he definitely doesn't want to be a bother or a burden on superman.

so it's a point of contention but like, the love is there. it's a point of contention BECAUSE the love is there.

anyway i'm just thinking of the first time clark tries to talk to kon about opening up and asking for help and telling him or ma or pa or lois when something is up, and kon getting mad at him because he can handle himself and he's not incompetent, and clark being like that's not what i'm trying to say at all, i'm plenty competent and i lean on people when i need to and so should you. but kon's a traumatized and headstrong teenager who doesn't want to hear it, even (especially) from his idol, and clark gets a little frustrated, and then kon ??? stops arguing and just gets really disproportionately upset out of the blue??? and shuts down and then runs off??? and clark doesn't understand what happened exactly but clearly SOMETHING is wrong. figures he'll give kon some space and talk to him again in the evening when he's had a chance to cool off.

instead not even an hour later martha kent hollers for clark to get over to kansas and explain his side of things because she KNOWS the boy she and jonathan raised would Never have told kon he's sick of cleaning up his messes and wants him out of his parents' house and might even be planning to take his name back from him. (clark, hearing this: HE THINKS I WHAT???????? D: D: D:)

(ma sent pa to check on kon when he didn't come down for dinner and pa found him sniffling and stuffing clothes into a suitcase. he said clark hadn't told him to get out yet but it was only a matter of time. they are gonna have a nice long family heart-to-heart and at the end of it pa is going to have to talk ma down from hunting down rex leech with a shotgun.)

anyway kon gets a Really good family group hug that he TOTALLY doesn't cry about (he's cool as a cucumber about it!! really!!) and gets whacked across the head with a boatload of affirmations and reassurances that even if any of them ever argue, his place here and his name and status as part of the family are never going to be in question. (ma wants the shotgun again when he seems genuinely surprised by this.) it might even be the origin of them coming up with "conner kent". a second name just for him, as part of clark's family on earth too.

i am just. so not immune to stories about a little guy who's not used to having a family Getting A Family you know?????

#rimi talks #rambles #its a fic idea technically but i still want to workshop it more. its about how kon is 16 and not good at healthy communication #hes a kid who's used to being a commodity first and foremost not a kid and it fucks with his perceptions of his relationships esp w adults #also for the record i do think martha kent should be allowed to go after rex leech with her shotgun if she so desires #but mostly its about kon getting a big family group hug. you know his touch-starved ass will cry #kon #clark #ma kent #pa kent

[access-point]

i like that the reason any of us write jaskier as capable and strong and able to hold his own is because of joey and his clearly built figure because if you read the books, dandelion is about as useful as a wet napkin

#im reading the books now and i cannot fucking get over it #''i know everything now'' ''you know fuck all dandelion'' WEEPING #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher jaskier #the witcher dandelion #dandelion #the witcher netflix #the witcher books #joey batey #in my most recent fic i wrote jaskier fighting with a sword but dandelion?? dandelion would bloody well NOT ToT ToT ToT #dandelion ''i had him right where i wanted him'' face ass #i still hc that dandelion can use a sword but he just... wont. hes the damsel helloo #like dont get me wrong he's still the sandpiper and a redanian spy and all that cool competent shit he does #but everytime anything happens in the books he starts crying out for geralt like a midwife im in love with him #hes good at what he does but hes very. limp wrist about it yknow