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#its a bit out of character for me to be that consistent but I suppose the routine element is important

honeytonedhottie · 4 months

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getting it together⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍡

it feels GOOD to have all ur assignments done. to actively pursue ur dreams and goals. to be consistent and in turn -> see results. it feels good to give meaning to ur time and experience sustained satisfaction. this post will give an overview/guide of the BASICS of getting it together. that way whenever u get off track (cuz we're all human) u can easily reference this and get it TOGETHER.

SLEEP SCHEDULE - how does ur sleep schedule look? is it all over the place? fix it. the plan is to get between the range of 8-10 hours of sleep every single night (yes even on the weekends) and to wake up no later than 8 in the morning.

i recommend formulating a "get ready for bed" routine. mine is set with a soothing playlist, a cup of tea, and copious time for self care and meditating on my manifestations. ur night time routine is customizable to YOU, however the goal is to get away from screens or anything that'll tempt you to stay up at unhealthy hours.

THE MORNING ROUTINE - i think that the most influential and important time of the day is the morning. bcuz for me that sets the mood of my whole entire day, so i take my mornings SERIOUSLY and i think you should too.

for me in the morning, i do a light pilates workout/stretch to get my blood pumping, and i feel like it gives me such a boost of energy and sets the mood for the whole day so if u haven't tried i rly recommend working out in the morning. however since this post is for when you've gotten off track start SMALL. a short 5-10 minute stretch or pilates routine is more than enough.

THE IMPORTANCE OF GETTING READY - and i'll STAND ON THIS. even if ur not going anywhere at all that day, make an effort to get ready. make casual glamor a HABIT. getting ready is like, the best part of my day. its so therapeutic, something about the meticulous attention and the amount of time that i pour into myself it feels AMAZING. when u look good -> you feel good

A TO DO LIST - plan out ur week, plan out ur day, ur month. make a super cute calendar or agenda so that way you can get ur tasks done. im someone who needs super detailed instructions of what TO do, so when ik what im supposed to do i can get it done and i can get it done well. and instead of thinking of it as a to-do list, think of it as like a quest or something. tasks that u need to do and then -> you get something in return

ik it sounds rly dumb but sometimes when theres a mundane task that i know i must do, i imagine that im like a SIMS character who has no choice. or i imagine myself as a video game character who is doing it as a task cuz its part of the game. the point of me sharing that hot tip is to make it FUN for yourself. give urself something to look forward to afterwards too. like an episode of ur favorite drama, or a sweet treat.

CLEAN UP - a cluttered space = a cluttered mind. take 20 minutes aside everyday to tidy up so that then u can avoid the day-long cleaning on the weekend and actually enjoy it. when ur space is neat and organized, so is ur mind and it translates to how u view/respect urself. u show that you respect urself when u dwell in a place that it is neat and tidy.

PROPEL YOURSELF - when i've been rotting for a couple days, my go-to routine to propel myself back into my usual swing is : shower (an everything shower is a bit ambitious so go for it if u want) -> drink a COLDDD large glass of water -> do the process of getting ready and then do at least 3 tasks and 2 smaller tasks)

#self concept #it girl #becoming that girl #self care #self love #that girl #it girl energy #honeytonedhottie #dream life #dream girl #dream girl tips #self development #wellness girlie #girl blogger #girly #dolly #pink pilates princess #green juice girl #put together

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iloveyouemanuelmarco · 1 month

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I don't understand how Vivziepop still has a fanbase anymore that unironically still supports her after all the scenarios of controversy where she brushes it off as petty internet drama from "petty envious antis" atleast before she runs off into her crowd of chronically online and discourse obsessed problematic adults on any social media platform(Mostly Twitter to be specific but still)who are just a group of yes-men for her to use to attack not even only children on the interwebs who just happen to be uncomfortable with the fandom she's cultivated over her career of a wannabe artist and animator, but other adults too who by the way are somewhat consisting of survivors of abuse, rape, are LGBTQIA+, BIPOC, neurodivergent/disabled and possibly more. It honestly makes me sad as it does angry because the concept of the show isn't that crazily impossible in my opinion atleast and it could of had so much potential to do way better if not only the obvious subject matters were treated with much more care in an attempt to rework the scripts but also if Viv didn't do half of the stuff she did just a bad person in general. Like...is that really the best you can do for your fanbase???You cannot be not-joking atleast a little bit when you're telling me that apparently not only are children not being stopped from engaging with an 18+ rated show(even though the amount of vulgar language is done so poorly that it could pass of as your average failed Newgrounds animation), but that they're literally being encouraged to interact with the fandom???Are you out of your mind???Don't even get me started on the other stuff that you all probably already know about such as the blatant mockery of S.A., abusive relationship dynamics, hypersexuality in victims of said scenarios that happen irl, having other such "jokes" including some sort of rapey scene at all and having someone who actively and openly supports "non-con" fiction???!!!! What is wrong with you people??And apparently I have to share the home of the beautiful planet Earth with these idiots choosing to have the cognitive dissonance and brain function of an almost-empty and dusty old peanut...Along with the fact that the woman herself treats her animators at Spindlehorse Productions(her studio I suppose)like utter dog-dung, she has proven to drag anyone who defies her problematic and dare I say dangerous behavior through the mud and gets away with it all because of her stans/fans making her the "face of independent animation/indie animators". I honestly feel so awful for those who may have genuinely looked up to her at one point, atleast not knowing how much of a horrible person she was behind the scenes of the computer screen but its whatever anyways I guess. If any aspiring makers of cartoons or comics(LGBTQIA+/BIPOC/Disabled preferred) would like to promote the stuff they male down below in my comments section than feel free☆. It's the least anyone can do under the storm that's being made and has happened for such a long time ughh. The project should have been attempted a little more to be prevented from the confines of those echo-chambery and gross parts of fandom-centric social media communities and It's so discouraging how long this has been going on too, but hey. She's the lady that unironically made a literal pedo character that she attempted to present as a villain while just having the original character end up as a sort of "cool af bad-girl aesthetic uwu" character. Oh my fucking God please stop at once I swear to the highest Heavens and the deepest, most darkest depths of Hell(Ironic).

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shattersstar · 1 year

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bound

pairing: vampire x reader

summary: He supposed this was his true home, not the house he had kept himself locked in, but the wooden box with your picture in it. Dutifully kept under his pillow, bringing you to the land of dreams with him—if he could dream. It was a bitter punishment for the life he lived, the transgression—sin—he supposed would be held against the two of you. For how he wanted you more than anything, how he would tear whole cities to shreds at your behest and let the hunters who lurked in your town meet his fangs if you so desired. It was gluttony, to take eternal life and still want more.

warning: horror-ish elements, blood mention., religious undertones (aka general vampire themes/concepts)

a/n: i have so much to say about this lil piece of writing omg okay, i wrote this back in May i believe around the time i was reading we have always lived in the castle and it Shows. its lowkey fantasy which is not like anything i write but the horror-ish vibes r pretty consistent with my original stuff. it is heavily inspired by a lot of the vampire media ive consumed too though even if its not based on one particular character. i have been thinking about it since i wrote it and while im a bit ehhh about posting something original i quite literally have nothing else to share and as i said before y’all keeping i’d still eat the fruit in my notifs is so :)))) so this is a thank you to y’all and a Step back into writing for me hopefully. ramble aside enjoy ! feedback and comments r always appreciated

—

It had rained, no—poured, stormed, hailed, cried, screamed. It had swept in during the day, white noise to him as he slept, while it greeted you during breakfast. The clouds wept over the lands in what felt like divine punishment. It was as if nature or something higher than that was against him, accosting or trying to stop him. As he stood at the edge of the great forest, rain pelting the top of his head he assumed there was nothing greater than nature. Not even him. There was nothing higher nor more humbling. God could spite someone, but nature enacted it. It flooded your sleepy town and even sleepier forest and he was on the other side. Confined to his home until the storm cleared and the sun rose.

He would not be graced with your presence yet again and he tried to ignore the call to change you, to have his fangs pierce your skin and his blood run across your tongue. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself of the hurt it brought and he would never cause that for his love. His dearest who lived on the other side of the forest he was unable to cross. His icy glare moved along the border, not even noticing the rain drenching his billowing black cloak anymore. Somewhere in the forest a branch snapped and animals chattered.

He would live for eternity, he could wait for you. It was his resolution before heading back to his home in the woods and trying not to be angry, to let fury run through his long dead veins and restart his stilled heart. If anything—anyone—could, he knew it was you.

He followed the path compacted over the years of those travelling to stare at his home, humans daring each other to go near it, but never following through when the windows shuddered and a figure moved past one of them like a ghost. Times had changed, but people were as superstitious as ever. They saw his decayed and rotted home and prescribed evil to it. It was overrun with vines, leaves would not grow on them. Even in spring. They stayed black, and gnarled, tightening their hold in his house each season. Thorns protruding from some of the thicker vines, protecting him it seemed. You had noted that, staring at his wondrous home with bright eyes.

It was in a clearing in the forest, grey stone withered away and swallowed by nature. It still stood strong, the outside a grotesque picture that did not reflect the inside. Oil lamps and lighting fixtures alike lit the space from the inside out. It warmed the walls, revealing the deep brown wood panelling that made up the older parts of the house. The stairs were still the original wood, a grand staircase that greeted no one, but him and you these days.

Many of the rooms upstairs had been closed off, sheets gently placed over the old furniture and doors closed forever. He had no need for such space, other vampires stopped visiting when hunters started lingering in your town. You had told him of your many encounters, most were smart enough to stay out the forest, but they still killed many of his kind. Finding them in their carriages amongst the cars rolling down the freshly paved roads. Horses killed along with whoever dwelled inside. They saw themselves as vigilantes, but you had told him most of your town considered them a nuisance. Urban men thinking they can save the more rural lands that bordered their great cities. Cities that forgot the magic that once thrived in places like the forest.

“Their thinking of building a highway through it, connecting us to other towns or one of the bigger cities.” You had explained one day, sitting in his lap and letting him hold you. He hummed, long fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater. You placed your warm hand over his and leaned further into his chest. He asked you to let him hold you and you had obliged like always.

He kept those memories in mind, the soft questions he would extend your way and how you listened so dutifully. May I hold you? Will you lay with me? Come walk through the cellar? Can I drink your—

His fist slammed against his dinning room table, nearly snapping it in two as a crack ran jagged through the centre of the chestnut coloured wood. His fangs were out, nails morphed into claws dug into his skin and blood dripped into the crack. He stared at it, muscles in his face twitching as he waited for it to end. Waited for the creature in him to return to laying dormant and his own clear, sound mind to return. Though he supposed it was never very clear or sound anymore, not when you had burrowed inside of him and promised to never leave. And as if his thoughts beckoned you themselves, the old telephone in his study rang. It’s shrill scream echoed through the quiet house, though the ring was discordant, snapping in two halfway through its loop and screeching a pitch higher. The noise made his pointed ears twitch and with a swoop of his cloak he was in his study. He answered it on the normal ring, cutting it off right before it went off tone.

He held the phone to his ear, but waited to speak. “Hello?” You asked, your voice soft and worried. You’d never called him before—truthfully he had no idea this phone even worked.

“Hello my love.” He returned, and you breathed out a happy sigh.

“Oh my god, hi! I found this number in some old directory—phone book thing,” You explained with an airy giddiness that he wished to share, “I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but…” You trailed off and he was smiling fondly into the receiver.

“I have missed you.”

“I miss you too, I hate this weather I can never get through the forest when its so rainy.”

“I know.”

“Maybe they should build a highway through it, I could hitchhike my way to see you.” You laughed, but he turned somber. Industrialization finally touching the sacred land of the forest didn’t sit right within him. It may be the great divider that kept him away from you, but it was his home. A highway felt like you were asking to be swept away, to a new town or bigger city that he could not adventure too. He could ask you to stay—he knew you’d oblige—but it was not his place to keep you here. “Is your phone one of those spin, dial ones?” You asked suddenly, breaking through the tension he hadn’t meant to create.

“A rotary phone?” He corrected with a ghost of a grin, “Yes it is.”

“I want to see it when I come over again.”

“And so you will.” It was quiet again and he hadn’t noticed the tears running down his face. He didn’t know he was able to cry anymore.

“I love you.” You whispered, holding your cellphone close, likely curled up in bed and staring out your window at the rain and the forest beyond it.

“I love you dearest.” His voice did not betray the sadness building in him. “Sleep beloved, I will see you soon.”

“Yes, I’m gonna come see you and your rotary phone.” You laughed, forced and watery.

“Soon.”

“Soon.” You repeated, and hung up. He kept the black phone, laced with intricate gold details, to his ear for a moment longer. He had heard your voice at least and could sleep. He moved through his home, snuffing out candles and flicking off switches before finding the one room without windows. A coffin laid on the floor, dark brown and glistening with the finish that had been applied centuries ago.

He supposed this was his true home, not the house he had kept himself locked in, but the wooden box with your picture in it. Dutifully kept under his pillow, bringing you to the land of dreams with him—if he could dream. It was a bitter punishment for the life he lived, the transgression—sin—he supposed would be held against the two of you. For how he wanted you more than anything, how he would tear whole cities to shreds at your behest and let the hunters who lurked in your town meet his fangs if you so desired.

It was gluttony, to take eternal life and still want more.

Though it was hard to think of such evil things when looking at your face, he had taken the photo while you were on the roof. Wind had wiped your clothes into a frenzy and you laughed as the night sky twinkled behind you. He had taken it and was surprised when you’d given it to him only a few days later. He had kept up with modern technology as well as he could, but there was always something so magical about photographs to him. He collected hundreds over his life time, faces he knew and others he didn’t. Organized neatly into a collection of books, which he’d let you look through on occasion. He showed you photos from the many lives he’s lived, something about them bringing warmth rushing to your face.

He was always so devastatingly beautiful, regal and hypnotic across all eras. Yet, he couldn’t focus on the kind words that bubbled from your lips as the rushing of the blood under your skin nearly shattered something inside of him. His fangs threatened to meet your skin, but with calculated focus he reigned in his hunger. It was hard at first—you were the only human he had been around in decades—but he did it for love.

Everything he did was for love, it was his reason for existence it seemed. You had other reasons for your claim to life, but to him? You were all he had, the only reason to not let the sun engulf him or let a hunter kill him. He could not break your heart until you broke his. He let that thought dwell in his mind as sleep overtook him just as the sun rose and the rain ended. Its incessant pitter patter had ceased and he somehow dreamt of you standing golden in the forest and beckoning him closer.

He woke up to your face—maybe it wasn’t a dream—as you crouched next to his coffin. Maybe he had finally died and you were welcoming him to where God decided to send him. If you were there it couldn’t be hell. Could it be?

“My love—“ Your hand pressed to his chest, keeping him still. “It’s still daytime, sleep okay?” You whispered, hand moving to his jaw and cradling his face in your palm for a moment. “I’ll be back in a sec okay, I just need to change.” He nodded against you, kissing your hand before you let him reside in darkness. He had caught a glimpse of your pants caked in mud and could smell the blood from your skinned palms. Despite the slick terrain it seemed you ventured through the forest to see him. It made his chest shudder and for a moment he thought you had actually restarted his heart.

It was only a few minutes later when you were carefully opening his coffin again, now dawning a loose fitting silk shirt that made his red eyes alight with something wild. You had cleaned your scrapes and mud off your skin, smelling faintly of rain water and the lavender soap you gifted him. You stepped over him, nestling against his side and letting him enclose the two of you. One of his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your head rested on his chest, knuckles grazing over your hair while you stretched an arm across his torso. Your legs intertwined with his long ones and you let out a breathy sigh.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, and while you likely couldn’t see as thing, he could see you perfectly. You shook your head no against his chest, yawning into the fabric of his shirt.

“I just wanted to see you.” You murmured, chin resting in his chest as you made hit best attempt at eye contact in the blackness. “I saw the dining room table, are you okay?” You asked, somehow staring through him in the darkness. He offered his hand instead of finding the words in his throat, slowly unravelling his fist to reveal a mark free palm. He wasn’t sure you understand what he meant or if your eyes adjusted enough yet, until you carefully closed it once again, kissing his knuckles and placed your hand over his. You both were silent for a moment, until you looked up at him again and breathed, “You’re all I want.”

“And you’re all I have.” He held you closer, watching a grin pull at the corner of your lips. He was sure it was that devotion, obsession even, with you that would bring about his downfall. Centuries old and all powerful, but reduced to nothing without you. His strength and knowledge meant nothing if he didn’t have you to share it with.

And you could not stand your stagnant life in a town full of people who wished his kind dead. You chose a trek through the forest during the twilight hours of the morning to see him, bringing him soft kisses and silk under his hands as you let your mouth meet his. You kissed him with all the exhaustion and lethargy wrapped up in the two of you, molasses slow kisses that were just as sweet. It was how you fell asleep, lips to his neck and head tucked under his chin before your warm breathed puffed across his pale skin. He fell asleep not long after, engulfing you in his embrace, his cloak draping over your frame as he decided home was where you asked him to be.

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alastorsfuckassbob · 3 months

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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.

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indigovigilance · 7 months

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The Erasure of Human!Metatron

The elephant in the room is that Neil has [purportedly] denied the existence of a human Metatron. But I, for one, think an elephant really ties the room together. So let's get started.

First, I will address Neil Gaiman’s apparent denial of the Human!Metatron storyline (below the cut):

Caption: The Metatron in Good Omens wasn't ever human.

Which would seem to put the debate to bed.

Except.

Caption: That’s not really his father. It is. It is now, and it always was.

By Adam renouncing Satan as his father, we have in-story canon evidence that the past can be retroactively changed. So a storyline past can be divergent from an in-world past which has been modified. But only to a degree, because Aziraphale and Crowley clearly remember that Adam ~was~ Satan’s son, and Adam still retains some residual powers. Like pencil marks on paper, the past can be erased, but the shadow of its former self will always be there. But if that's not enough for you, there's also...

Lucifer!Satan

Neil Gaiman has also been pretty consistent with this characterization about the non-existence of the past in other characters, for example Lucifer!Satan:

Basically (not to be rude), if you think that these statements can be taken to mean that we will definitely not get a story about Enoch aka Human!Metatron in S3, you have fundamentally misunderstood how time, history, and identity work in Neil Gaiman’s Good Omens universe.

So what Neil said about Metatron never being human… can we just collectively set that aside for a moment?

Caption: Work with me, I’m extrapolating here. Yes? Good. Read the rest of the meta.

Evidence of Human!Metatron

Now that we have established that a former, no-longer-existing version of Metatron could have been human, let’s examine the in-world evidence. The best direct evidence is:

Caption: I’ve ingested things in my time, you know.

This is weirdly important in the Book of Enoch. Food is mentioned in the Book of Enoch at least fourteen times, and consistently it is associated with being human, and having earthly desires, and subsequently with sin, whereas the angels are described as not needing to eat food but instead being nourished by faith alone. Enoch!Metatron’s own relationship with food is also explicitly elucidated:

Enoch answered to his son Mathosalam (and) said: Hear, child, from the time when the Lord anointed me with the ointment of his glory, (there has been no) food in me, and my soul remembers not earthly enjoyment, neither do I want anything earthly.

I propose that "in my time" is a direct reference to Metatron's prior existence as a human, and the fact that this time is over serves to underscore his current inhumanity, making him all the more sinister.

Other Evidence Pointing to Book of Enoch

This next bit is somewhat dubious evidence, but the entire reason I wound up investigating this is that I was actually investigating Baraqiel:

…and for the God-fearing life of me, I cannot find any reference to Baraqiel except in the Book of Enoch. So this is a pretty big ✨Clue✨ to just leave hanging out there if it’s not supposed to lead us to this text.

The Scottish Mason

Okay guys, this the part where it all comes unhinged, but I promise the payoff is worth it.

The Book of Enoch was recovered from Ethiopia in 1773 by a Scottish explorer named James Bruce, who also happened to be a Mason. In 1774, upon his return, he was made a Fellow of The Royal Society of Edinburgh. And if this quote doesn’t get you, I don’t know what will:

Amazingly, Bruce brings back not just one copy, nor two, but three! Three copies of this text, which was previously thought to have been lost to the West forever. This inevitably led to all kinds of accusations as to where he had come by them, and more importantly how? Add to this that Bruce was a Mason in one of the most influential lodges, a Bruce descendant, and an imposing physical figure and 6 feet 4 inches tall, with dark red hair and an irascible temper, it is no wonder that so much excitement and mystery surrounded the man. [source]

So, you know, this guy:

In summary:

There are reasons that we should be looking to the Book of Enoch, and the story surrounding its reintroduction to the Western world, as source evidence for Good Omens S3.

If you enjoyed this, you may also like my meta on Baraqiel and Azazel, which draws upon the Book of Enoch.

My original (in retrospect, kind of terrible) Metatron meta is here.

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens 2 #the metatron #metatron #book of enoch #crowley #satan #lucifer #baraqiel #book of life #ivoc #erasure theory

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flightfoot · 9 months

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Miraculous movie review

Just watched the movie. Overall, I'm pretty mixed on it. There were some things I thought it did well and others I thought it was pretty poor at, especially with how the constraints of its runtime meant it couldn't build relationships as well. Ultimately, I prefer the show, though the movie definitely had some things going for it.

More details below the break, warning there will be SPOILERS below.

What I liked about the movie:

It had some really nice music and song sequences, they were my favorite part of the movie! I thought the singing was top-notch, and I loved the visuals they brought out for them, even if it was clearly non-diagetic most of the time. I adore musicals and sadly there haven't been enough of them lately.

The movie was more consistent with its tone and theming than the show usually is. Granted, that's a LOT easier to do in a single movie than in a show spanning 100+ episodes over seven years. They really leaned into the "Marinette has low self-confidence and just considers herself a useless mess who causes disasters all the time, so she needs to learn that she IS capable and heroic."

This movie BELONGED to Ladynoir, specifically with the song sequences with both of them, I adored them singing duets and dancing together.

ADRIEN GOT TO FIND OUT GABRIEL WAS HAWK MOTH AND REALLY REACT TO IT. Gabriel gave a genuine, heartfelt apology for everything, and gave up when he realized he'd been hurting his son. Since this version of Gabriel had only been avoiding Adrien out of grief and hadn't seemed to ever go out of his way to hurt him or subjugate him, Adrien forgiving him worked, I thought. This version of Gabriel jives nicely with most Gabenath fics I've read.

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What I didn't like about the movie:

While I enjoyed the song sequences the most, they did feel kind of jarring with the rest of the movie, especially since Marinette and Adrien had different voice actors for the singing parts.

Adrien's and Marinette's relationship was barely developed in the Adrienette dynamic. I was actually surprised when Ladybug told Chat that her heart belonged to someone else, given that she'd only had like, two scenes with him as a civilian? And neither one was THAT meaningful. The library scene was nowhere NEAR the level of the umbrella scene.

This movie had beautiful music... for the singing parts. But then they tried to bring out the opening chords of "Careless Whisper" for some bits that were supposed to be romantic and... yeah no, that didn't work at all. It felt like a parody. The show uses its OST WAY better, especially "In The Rain".

While this movie emphasized the Ladynoir dynamic, it didn't actually work for me? It was nice to see them sparring, but I didn't like their actual interactions - mostly because of how Chat was portrayed.

Which leads to a point about Chat: he got done dirty here, with his over-the-top bravado getting to the point of arrogance and it even seeming like he was putting Ladybug down sometimes, with him calling her a "sidekick" several times (which Plagg joined in on for some reason) and a watermelon and while that seems to have been in order to show how his and Ladybug's relationship strengthened and became more playful over time, the shortened length of the movie didn't really allow that to be conveyed well. He was mostly just annoying, and it didn't feel like he actually got to do much in fights. We didn't get to follow him much so there wasn't much reason to get attached to Adrien, either.

Were the fart scenes with Plagg really necessary?

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Overall I'm happy I watched it, but I wouldn't call it the definitive version of Miraculous by any means. For all its flaws and foibles, I far prefer the show, with the relationships and characters its built, and the creative, intelligent superhero fights it showcases. Just watched the movie wouldn't have gotten me into Miraculous's world, but the show entranced me after only two episodes.

#ml awakening #ml spoilers #ml movie #miraculous ladybug

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rainbow-femme · 5 months

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So I was thinking about this the other day but I feel like the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell is the only piece of magic media I’ve read or watched where I felt we were given a genuine sense of what different magical strength levels look like

So often if I read or watch something with people that do magic there are always conversations about how powerful someone is but when it’s people shooting fireballs at each other or just making something happen, I can’t tell if that’s a big deal or not because all of the characters just do that

People mention it a lot with the Vampire Diaries show where they constantly had The Strongest Witch Ever and then No Wait Actually This Is The Strongest Witch Ever No Wait Actually It’s This One but they all just seemed to yell and fling magic power at stuff and it all comes off as being the same as anything else, I have no gauge for what is normal when everyone is like that

I read part of the ACOTAR series and that was something that bugged me. I know for the books themselves they’re meant to be sexy wish fulfillment but from a world building perspective you can’t introduce everyone as the strongest magical person ever, except for this person who is even stronger, except for this person who is even stronger, without ever actually saying what normal magic does. Like cool most people have one power gem thing and these guys have 10, I don’t know what that means because I don’t know what the other people do. Awesome that this guy can do all those crazy magic things but he’s just standing there and effortlessly making it happen, I have no idea how cool that’s supposed to be because I don’t know what a regular person does

Harry Potter at the beginning did it a bit but it was more in a “the more you say the spell right the better your thing floats” in the first book but from there again it was just sort of stuff was as strong as the plot needed it to be. Hell the entire last book had a macguffin that was the strongest wand ever and I never really could tell what it did better than a normal wand. Like we find out in the third book that a guy blew up an entire neighborhood with magic and he was just a guy, what exactly does the super special ultra wand do that’s so much better?

But with Carry On I felt like it went out of its way to consistently show what different power levels did and looked like. Simon uses a spell to make a crashed car disappear and accidentally makes the whole road disappear, we see what the effect of Baz using his magic on the dragon is and then how it changes when Simon powers him up, we get specific descriptive differences. And again certain characters being stronger than others is important like the other stories but we see people of different levels doing the same thing so when you are told Simon is crazy powerful you understand what they mean because you see what a normal powerful person can do, a normal person, and a less powerful person so you can actually compare and get a sense of what being powerful actually means

#I just really love world building and it bugs me when it’s done poorly #or doesn’t happen at all #and I love when it’s done well #carry on #simon snow

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depravitycentral · 10 months

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ty for making some of these boys virgins 😭 its a peeve when they try to justify characters being these sex gods when majority of these anime boys have never held a girl's hand in canon. Like you can be a virgin and still know how to fuck/dom but soooo many girls dont get that so they keyhole these men into being hedonistic. Like no hate to them but thats so ooc - nyways i really love your work and immersion! <3

Yes yes yes! That's a bit of a pet peeve for me too, though I understand why other authors do it! Especially in the context of yanderes, where they're supposed to be intimidating and all-consuming and suffocating.

That's not to say that there aren't characters out there who are sex gods - they're few and far between but they do exist, through a combination of experience and raw, natural talent. (And, more often than not, a bit of luck, too.)

Plus, the depth of their feelings for you and the intense, pathetic desire to please you certainly doesn't deter them from trying their best every time they get you naked and spread out before them.

Let's discuss!!

Some are simply experienced enough to know what most women like. It's not a matter of raw ability but rather that they've had enough partners to know what to do - and, more importantly, what not to do. Trial and error has led to them having a pretty consistent routine they undergo in order to get their partner off, knowing that they should spend a while with their tongue against your clit or thumbs brushing against your nipples in order to get you fully ready, often even giving you an orgasm before they get to the main event. Fucking you is good, better than any woman they've been with, but your body is more or less the same as theirs's - except, they're trying even harder with you, putting to use every scrap of information they've learned and observed from every sexual encounter they've had. Their ultimate goal is to turn you into a moaning, shaking mess, and they're quick to adapt to whatever seems to get you feeling best.

The biggest concern with this category, however, is that they tend to be a little overconfident - because they feel they have a wealth of experience, they aren't especially open to criticism or advice. They'll adapt to you, sure, but don't tell them they're doing something wrong, or that something other women have loved doesn't actually feel all that good. Don't insult their skills, because while they no longer care if their past partners enjoyed their time together, it still stings their pride. Instead of listening to your advice, they'll choose to keep going - doing the thing you claim to dislike more and more and more, feverishly trying to convince you that it feels good, you're just not opening yourself up for the opportunity to feel good, that's all. Really, you should be more receptive - after all, they know what they're doing, and do you? Do you really?

A few yanderes that come to mind fitting this category include Koutarou Bokuto, who, despite still having some misconceptions about the female body (he gets terminology mixed up mostly, confusing your clit for your vulva and so on, making any moaned directions aimed at him difficult to follow), has always been able to show his partners a good time. Besides, even if he underperforms, those biceps and muscular thighs normally have women overlooking any of his flaws.

Hizashi Yamada, similarly, always leaves his hookups smiling, making sex a generally pleasant, satisfying experience. Though, no matter how good his skill with his tongue or cock is, his incessant talking throughout the process can leave some late nights turning a bit sour. It can ruin the mood, sometimes, and while there are times when you find his excessive praising and moans of fuck baby and love it when you take me so well hot, most of the time they just deter you from truly losing yourself in the moment. (He always sounds too awed - he's not growling these things or saying them with much of a dominant lilt, rather just warbling and genuinely praising you, which can sometimes leave you feeling a bit uncomfortable.)

Shalnark, when he's trying, can be a great lover - he's especially tuned in to his partner's emotions and reactions to his touch, but the trouble with him is his effort level. Of course, he's in love with you, scarily so, but sometimes he can be a bit selfish, and chooses to take the easy way out and just whip out the vibtrator rather than manually finish you off. This tends to happen when you've been putting on an attitude or you haven't been especially receptive to his affection, and it's in moments like these where Shalnark's pettiness shows itself. You won't hug him or snuggle with him in bed? Then why should he fuck you into an orgasm? But when he does care, well, it almost makes up for all those times he taps out after he comes. Almost.

Some have learned that they do one thing particularly well, and are humble enough to recognize that they should focus on that. As much as they wish they were as well rounded and talented at everything between the sheets, they each have one tried and true weapon that they can use in a pinch to make sure the sex ends on a good note. It's very dependent on the yandere, but they have some redeeming trait that always comes in to save the day, something that can normally get you gasping and trembling if they work at it long enough. Unless they're particularly pent up (or particularly desperate to show you how good they can make you feel), they tend to try and utilize other methods of pleasuring you before they fall back and rely on their specialty. It's more of a confidence thing than anything else, because while they're grateful that they have something to offer you, they want to improve their skills in other areas so that they don't need to rely on just eating you out or rubbing at your clit or fucking you senseless. They just want to be good for you, really, but when they get desperate, they'll always transition to the one thing they know will work.

The one thing that deters this category from being desirable is that in-between period when they're trying new things out. Often, it's not super successful; they're really good at only one thing for a reason, and while it's not necessarily bad when they try to mix things up, it's certainly not going to leave you breathless and wanting more. They just don't have the proper experience (or experience where they were aiming for pleasuring their partner rather than just themselves) to really feel confident and sure of themselves when they're trying something new, and it translates into the way they always hesitate just a bit, or the way they go either way too slow or way too fast. Eventually, though, they'll always return to their fail safe, so it doesn't matter too much - just be patient and get through their attempts, and you'll be rewarded.

Tetsurou Kuroo, while certainly not being a sex god, is remarkably quite talented with his tongue. He's got very good control, and is able to make very precise movements, especially when they're preformed against your clit. He actually really loves to eat you out because he really, really likes the way your cunt smells, but he's always wanted to get better at actually fucking you, because all those fantasies he's harbored since the very beginning of his obsession with you almost always involve you coming undone on his cock. His thumb isn't as talented as his tongue, though, and so even if he rubs it while he's pounding into you, he'll always have to finish you off with his mouth. (At least he gets to taste the intoxicating mix of your slick and his cum - a sign that at least he made you feel a little good.)

Enji Todoroki is the opposite of Tetsurou - he's had lots of practice with actually fucking, and his hips and thighs have enough muscle that he can spend hours rutting into you at the same pace, angle and force, effectively battering your poor pussy in the best way possible. He's pretty receptive about following whatever set of those three factors you like best (though he shines best when he's fucking you nice and slow, deeply and meaningfully when he's got you folded up in a mating press), and while he does prefer being inside you over everything else, he desperately, desperately wants to get good at going down on you. He'd never really bothered when he was Rei, but with he actually wants to taste you, and the thought of you creaming all over his face (or, even more, squirting on his face) is enough to get him half hard in an instant, licking his lips and spreading your legs before you can even protest.

Phinks Magcub has thick, sturdy fingers, callouses dotting them and a few scars left from particularly nasty fights. He's got good stamina and can spend long periods of time moving his fingers the exact way you like them, never tiring of feeling how warm and spongy your walls are, always with a flush on his cheeks and the slightest bit of awe in his eye when he looks at you. He likes fingering you, watching you fall apart for him when he grinds the heel of his palm against your sensitive little clit, but he really wants to learn how to make you come on his cock, because there's nothing more intimate to him than the idea of him fucking you well enough to make you flutter around him. He knows most women can't come from penetration alone, but he's nursing the hope that maybe, if he gets good enough, you'll become one of those few.

Some possess natural ability between the sheets, even if they don't have all that much experience. It's like they intuitively know what to do, how to move their bodies in ways that get women moaning and gasping. Part of it is because they're good at observing, diligently watching the expressions of their partners and making note of what gets them grasping at the sheets the hardest, or what makes them clench down the tightest. It's more methodical than anything else, but the end result is the same. They almost always get their partners to orgasm, through sheer determination and attention to detail.

The one unfortunate side to this category is that they're the kind that care most about actually making you feel good - to the point where they will force the sex to continue, not willing to stop eating you out or fingering you until you're making a mess and whimpering their name, for better or for worse. It's almost disturbing, their eagerness and commitment to getting you off, and while you're grateful that they care so much about making sure you enjoy yourself, there's something genuinely unsettling about it. When all is said and done they tend to look worse off than you, their faces bright red and slick smeared all over their lips and chin, a small smile sitting on their lips that feels out of place with how swollen and puffy said lips are. But they're trying, and it's the thought that counts, right? Besides, at least you have something to look forward to when they slowly pull down your pants.

Keiji Akaashi is a wonderful example of this; he loves the way you respond to his fingers, how you bite your lip and keen his name, voice all airy and gaspy as he curls them just right, making you see stars. He's committed to you, and while his skills weren't particularly strong in the beginning of your 'relationship', Keiji is a quick learner and was able to pick up on exactly what you liked pretty fast. He's a little unnerving when he's concentrating, though, because he's deadly silent and just staring at your cunt, a combination that leaves you squirming in more than just pleasure.

Pakunoda is another one who possesses some natural talent in the bedroom - she takes everything slow and really takes her time with you, always making sure to draw out every sensation that she can, just because she wants you feeling the full breadth of pleasure she's offering you. She doesn't mind long, drawn-out session, even preferring them, and so while it takes a long time (sometimes long enough for you to consider just calling it quits), she'll eventually get you off. She just likes to be meticulous about it.

Shouta Aizawa is basically a virgin when he develops his infatuation with you, having only slept with one or two women when Hizashi and Nemuri take him out drinking and he indulges just a little too much. He makes up for it, though, because he's quite talented with his tongue, and he's good at holding back his own pleasure and delaying his orgasm until you've reached yours, elongating the sex and making it so that you have enough time to actually let the pleasure build to the point of spilling over. He refuses to come first, and while sometimes it happens despite his best effort, he's got a strong sense of determination and will get you moaning his name and gushing all over him.

But, quite frankly, managing to qualify as one of the categories listed is not an honor most yanderes get to enjoy. Most are fine, thoroughly average in bed, maybe managing to make you come without the aid of a toy sometimes, but there's not a whole lot of consistency.

Others, however, are especially dismal; sex with them probably isn't something you look forward to too much, because while it can feel good, more often than not it's fun for about five minutes and then you're ready for it to be over. Not that you'd tell them that, though - not if you value whatever semblance of freedom you've managed to ascertain, and especially not if you value your ability to walk normally the next day. (They'll substitute in fucking you hard for fucking you well, which, as expected, doesn't have the results they wish for.)

Some are fully, utterly convinced that they are in fact a sex god - despite their shortcomings. Maybe it's a result of previous partners lying and building their confidence, or based on total delusions, or even a stubborn bit of pride unwilling to let them believe they could fail at something. Regardless, it leaves them in a position where they only sort of understand what they need to do in order to get you feeling good - there's an attempt, most of the time, but they normally don't have the patience or stamina to last long enough to reach your orgasm. They'll just be finding a good rhythm when they're fucking you, rolling their hips just right, before deciding that it might be better to flip you over, or that the angle is starting to kill their back and they need to change it up. Honestly, it's frustrating more than anything else - you're always so close, before it's snatched away from you without a care.

Tomura Shigaraki, unfortunately, is a victim of this mindset. He's watched enough porn to feel like he's got a good, general grip on what should happen during sex, fully believing that while some of what he's watched is obviously fake (he's not stupid - he knows how difficult and unlikely getting a girl to squirt is, even though he'd kill to get you squirting for him), he's picked up tips on the more realistic aspects of porn. (He hasn't, and it doesn't work - jackhammering into you like a rabbit doesn't have the affects he's expecting, because instead of moaning his name and gushing around his cock like all those pornstars do, you just seem to wince and beg him to slow down.)

Nobunaga Hazama, too, can't seem to fully grasp the fact that he isn't the best sexual partner. He tends to get overly excited, always eager to see the way you're responding to his touch, and the moment your expression or voice lulls in any way, he's moving on to the next thing he can do to get you screaming his name, even when the new thing is the exact opposite of what you need to get off. He just doesn't really have the patience to successfully make you come most of the time, and even if you gently correct him, he'll just shush you, telling you with conviction that it'll feel good soon, that he knows what makes you feel good, so you just need to sit back and take it.

Yuuji Terushima is simply too hyperactive and excited when he's in bed with you to stay focused on one thing at a time - similarly to Nobunaga, you'll be constantly changing positions or switching from fucking to grinding to oral and back again to really make any progress towards your orgasm. The one thing Yuuji has going for him, though, is that he actually does possess skills in the bedroom - he is genuinely good at going down on you, that damn tongue piercing always adding an extra layer of stimulation and making your head spin. He's good at aiming when he's fucking you, and it's his only saving grace - if you go at it for long enough, you may end up managing to come, but it's never a guarantee.

Some are just too unsure of their skills, and it's reflected in the way that they can't commit to one single thing. Frankly, they're not even that bad at touching you - they don't suck, often just the opposite, but their lack of experience and confidence between the sheets leads to fleeting touches and lots of unsure, half-hearted attempts at making you feel good. They don't expect you to be able to come from just a few thrusts of their fingers inside your gooey, warm cunt, but when you don't, it still doesn't make them feel any better. They're overwhelmed, frankly, and they feel such intense pressure to make sure that everything is perfect that they end up floundering, too scared to choose one single thing (fingering you, eating you out, fucking you, or even just grinding against you) and see it through to fruition. They're just nervous - it's palpable, really, and with time you can slowly coax them into feeling more confident and comfortable, but they'll never be able to fully shake the feeling that they're not good enough to really satisfy you in bed. It's sad, more than anything, and the longer you let the problem go unaddressed, the harder improving their skills will be.

Machi Komacine is afraid of intimacy, and because she herself relies quite heavily on toys whenever she gets in the mood to get herself off, her own fingers aren't too used to the motions and movements required to properly touch you. She hasn't had to sink her fingers inside herself for years, really, always replacing them with the pink plastic vibrator or dildo, but she's much too embarrassed to admit that to you. (Though, she's even more embarrassed to actually try and learn/practice on you - poor Machi, because she's even too emotionally closed off to properly discuss it with you.)

Kei Tsukishima, in his defense, is scared that he'll hurt you. He's got this unreasonable worry that he's not good enough for you, and while he hides this well in how he interacts with you, it becomes very obvious the moment that either of you are naked and yearning for each other's touch. He's just very unsure, and the weight of knowing that he could displease you or leave you unsatisfied leaves him wanting to just not even bother trying, too pessimistic to see a solution in which he'll actually manage to make you come.

Shuichi Iguchi, similarly to Kei, fears hurting you, but he's more crippled by the knowledge that he's never intimately touched someone before, and the omnipresent paranoia eating at him that wonders how you could ever find him attractive. He's too scared of your rejection to really put himself into a situation where he can put his 100% effort into anything sexual with you, so for now he'll settle with fingering you for a few moments, then kissing you (his fingers having slipped out), then simply pressing his cock against your folds, unmoving, just feeling.

So really, there's a whole variety of bedroom skills - it's more about the combination of your specific likes and dislikes in bed alongside their strengths (or lack thereof) that decides whether the sex is good. But, quite frankly, it doesn't really matter - the likelihood of you being able to escape any of the yanderes listed above is quite low, and gets even lower when you consider whether they'd be able to track you down and snatch you up again. So really, it doesn't matter whether they're a sex god or not - you'll never be sleeping with another person in your life, and they sure as hell won't either.

(Thanks for the ideas anon! This style ask is always fun to answer! I hope this doesn't set off your ick about pigeonholing characters as sex gods - they aren't perfect, I promise!)

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere haikyuu #hxh smut #haikyuu smut #bnha smut #_lee discusses #_hxh #_haikyuu #_bnha #_multi-cast

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oliveroctavius · 10 months

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Let's look briefly at the Coffee Bean in Spider-Man comics!

Contrary to popular memory, Peter's college pals initially met up at a diner called the Silver Spoon (ASM 44, but also 46, 52, possibly 125).

The spread at the top of this post takes a lot from this place's layout. But as newcomer MJ might have pointed out, diners are so fifties. The modern teen needed someplace cooler and edgier to hang out. Somewhere more underground. Literally.

Maps place The Coffee Bean alternately in East Village or Tribeca. The beret and glasses? The lowercase Dante's Inferno quote? The wall-hung guitar? So hipster. Wait, wrong decade. So beatnik.

The OG Bean didn't show up much more frequently than the Silver Spoon (ASM 53, 59, and 82, most notably), but it's the one that stuck in the cultural imagination. I enjoy Tim Sale's take in Spider-Man: Blue with the unfinished basement look and cult film posters.

In early modern flashbacks, the location is plagued by a specific continuity problem: "then [character] leaps through the WINDOW!" from new writers who missed the fact that it's below ground. In ASM Annual '96, JRSr complies by raising the ceiling a level!

The Sensational Spider-Man Annual's approach to the Coffee Bean makes me a bit sad. Dialogue repeatedly emphasizes its unique character and long history and how well MJ knows the place. But it's drawn aboveground and totally generic. (This from an issue with a dozen Silver Age panels directly traced!)

It's not the first time that happens, but here feels like a critical failure of show-don't-tell. The eventual window smash is worth it, but... I'd argue this would work better set at the Silver Spoon (where MJ actually met the gang, old in an uncool way, aboveground) instead.

Brand New Day reestablishes a solid sense of place for the Coffee Bean. Brick and glass entryway, a logo that's less beatnik and more Starbuck, and an interior that reminds me of a Panera Bread.

(If it's supposed to be canon that the new more corporate look is due to renovations by Harry, that's been lost in the shuffle. But it would make sense to me. His effort at impressing Norman with a plan to make the Bean a chain store circa ASM 569 would extend his trend of editorializing his own memories.)

While it still teleports between Astor Place and Tribeca, this version has now had more consistent (and just more) appearances than the original. And, of course, it has a beautiful bank of windows to—

Ah, that's more like it.

The Coffee Bean has become a symbol of innocent nostalgia and a happier past. It was also (as designed by Romita Sr) a virtual bunker: not until 1977 would superheroics be written to take place inside the Coffee Bean. (ASM Annual #11—Romita Jr's first ever penciling job on Spider-Man, interestingly.)

As a silver age icon, the location was physically safe and interruption-free in a way that even Peter's apartments and Aunt May's house couldn't be. The architecture—and how it's changed—has been a large part of that symbolism, underappreciated as it sometimes is.

#long post #thank you for coming to ollie's deep dive of the week if anything here is wrong go ahead and add on #the coffee bean #coffee bean gang #down with the sliding timescale #images undescribed

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rockanroller · 3 months

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"Was Hazbin Hotel Rigged or Hand-Drawn?"

disclaimer: do not, and i repeat, DO NOT, use this post to shit on the animators who worked their asses off on this series.

hand-drawn animation is going to have variation in it and that's part of its charm for a lot of people. it really only goes "badly" when that variation becomes too noticeable (such as being jarringly off-model) or when a character's movement isn't executed well. but if you didn't catch it w/o going through frame-by-frame, it hardly matters.

so, getting into it, ppl have been going back-and-forth on this, and viv herself has said it wasn't rigged.

and i think this is one thing she's right about.

many ppl's assumption of it being rigged was due to a lot of movements being weirdly "stiff" or "clunky" and/or characters moving oddly smooth at other times.

i can say i think it's possible rigs could've been used occasionally, or on some shots, but i also think it's more likely the animators moved their drawings in a way that makes them look rig-like as a result.

meaning in animation programs you can actually grab portions of your drawing like a head or a limb and move it, or even just nudge it ever so slightly, to the point you can make some really smooth in-betweens to the point it looks rigged.

that said, a rig keeps a character uniform and consistent.

for example:

with the exception of bits where the character has to move or be interacted with in a way the rig won't allow, which would either need new additions to the rig or to be hand-drawn over the rig.

but see how Rick's head/face/hair and proportions stay the same?

let's compare that to Charlie's head:

we can see Charlie's features vary slightly, and these aren't shots from different episodes, these are shots that are right next to each other. if you're having trouble seeing a difference here's a breakdown:

again: this is *not* me saying this is a bad thing. this type of variation is inevitable with hand-drawn animation, and to many people it's part of hand-drawn animation's charm. and if you didn't notice it and it didn't bother you while watching, it hardly matters.

everything i'm pointing out here is only to show why i think Hazbin Hotel was hand-drawn (at least by majority or a large percentage) rather than rigged.

other points to this include shifting linework such as here:

you can see the lines get thicker/thinner between these frames such as on the inner portions of her eyes, the curl of hair under her right (our left) eye, or how a section of linework on her hair & face suddenly shows up between both of her outer eye-lashes.

which, again, shifting line-weights aren't uncommon in hand-drawn animation, and can be part of its charm. but in a rig you wouldn't see the linework shifting like this, it would remain uniform.

i also noticed portions where linework ever-so-slightly crosses over itself for either a few frames or multiple, which wouldn't be seen with a rig (unless it was rigged poorly or smth.)

when you go through the episodes frame-by-frame these minor variations become more apparent.

reiterating again, however: none of this is "bad" unless it's noticeable w/o going through frame-by-frame.

animation is not intended to be watched frame-by-frame or hyper-analyzed up-close and personal.

animation is *supposed* to trick the eye and create the illusion of movement, so if it wasn't an error that was noticeable it doesn't matter.

an example of a noticeable "bad" error would be something like when Vaggie completely disappears mid-shot, along with the camera & BG snapping and Charlie's compositing disappearing with her pose shifting slightly (watch the legs) all at the same time.

(this is not two random frames taken out of context, these frames are directly next to each other.)

do not, and i repeat, DO NOT, use this post to shit on the animators who worked their asses off on this series.

all this was just to share an analysis of why i think that at least a large percentage of Hazbin Hotel was hand-drawn.

#animation analysis #industry talk #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical

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mdhwrites · 3 months

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Okay, don't you think you're being harsh to think Dana Terrace is incapable of creating anything good and dreading it when she creates something? Like, the idea Owl House never should have existed (based on what that one anon said) is way too harsh and insulting to Dana.

Like come on, Dana's a pretty nice person. Heck, a lot of the people and creators who work at Disney TVA like Alex Hirsch, Matt Braly, Frank Angones, Matt Youngberg, Daron Nefcy, Chris Houghton, and Shane Houghton have nothing but nice things to say about her. Ditto with the rest of the Owl House cast and crew (a ship is more than its captain after all) being saying nothing but nice things about Dana.

And it's not like Dana's the only Disney TVA creator who has caused people to go against Disney. Alex Hirsch has badmouthed Disney several times (even making a Twitter post on how much Disney meddled with Gravity Falls), Matt Braly was frustrated with the last minute True Colors delay and expressed frustration with them here ( https://twitter.com/Radrappy/status/1746706435080323397), and Bill Motz has made comments on how Disney treated Molly McGee that worsened the opinion of how Disney treats their animated shows.

So I had considered saying that the ask did go a bit far in how angry it was at Dana. I mentioned that being unprofessional does not make you a bad person. Some of the actions are frustrating to me but I am not trying to say Dana is wrong for having made a product in such a flawed way. I am at least trying not judging her as a person, just as a creative. I also don't think TOH simply shouldn't have existed. It had plenty of good ideas but at the end of the day, its captain should be the one who is in charge of those ideas and making sure that they're focused on telling the story and staying consistent. Dana wrote Reaching Out, one of the episodes of the show that most destroys both character potential and the believability of the world. It's also not by any means the only episode with a main writing credit for her like that, such as The First Day. As a writer, I genuinely just don't get the impression she has the attention span to be leading such a large project, especially if she is going to complain about not having full control over it while also lacking more concrete ideas to what it is. When I say I am not interested in the next work Dana is the director for, I just mean director because these flaws in her style make me think that unless it's an anthology series, anything she makes is going to have me get frustrated by the work over time.

NOW as for the stuff about her being unprofessional: Time and context is HUGE here. Matt getting upset about True Colors leaks? The COMPANY is also going to be upset by them and while it might berate Disney for lack of security, it is a genuine fuck up on their part to do with his show and him lambasting the leaks also pushes the audience not to spread them. There's nothing unprofessional about that nor that might harm the show. Alex Hirsch released that video about the censor board for Disney on Gravity Falls YEARS after the fact (this also goes for the tweet that you quote from Matt which is literally two weeks ago, well over a year past when Amphibia ended). The show was already a success and a video like that might make Disney look a little silly but it won't harm how people see the product or trying to get into it. In fact, with the current state of things, it might actually be seen as a PR bump.

Meanwhile, Dana was shit talking her own show and blaming it on the company she CHOSE to work with regarding literally half of the content that was out at the time. Worse yet, the first half. The half that theoretically needs to sell you on the show. What is a new viewer supposed to think of that if they haven't seen the show? "Well, even if it gets good, even the creator admits the first half is at least underwhelming. I don't want to have to put up with half a season of subpar work just to get to the good stuff."

And as I said with Hirsch: How people feel about Disney, and how clearly Disney actually does want the rep in TOH to be a selling point for them (they immediately were willing to do Lumity marathons or have them featured on Disney+ for Pride Month, as well as Lumity being the only t-shirt released by Disney that wasn't of just The Owl House members or the logo), means that Dana getting upset about them for the homophobic acts in Florida probably was seen as at worst neutral. Buuuuut that shifts when she starts trying to accuse the treatment of their programming onto their homophobic ideas because suddenly part of the company's selling point on the show is being actively damaged by the creator. Worse yet, she is doing it as speculation rather than sticking to the reasons given by Disney. Feeding into people's anger about the company while eschewing responsibility for why the show was shortened like it was. This is admittedly less of a strong argument, I do still support her lambasting their homophobic politics, but it's a moment that has stuck with me for something I'll get into later.

This is also without getting into the fact that one interview with her specifically mentions her first response to the shortening being to end S2 on a massive cliffhanger and then just GTFOing on them, a statement that is going to make ANY production company start sweating about you as a creative they want to work with. After all, the crew and other creatives may love Dana... But what do actually publishers and people she has to clear this stuff with think of her? You know, the people who decide funding on these matters because that is just a part of the majority of animated work currently unless you somehow manage to get enough patrons to be able to go independent like Vivziepop with Helluva Boss.

All of this also gives the impression of someone who would rather blame other forces than learn. Honestly, one of the best things I've heard her say is that the shortening did push her creatively. Force her to make decisions and try harder. That gives me hope... But she spent so much of TOH complaining about corporate oversight or riling up her fans against the company who shortened her that... I don't know if she'll take that to heart. If she's going to treat this as a learning experience or if she'll double down. Again, one of the biggest regrets she has is not getting to do more Raeda, despite their one episode already being almost entirely pointless.

Even if she is a wonderful person, from a publisher's standpoint, she seems like a high risk gamble for honestly that incredible of numbers. Someone who might turn on you if you ever force a decision she doesn't like or push her too hard. That's not something a big corporation is going to want. It makes it sound a lot more like she's someone who indeed should just go independent if she really found working for Disney so rough.

I would love to be wrong though. I would love for her next work to be a knock out of the park. I just know that I'm probably going to pick it up AFTER it's done and I know it actually knew where it was going instead of just scrambling to put the tracks in front of it.

======+++++======

I will probably try just not to talk more about Dana as a creative because I REALLY don't like talking about the creators themselves instead of just judging the quality of their work. I genuinely wish Dana the best but... Man, after I've had so many people dismiss everything I've ever said about this show because of the shortening, or because Disney was too restrictive on LGBTQIA+ elements or because they forced Hexside onto Dana, ruining her plans, excuses Dana has herself pushed for the fans to use by using them herself...

It made learning just how little of any sort of plan she ever had so exhausting and infuriating, amplified by just how much this fandom screeches about TOH's unfair treatment when I don't see any of them going to bat for Molly McGee right now the same way. Not in my corners at least. Edit: I have been corrected that people are pretty mad for Molly McGee which good. They should be.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical

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4me2knowandyou2wonder · 5 months

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Teeth Headcanons for Modern Warfare Characters

guys! guys! ITS GHOST! I had fun with this one as I had complete and utter creative control. Shout out to the ao3 fic 'the Many Masks of Simon Riley' for the missing canine inspo! (its a great fic about Ghost with DID you should all check it out)

Now without further ado,

Ghost

All things considered, Ghost's teeth could be a lot worse off… (not really.)

Simon’s teeth grew in with a lot of crowding, and he was never really taught to brush his teeth by his family, (his mother tried but life was hectic, you all know) on top of this, he has a genetic propensity for cavities. He had figured out that it was important to brush his teeth regularly by the time he lost all his baby teeth though, so at least it wasn’t his adult teeth that were destroyed. At least, at first…

You can’t really brush your teeth when held by a cartel… any underlying cavities were left unchecked for 7 months and they ran rampant—a few new ones found a way into his mouth too.

Really, getting a few teeth knocked out and split in half by Roba was probably better for him… I guess. (He and his dentist can look on the bright side.) On top of knocking out cavities, losing a handful of chompers gave his teeth space to breathe. This not only fixed most of the crowding Simon had had going on since he was young but also let his wisdom teeth erupt from where they had been previously stopped, letting him get out of any required surgery.

Ghost now has 3 implants in his lower jaw and two on the top, (and quite a few crowns.) He would have about 2 more due to the loss of his back molars, but his wisdom teeth were quick to take their place so his dentist just lets them have their space and doesn’t wedge any more implants into his mouth. Most of his replacements are gold but the ones near the front (second incisor) are a version of implant that is just a bit too white against his cigarette-stained teeth. Ghost doesn’t mind.

The only tooth that bothers him is his right bottom canine. He also lost that one, only in a far more violent way, and there really was no hope of an implant. His dentist gave him a fake to put in place for aesthetics but he’s supposed to take it out to eat and he just can’t bother to use it. Especially not with his mask being in place all the time. If he knows he’s going to a bar or something where he doesn’t need to eat but will have his mask up, then maybe he’ll put it in, but he also might take it out to rest a cigarette in the little hole there. Who knows.

Ghost does brush his teeth now, anything to keep from having to spend *more* time at the dentist. He doesn’t really want to but figures it’s important enough to do. He doesn’t floss and keeps getting yelled at to start, his compromise was mouthwash, and his dentist gave in but was not convinced.

This one made me realize that if I’ve never seen the character's teeth before I have FAR too much power dfbdskjf.

No figures because there aren't any LMAO!! mmm maybe I'll just put one in for fun and consistency

#teeth hcs #simon ghost riley #ghost simon riley #cod mw2 #mw2 #cod #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod headcanons #mw22 #mw19 #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost #ghost headcanons #simon riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty

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ducktracy · 8 months

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I'm really curious on what a layout artist is. Do you know?

layout’s a finicky thing to describe because it’s so all encompassing, and there are so many interpretations of it, especially nowadays in the current animation landscape where the definition seems to vary by production. i myself am even not 100% confident in my answer!

but, essentially, it’s a visual guide of a scene for the animators. this can be many things: clarifying how a pose is supposed to look, with the animator following/mimicking the art style of the layout artist to give the scene a coherent, consistent look (putting it “on model”, in layman’s terms. the layout artist’s drawing would be considered the model). that would be character layout. a layout artist can also establish the way the scene is supposed to be structured—how characters interact with the background environments, how the background environments frame the characters, what the background is even supposed to look like. that’s background layout. likewise, a layout artist also registers the camera field—indicating where the camera is supposed to be positioned and how much of the character(s) fits in the frame.

in-house layout departments are scarce in a lot of modern productions nowadays, and many productions will try to have their own version of a layout team lumped under the term “character design”. you’re not actually designing characters, but refining the poses drawn in the storyboards to bring it even further to the model of the show, so that the animators have a visual guide to follow. sometimes, a board artist will draw a particular drawing that the “character designer” needs to clarify so the animators know how to put it on model. these are usually called “special poses” which, again, is basically slang for layout. this is how we operate on SpongeBob now. it seems LTC did as well.

it’s a bit different in a golden age context though. the general point is still the same in that the layout artist will collaborate with the director and often dictate the general art style of the short. hell, sometimes the directors WERE their own layout artists. Chuck Jones and Bob McKimson were both their own character layout artists in the ‘50s—this is why it’s practically impossible for someone like me to be able to discern who the hell is animating what in a ‘50s Chuck Jones cartoon because they adhere SO STRICTLY to his style

whereas Bob McKimson—i’ve mentioned this before, but i just brought it up yesterday and it’s on my mind. here’s a character layout he did for Fool Coverage (which you should watch very good cartoon), and here’s Rod Scribner’s interpretation of it below…

obviously not very loyal. but Scribner’s interpretation is much FUNNIER and works way better in animation than McKimson’s; McKimson’s drawing is still a GREAT drawing and super solid on its on, but definitely a much more conservative approach. you can also see, though, how much of his personal style leeches into his own shorts as well

or this here: John Carey was Bob Clampett’s layout artists for a good portion of his time in the “Katz unit” (aka black and white cartoons), and also animated this very scene he laid out. the two drawings are practically indistinguishable, but there are definitely minor differences. he dictates how the scene is to look

i’ve mainly been talking about character layout, but here are some background layouts indicating where the characters are to fit in the shot as well. this is more all encompassing.

the credits on LT shorts are such a continuous melting pot of nonsense for many reasons, and one of it is because it took until… 1945? 1946? i think ‘45, for them to credit the layout artists… and background artists (who rendered and painted the BG layouts)... and Mel Blanc. and so this is sort of where my knowledge flounders a bit. we know that Maurice Noble was Chuck Jones’ BG layout guy in the ‘50s, and we know Chuck did all his own character layouts. that’s fine enough. but i have no idea, if, say, was John Carey doing background layouts as well in Clampett’s cartoons? was it his background painter, Dick Thomas? Clampett himself mentioned doing the layouts on A Tale of Two Kitties, and the staging of the short in that one definitely has some very warped and drastic angles not usually found elsewhere, so it’s safe to assume he was working on BG layouts in that. but where is the line drawn?? who is responsible for what?

thanks to Warner’s bunk credit system it’s been difficult to piece together. a lot of very talented artists that worked on these shorts never got their credits or dues. everyone knows “oh yeah, Chuck Jones’ shorts in the ‘40s are really stylized and flat.” but do they know the name John McGrew? Bernyce Polifka? Eugene Fleury? all of whom were a part of establishing this style, but also maintain independent subtleties to their own cartoons they worked on? how do Fleury’s paintings based off of McGrew’s layouts in The Case of the Missing Hare or The Aristo-Cat differ from Polifka’s paintings based off of McGrew’s layouts in Wackiki Wabbit and Tom Turk and Daffy?

i’m going off on a tangent, but my point stands in that it’s a very complicated, multifaceted aspect of the animation process that doesn’t have one meaning. it impacts so many different aspects and even how it impacts or WHAT it impacts differs. basically, it just sets the stage for how the scene looks in the final animation, whether it be where the characters and camera are positioned, how the characters look or how the backgrounds look. think of it as the cartoon’s blueprint.

#asks #anonymous

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cozylittleartblog · 3 months

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Just wanted to mention this to someone who does art and get their opinion on it:

Sometimes I see some artists do redraws of their old artworks or characters and think "Wow, uh... their older art looks better." Sometimes it's only mildly better, but other times it's vastly better. Like the Upgrade, Go Back! meme.

I understand that art skills are supposed to develop and change, hopefully for the better, but sometimes it just feels like they got... worse? Somehow? Idk. Maybe it's because they were copying another artist's style while finding their own, and it's their own style that doesn't vibe with me? Just curious what your thoughts are about this.

Also, your art has consistently been great, so this isn't directed at you.

I do see this on occasion yeah! usually (in my experience anyway) its because people take a sharp turn towards a stylization that either isn't to your or most people's tastes, or that they don't understand or are still developing. switching up how you stylize your art is like starting over in a sense, you're changing from what you have practice with and that's always going to cause you to revert some as you have to re-learn things you understood in your previous style. i had a pretty big style shift in 2014 when i took up the basis for how my art looks now, and i remember feeling like some of the stuff i was drawing might have looked better if i was using my older style instead. that's something artists just have to push through and figure out, and they'll likely come out of it a better artist than they were before. constructive critiques are a good way for them to figure out why their art might not be as "good" as it used to be, if they're open for those.

art is not always a linear journey, and i would also say things like passion and motivation have a part in it too. feeling inspired sparks you to make something the best it can be, if you're not feeling it (and esp if that feeling lasts for a long time) it'll leave you making decisions you otherwise would not have let fly, and that can result in worse art. and some of it is just personal preference! it's not that their art is better or worse, it's just different now, and maybe that doesn't vibe with you the same way their old stuff did. and that's fine 👍

(thank you! :3 i admittedly struggle a bit with Not Feeling It sometimes like i just described, so it's nice to know people still enjoy what i make when that feeling hits.)

#ask #anonymous #anon #art talk #or occasionally its because they let the h-rny take over and um. they get Grotesque about it whhjbdfdfg #i saw someone post a before and after fanart pic of tasque manager on twitter and everyone was like omg you've improved so much!#and they were all talking about. the older piece. because the newer one had some Proportions that werent even sexy they were just uhhhhhhhh #deviantart would be impressed. lets say #and just generally some of the other anatomy and rendering got way wonkier and broken from the earlier one too. it was strange #the weird thing is the older one was also a lil spicy/exaggerated but it was like tasteful and the anatomy was solid and it had some good #coloring and rendering choices etc etc. idk thats always the first example i think of because there were so many comments #pointing out - inadvertently - that the new art was Worse. but i do see it sometimes. i also think of um #there is some notorious artist whos style suddenly got really transphobically stylized. and racist #you'd think it was a troll but it was real. and most of their older art was actually p good is the weird fuckin thing !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#why'd you kneecap yourself like that bro. i dug around a bit and the artist was rcdart #i feel like most of the examples i've seen of this are COMICALLY bad. like the artist got brain damage #anyway thats a novels worth of text but tldr yeah it do be like that sometimes. rip

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bookshopsbizarreblog · 5 months

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I haven't seen anyone else talking about this, so I suppose I'll take the plunge. At the risk of being overly critical, Hilda S3 E3 "The Giant Slayer" felt a little sloppy to me. Or at least, underdeveloped. Don't get me wrong, I do really like the overall story of that episode. it offered some unique set pieces and opened the possibility of a Hildaverse, as well as teaching us a little bit more about Wood Man. But there were a bunch of things that just rubbed me the wrong way a little. I'm not going to go into all of them here since I don't want this post to be about negativity, but it all culminated with a few frames towards the end of the episode. It looked like part of the story board just wasn't erased, and it is floating prominently right above Wood Man.

Now, I don't know enough to speculate about time crunches or production budgets or sloppy editing or whatever else. It could just be a single honest mistake in an otherwise fantastic season. When I first saw it, I thought it was probably just a feature of me having watched it all on the first day and it would be spotted and edited out soon afterwards. But it is still there today.

In retrospect, there's also a number of other little animation inconsistencies that popped up. The biggest one was that the framerate wasn't always consistent. Key example, towards the start of E8 "The Fairy Isle," it drops substantially when Hilda, Frida, and David start walking towards Tofoten. It's a little jarring and returns to normal right afterwards with Astrid's knitting.

Those errors don't really detract from the overall story and might be a little nitpicky, but it really felt like S3 was dropped before it was completely finished. Like there wasn't time to draw some of the in-between frames and scrub through the series for leftover artifacts from the production process. And when combined with some of the plot lines and character choices feeling a little off, I don't know. It just makes me feel a little bit sad.

There's not really anything that can or likely will be done at this point, especially as Hilda is tragically underappreciated and any errors are almost undoubtedly the fault of Netflix not giving it the support it needed. And if this is the last foray we will have into Hilda's amazing animated world, I don't want its memory to be tarnished at all by me fretting over tiny things that could have been better. But these things have been nagging at me since it released, and I needed to get them off my chest.

#hilda #hilda the series #hilda netflix #hilda season 3 #the woodman hilda #hilda spoilers #hilda season 3 spoilers #hilda s3 #hilda s3 spoilers

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