#there was so much trust and genuine fondness between them

[takemetodragonstone]

you ever just wish someone was dead so you could love an idealized memory of them instead of hating the person they continually show you that they are

#i saw a father and daughter laughing together on tv last night and i cried #they were so comfortable together. like old friends #there was so much trust and genuine fondness between them #i wanted to die #it would be easier if i’d never had that with my father #so the fleeting memories wouldn’t hurt so much #it’s crazy how much a relationship can change #crazy and heartbreaking #im trying to write a poem about this for myself but i really needed to vent the raw feelings somewhere first #to organize them i think #to figure out what im trying to say #so yeah thanks for indulging my thoughts if you’ve read this far lol #venting in the tags #personal but ok to rb #text post #relationships #family #ro speaks

[scatteredskittless]

Signs of them trusting you

A/n: silly little headcanons, not a lot but I thought this was kinda cute 🫶

Warnings: None !!

Fluff✔️ Comfort❌ Angst❌ Smut❌

⋆˚｡⋆Alastor⋆˚｡⋆

📻𖤐 When Alastor starts to trust you… well actually I think it’s more of an agonizingly slow process… so when enough trust between you two builds up I think he gives more subtle signs, some deliberate, some not.

📻𖤐 Like for example, letting you hold his microphone staff thingy for prolonged periods of time or just leaving it near you unattended

📻𖤐 If he lets you touch him without him being the one to initiate it

📻𖤐 Showing a (seemingly) genuine interest in wanting to be around you I think is also a big one

📻𖤐 If you call him by something else other than his name and he allows you to do so?? Yeah, you’re probably doing something right because being called any sort of petname isn’t something Alastor is exactly fond of.

⋆˚｡⋆Angel Dust ⋆˚｡⋆

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Again, with Angel Dust, the only thing him and smiley have in common is that fact that it would take him a while to warm up to you and genuinely trust you.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Separate little headcanon thingy here but I do believe that one theory that Angel was tricked into the contract with Valentino because Angel was in love with him as much as it hurts to think about (╥﹏╥)

🕸️ᥫ᭡ So I’m sure it’d take time for him to GENUINELY start trusting you

🕸️ᥫ᭡ But once he did? I feel like it would be pretty obvious.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ He wouldn’t try to constantly sexualize himself, and you for that matter, when you two are alone together.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Seemingly more relaxed in your presence, would actually feel comfortable enough to cry around you and/or vent about his work… stuff like that.

⋆˚｡⋆Husker ⋆˚｡⋆

🍺🃁 This one’s tricky because I’m not sure how long it would realistically take for Husk to start to trust you..

🍺🃁 I guess just respect his boundaries and treat him well for long enough lol

🍺🃁 A sign of trust from Husker would include him being more friendly and not as grumpy as before around you

🍺🃁 Also acting a bit more cat like? Purring, cat sounds and behaviour in general, etc.

🍺🃁 Might let you preen his wings for him if you’re lucky. He’d lay and spread himself out over your lap and close his eyes with a little smirk on his face as you help him out with his wings… probably purring as well.

Please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my fanfictions/writing/headcanons without permission ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ Scatteredskittles

#hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel x reader #angel dust #husk x reader #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel #angel dust x reader #alastor x reader #alastor headcanons #angel dust headcanons #husker headcanons #husk headcanons #husker x reader

[tragedybunny]

Sated - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion has gone too long without blood and you're determined to make sure he's fed.

Astarion tries, but not everyday is a good day, and some days he’s still snappish and lashes out. The rest of your group has learned not to take it personally, in fact now that Karlach can touch people, she’s developed a nice trick of just suddenly hugging him when he’s a pain. Usually either indignant silence or grumbling compliance follows. “Behave yourself Fangs, or I’ll do it again,” the Tiefling grins at him during whatever fussing he spouts after. He’s grown fond of her, you can tell, even if he can’t yet. In a way he’s fond of them all, but Karlach’s open, kind nature has given them a bit of a sibling-like bond. Watching them interact always brings a smile to you, he needs more of that in his life, people who care for him genuinely. 

Today was not the best, but you shrug it off as concern overrides all else. He’s a little paler than usual and a little slower. There wasn't much out there among the shadow curse for him to feed off. Before you never had to question how much blood he needed to survive or where it would come from. But as you leave the formerly cursed land behind, you can tell he’s struggling. And yet, he hasn’t asked you about it. The one he’s supposed to trust more than anyone else. You’ve fed him plenty of times before, you would think he’d have come to you by now. Mentally, you scold yourself as you feel creeping insecurity. There has to be a reason for it, and now isn’t the time for selfish suspicion. 

That night, as everyone settles themselves around a fire, contemplating what the road to Baldur's Gate holds, you find him seated at the edge of the flickering light, as far away as he can get without being in the shadows. Could he be worried he might find himself tempted if he’s too close to everyone? This can’t continue, you tell yourself, not only for the sake of his suffering, but you can’t be sure he wouldn’t be tempted either. 

Grabbing a blanket from your shared tent, you take a seat beside him, wrapping it around both of you. “You feeling alright Starry Sky?” Gently, you wrap an arm around him, and feel the icy chill of his skin beneath his shirt. Not that his skin is ever all that warm, but this another level. 

“Just tired,” he smiles weakly at you. 

“And freezing,” your other hand reaches up to stroke his cheek lightly. 

Eyes closed, he leans into your touch. “You know, I don’t even really feel it. I’m not sure if I need to be warm at all.” 

“Hmm, even if you can’t feel it, you know why you’re freezing.” Leaning over you whisper to him, some things aren’t meant to include the others. “You’re hungry.”

“Perhaps a little, but I’m fine. I don't need you to start fussing over me constantly. There's an owlbear cub if you feel overtly maternal." The sharp words don't change the dark circles under his eyes, or how gaunt his cheeks look. 

"You're ridiculously obstinate, you know that right," a gentle kiss on his temple follows your words, so he knows you're not actually being cross with him. You’ve come to realize he can’t stand it when he thinks you’re mad at him. In the past, anger meant reprisal, punishment, and in the context of the two of you, punishment could only mean withdrawing your affection. At least that’s where his thoughts lead.  

"It is one of my better qualities," he leans over, head resting against your chest. 

Shifting, you position yourself so he's seated between your legs, easier to let him rest his weight on you. "I don't know why you don't just ask me. My blood not good enough for your refined palate anymore?" Laughing, you try to mask the actual hurt that's creeping in. The truth is letting him feed from you has always felt like an important part of your relationship, the time when you’re closest to him.

It's been a long journey and a few of your group are already wandering to bed, although you think you hear Shadowheart muttering about saving it for the tent, whatever she said, Gale laughs it off. “Not at all,” he’s uncharacteristically serious, “I just…” he sighs, for once at a loss for words, “it seemed like a lot to ask from you, after everything else.” 

“Everything else?” Lips leave light kisses on the top of his head as you brush your fingers through his hair.

“You know, lying to you, manipulating you, wanting you to still love me after all that. If I asked to feed from you, it would seem like I was trying to use you again.” Catching one of your hands, he kisses it and doesn’t let go. 

For a moment you don’t know how to respond, you’re still not entirely used to seeing the softer, sincere side of him. “I see why you would think that, but I don’t want you to suffer. Let me take care of you, any way I can. That’s what I’m here for. Well, that and teaching you to be less of a stubborn arse it would seem.” 

“Stop, you’re being entirely too sweet to me. It’s going to ruin my reputation around camp.” You let him have his moment of deflection and wait until he makes a frustrated noise. “But I can’t say I don’t want to.” 

“Take what you need love,” you reach up to undo your collar and pull the blanket more securely around the two of you for privacy. A part of you considers moving to the tent, but you’re worried he’d use the opportunity to try to put it off more.

With a soft sigh, his lips press to your neck in a delicate kiss, teeth piercing your skin moments later. Pain and ecstasy course through you as you hold back a sigh. The two of you become one in that instant, bound through blood to the singular beating heart you now share, intimacy unparalleled. While he drinks, you fight to stay lucid enough to whisper to him of love and comfort, reassuring him that needing this from you is no sin. You feel your own warmth traveling into his skin, and you watch it take on a blush of life. 

Before your world turns hazy, he pulls away, licking you clean, and returning his head to your chest, content to be held tightly. "I didn't take too much, did I?"

"No, you were perfectly careful dearest." The words bring a small smile to his lips, praise so new an experience for him, he hardly knows how to handle it. But you know he craves it, especially from you, and it makes you want to lavish it on him. 

The others have vanished, a small part of you worries they noticed and were uncomfortable, but you hope they would understand as your friends. You two should join them soon, Baldur's Gate awaits, with a journey there still ahead. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

“A few more minutes love,” somehow he manages to snuggle tighter against you, “I did miss this.”

“Me too, don’t wait so long next time. I’m always here for you.” 

“There you go, being too nice to me again, silly girl.” Sitting up a bit he kisses you, fiercely, lips crashing together bruisingly, hands reaching to tangle in your hair, like a first and a last kiss all bound up in one and it leaves you gasping when he’s done. It’s as though he’s trying to express everything he feels in that one kiss. “I might get used to it if you’re not careful.” 

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #my fanfiction #my writing

[bhaalble]

Back on my Wyll script doctor because I was talking about it with a friend. Specifically imagining a version of Wyll's big Character Choice that felt like it had some actual teeth.

Imagine a world where instead of a cartoon evil hot lady Mizora and Wyll's relationship actually had some complexity to it and like. some genuine push and pull which gives him temptation to stay. I just keep thinking about this 17 year old who his whole life wanted more than anything to be a hero, who got his chance to do something heroic and selfless and save the city from certain doom, and his reward is getting kicked out because he did it the "wrong way".

Imagine if instead of forcing his silence, Mizora instead comforted him. How unbelievably cruel of your father! Well...since you've nowhere else to go, why not stick with me? We make a pretty good team, as it turns out, and I can get you a whole list of monsters who need killing. Plenty of devils and demons loose in your world targetting all sorts of innocents. Our interests can keep aligning, and you get a place to sleep when you need it.

Wyll makes his peace with it, because he has nothing and no one. And Mizora's not GOOD maybe, not by Ulder Ravengard's definition. But she's fun. She delights in his growth. And she does certainly keep direct him at greater evils, devils who really do need killing. And if she spies on his every waking moment, well, she worries. If she sends him after the occasional innocent, well, she had people who she has to answer to as well. She's a devil, how much can he fault her for her nature? She's always seemed like she knew where the line was...

Karlach (and the player) express their doubts, of course, but for act one at least he's defensive. Yes, she punished him and he hates it and its miserable but....he was in breach of contract! She's NEVER gone outside its bounds, she's always stuck very closely to their agreement. Wyll, who wants so badly to trust others and believe everyone has the chance for good, can't find it in him to believe the worst even of a devil.

And Mizora is FOND of Wyll, loves him even in her way. As a cherished pet, as a trusted tool, as a best-laid plan. Never enough to choose his own well-being over her own agenda, never enough to see him as his own person. He's her little project, the long shot noble brat she gambled on when Tiamat decided to get too big for her britches. And it paid off! Wyll always pays off, currying her all the favor from Zariel she so desperately craves. And who are you, or anyone, to come between them? She's treated him well. As she's quick to remind him, she wanted him when no one else did, aided him while the rest of his city slept snug in their beds. And if Ulder Ravengard didn't want a son with a whiff of infernal, then do you REALLY think he'd want you with lovely horns and Avernus in your blood?

You discover his father's been taken. Beyond igniting a lot of old feelings, it brings up a question of succession. Of course, Florrick isnt giving up on him, but if not...there aren't currently any likely candidates to take over the Flaming Fists. Not trustworthy ones. Florrick will take the position, but everyone knows in the back of his mind Ulder never really stopped planning for it to be Wyll. With the city in chaos and a cult army on the rise, they may need an answer sooner rather than later. Wyll feels the call of the Gate, but knows just as well that Mizora wouldn't want him to return in such an official capacity.

For the first time ever the leash starts to chafe in a way he can't keep pushing through.

Act 2 rolls around. Mizora sends up the Warlock signal. After potentially some encouragement from the player, Wyll (NOT THE PLAYER. I DONT KNOW WHY ITS THE PLAYER IN THE GAME ITS WEIRD) hesitantly proposes that maybe, if he does this....they can do a renegotiation of his contract. Not break it, he assures her quickly! Just....reopen the terms, take a looks at the agreement. Maybe discuss an exit ramp? After all....I mean, neither of us truly thought I'd be doing this forever, did we?

Based on Mizora's reaction. Yeah she did.

But fine. She agrees. And Wyll's not mad that it turns out you're rescuing her, not a nameless "operative" for Zariel. He would've done that on his own had she asked. Its the fact that she apparently didn't feel like being honest, that she let him fret and worry about potentially handing Zariel back some runaway for basically no reason. Its the fact that she came here to check in on the cult that abducted his FATHER just to see if Zariel could make any use of them. And its the fact that she seems surprised and annoyed that ANY of this bothers him.

All this builds, of course, to the final confrontation. The basic elements are the same. Mizora outside the coronation (this time needling at Wyll, "I'll be at camp if you're not too high and mighty to consort with the likes of me anymore"), Ulder tadpoled and fighting it. Mizora makes her offer. I can end the contract now, and you're free to go running after daddy (who won't want you btw! not like I do!). You'll lose all your powers, all my aid, all those juicy quests to chase down the greatest monsters in the hells. Take on your father's job and settle in for a life of misery and compromise and only doing as much good as the nobles will let you. Or: pledge yourself to me, eternally. I'll give you a boatload of new powers and eternal life to boot, so long as you serve as my sword and shield.

From there I think three endings branch out, and with it three classes for Wyll. If he stays with Mizora, accepts a relationship where he will never be an equal or a free agent in exchange for the affirmation he wants so badly from his father, he remains a Warlock, with some juiced stats and extra spell slots, along with shiny new gear. If he pledges to follow in his father's footsteps, he instead becomes an Oath of Devotion paladin, pledging himself in service to Tyr, if with a sense of doomed finality. The Blade of Frontiers is officially retired, and along with it any identity he has outside of being his father's son. Or the third path, break the contract without taking his father's role. He will look for his father, yes, but whether or not you find him he's going back to his roots, travelling around to do some good in the world (as the Blade of Frontiers) or kicking ass in the Hells with Karlach (as the Blade of Avernus). In this timeline he becomes a fighter, with a default preference for Eldritch Knight.

What's important: if he breaks his contract then Mizora is NOT hanging around camp. She will leave in a fury, accidentally bound by her own word to withdraw her influence completely if he breaks his contract. She may still approach the player some night to sleep with the player, framed for high approval/romanced players and her trying to take something back from Wyll. But Wyll will have to learn how to define himself without her breathing down his neck, without keeping her happy dominating his every thought. Its nervewracking, and even lonesome at times...but its freedom. And, perhaps, that's worth a little bit of lonesomeness.

#long post #again i want to be clear because i think wyll fans are a little understandably defensive of him #this is not about wanting wyll to be a bad person #its about wanting him to have an arc that parallels the rest of the companions #and be more firmly centered on HIS feelings and choices #ive done my best to preserve wylls canon temperament here #just give the circumstances more teeeth #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #wyll ravengard #mizora #ulder ravengard

[feyascorner]

3 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You hate him, you think. You want to hate him, at the very least.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asks, his expression indecipherable. “I didn’t realize the great savior of the city could be afraid of a mere vampire spawn.”

“You did try to strangle me last time we spoke."

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard, large chunks of italicized texts are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. redemption arc is coming i swear :) this is a whopping 4.7k i got kinda carried away but oh well,, Thank you so much for your comments on these they make my day and i appreciate each one<3

Dance upon the stars tonight

Smile and pain will fade away

“And what might our dear bard be working so passionately on?”

You look up from your notebook, ceasing the messy scribbling of lyrics into its tattered pages. Astarion perches himself beside you, the flames of the campfire flickering in the reflection of his eyes as you stop humming and raise a cautious brow. A vampire spawn. You’d never seen one in person–-only had you heard of them in your childhood tales of the spawn that would sweep away naughty children if they didn’t finish their vegetables. Up close, you can almost see his fangs protruding from the grin he's constantly wearing.

You wonder if it’s a genuine one.

“That bard at the grove today,” you recall. “Alfira? I’m trying to finish the lyrics and write them out for her.”

“Is that so? Surely you’re receiving some sort of payment for these gracious services?”

You train your eyes back onto the pages, shaking your head. “I’m doing this for fun. Her song is beautiful. It just needs—” you squint. “--adjustment.”

He laughs, and you can see the fangs clearly now. They’re sharper than you expected them to be. “I believe that’s a drastic understatement, my dear. My heart felt for those poor squirrels. I’m quite willing to bet that they have an aversion to bards now.”

“And you’re suddenly a musician yourself?”

“It doesn’t take a musician to recognize poor singing, darling Tav,” he returns. “And considering I’ve spent the past few days listening to your music, I’m sure you’ll understand why I considered it such an abomination.”

You narrow your eyes. “I thought you didn’t like me–or my music.”

“You? I'm still deciding,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes. “But I must say that I’m growing rather fond of that lyre of yours. Have you had it for long?”

You give him a sidelong glance before answering slowly. “I’ve had it for ages. Practically when I just started.”

“Explains itself then, I suppose.”

“And you?” you watch as he leans back on his palms. “Do you have any other talents to offer to our companions, or is it just your teeth?”

“Now, don’t be so cruel, dear,” he smiles wider. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re rather fond of them as well. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring all the time.”

“I’m on guard,” you clarify.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You’re not sure if you can sleep with one eye open, much less both of them closed. You’re not sure if you trust him at all, either, but as he stares up at the starry sky, simply listening to the crackling of the campfire, you decide you’d rather save yourself the energy for what awaits tomorrow.

“Why did you do that earlier?” you find yourself asking, and he replies by glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Do what?”

“Save Wyll from that goblin arrow,” you mumble. “I thought you didn't care about any of us.”

“And what gives you that impression?”

You deadpan, staring at him with lidded eyes and he laughs out loud. It sounds more genuine than anything else he’s offered so far. It's nice.

“It’s a simple transaction, dear. One where I receive protection in turn for the occasional aid I can give with my own blade.”

You squint at him, but you see no signs of deception. So instead, you simply nod and resume scribbling into your notebook, softly humming to yourself alongside the lyrics. And when you halt, stuck on a particular lyric that you can’t seem to remember, you hear him shift, standing himself back up to retreat to his tent.

“Something about faith and care comes next if my memory serves,” is all he says before striding away. While you watch him in confusion, you click your tongue and try to focus again. And when you look down at your page, you remember the rest of the words.

Somehow, you feel the corners of your lips lift.

“As much as I’d love for this to be a charming, long-awaited reunion, one of the parties imposes a danger to the other.”

You wince at the sarcasm dripping from Gale’s voice. Duke Ravengard’s expression remains solemn, unmoving like a stone, while your companion pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “We can’t harbor a vampire spawn in our home. We’re supposed to be finding them, not keeping them!”

You hate the irony of the statement because the camp you’d spent so many months in with an uninvited guest in your head, had also been your home. One where you spent your nights in a vampire spawn’s tent. It’s not so different, you keep telling yourself. But you’re painfully aware that the Duke only knows a sugar-coated version of the falling out between you and said vampire. He doesn’t know how his son had to tear Astarion away from you and how your voice had been sore for weeks afterward.

“As much as I have my own opinions with allying with a vampire spawn,” the Duke stares at Astarion warningly. “Wyll did say this spawn saved his life while your party ventured together. For that, I'm willing to see reason if he’s cooperative, rather than restrain him with the Fists.”

You never thought much of it until now. With how many life threatening experiences you and your companions had come across, it felt natural to save one another. At first, it had been out of necessity—fear that one person would turn into an illithid. Yet, with time, you'd all grown fond of each other, one way or another.

You think back to when Astarion had saved Wyll and wonder if that part of him is still in there. Maybe it was never there at all. Maybe it had been another one of his manipulation tactics that you're so prone to falling for.

Gods, you're hopeless.

The wizard standing beside you sighs irritably. “But that was before he tried to squeeze the life out of-”

“How long do we need to keep him?”

Gale balks at your words. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

“Just until we’re able to locate the rest of the spawns spread throughout the city, which you kindly decided not to mention in our last conversation.”

You shoot Gale a glare, silently questioning if he’d been the one to confess the existence of the spawns underground, but he’s too busy scanning over Astarion, who’s mindlessly fidgeting with his knife. The said spawn seems to feel your gaze, because he glances at you, then grins.

The bastard is smiling.

“The man you killed this morning is a spawn himself, yes?” the Duke clarifies. “There have been numerous reports the past few days about strange figures with fangs throughout the city—I’d known they’d existed, but to the numbers that are being reported…”

“You couldn’t have possibly believed myself to be the only spawn around?” Astarion laughs bitterly. “I do not wish to go hungry, Duke, but I don’t need nearly as many bodies that’s been showing up—assuming that I did drink from anyone, of course.”

Ravengard ignores him, speaking as if he’s not there. “I could still have him detained if that is what you wish. We can continue as we have and search for the spawn without his help.”

You know it’s a fruitless effort if last night has told you anything.

“You don’t even have evidence that I drank from a single person in this entire bloody city!” Astarion spits back, rolling his neck in exasperation.

“No,” you purse your lips, finally looking up. “I’ll be responsible for him.”

Gale clears his throat alarmingly. “Now, dear leader, let’s have a private conversation before we make any hasty decisions, yes? Surely, we don’t have to decide right this moment.”

And while you open your mouth to respond that no, you won’t have Astarion rot away in some gross cell, the Duke nods. “Very well.”

Gale pushes you to the corner of the room, with his face clearly paling in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re joking. You want someone who nearly strangled you to death sleeping in the room next to yours?”

“Ravengard wants us to find out where the other spawn are hiding, and the only lead we have is sitting right there,” you defend yourself. “Throwing Astarion into a dirty cell won’t do anything to convince him to help us.”

“The Duke doesn’t know what he did to you!”

“He doesn’t need to. Astarion’s made it very clear he’s not going to spill any information if the Duke is the one asking, and we need a lead. I nearly died last night, Gale. I want to avoid that if I can.”

His eyes soften just a bit, but it’s enough. With a loud sigh, he scrunches his nose. “And you’re sure you’re not doing this for more personal reasons?”

At this, you pause. Your eyes waver, and the look Gale gives you is almost soul-crushing if it weren’t for the fact that you feel like you’ve already hit rock bottom. You know this is not a good idea. You know that being so close to him again after so many months is not a good idea, especially when you’ve just finally begun your journey to forget him.

You curse the gods above for your luck.

The silence prompts Gale to speak. “I’ll tell the Duke we can’t involve ourselves in this.”

“Gale,” your voice almost cracks. “Please.”

He doesn’t want to agree, you can tell. Any sane person wouldn’t invite a bloodthirsty vampire spawn who’s willing to use his own hands to kill his so-called lover into their home. You want to think that you’re void of bias, but you know it’s a pathetic attempt to reassure yourself. Still, the expression on your face must be quite the sight because Gale takes one look, glances at Astarion, then slumps his shoulders. You’ve won.

You hadn’t even realized the door had been swung open, where your other companions had been standing, taking one look at Astarion then to you. While Gale wallows in his own defeat, you turn to the others, eyes glimmering with a kind of hope that they haven’t seen in months.

“Your judgment’s gotten us this far,” Shadowheart sighs. “We’d be fools not to trust it now.”

Lae’zel clicks her tongue. “My blade is ready to slit his throat if need be. Just command me, and I shall.”

“We aren’t going to try to kill him," you retort.

“It’s only right to return the favor."

Dinner is awkward. You’re finally getting to try Gale’s stew, but it’s hard to focus on the taste when all you can feel is the searing stare of the person sitting across from you. He only has a goblet of crimson liquid in the same shade as his eyes in front of him, and it remains untouched as he takes in the rest of the house.

“So,” Gale offers. “What have you been up to?”

It’s not much, but it’s better than sitting in complete silence.

“Wandering the streets at night, mostly. Oh, and murdering half the city, apparently,” Astarion lets out his usual high-pitched laugh at the end, and your fingers tighten around your spoon. Shadowheart glares at him through her lashes, and you think she may lunge at him any second. You want to think you wouldn't stop her.

You feel for her, really. Being the group’s cleric comes with its advantages but also with the unspoken burden of watching your companions in pain. She’d been the one to ensure Astarion hadn’t left long-lasting damage to your throat. She’d been the one to soothe your headaches and cast a sleeping spell on you in hopes it’ll allow you to rest longer than just a few hours. She’d also seen you nearly bleed out multiple times, one of which occurred mere hours ago.

The sudden scrape of Lae’zel’s chair being pushed back catches your attention. She stands, lifting her bowl with her. “The air here is suffocating. Sort out your differences before I sort them out for you.”

The rest of you collectively nod. She doesn’t say anything else before leaving the room.

“The room at the end of the hallway upstairs is yours,” Shadowheart says finally. “Don’t bother me if you need anything else.”

She stands up as well, leaving her bowl in the sink before pacing up the stairs to her own quarters.

Somehow, the atmosphere is even worse now. You don’t dare lift your eyes from your stew, and you honestly hope it explodes before you have to sit here and drink all of it in this silence. Gale, thankfully, does not leave. Instead, he sets down his utensil.

“I suggest we have a set of rules in place–for the sake of everyone occupying this home,” he clears his throat. You shoot him a questioning look, which he dusts off.

“Fine,” Astarion leans back in his chair, now swirling the goblet of blood in his hand. “What do you have in mind?”

“No drinking. From anyone here.”

You blink a few times, then hear Astarion hum in acknowledgment. “Shame. Though your blood was vile anyway.”

“And don’t cause any trouble. One of us will go with you when you need to drink, so you can hunt for whatever animal you prefer these days. Otherwise, unless we say so, you’ll remain here.”

“Why, this sounds almost identical to a prison. Looking for a job as a warden, Gale? A midlife crisis, perhaps. Does wizard life not suit you anymore?”

“It suits me plenty, thanks,” Gale snorts. “We’ll be out during the day to rebuild the city, so you’ll have to entertain yourself in your own room. Don’t touch anything—especially my stuff.”

Astarion grins. “That almost sounds like an invitation.”

The wizard then turns to you. “And you? Do you have any other rules you’d like to add?”

You finally lift your head from the stew, looking back and forth between the two before shaking your head while pushing your chair back. For someone who’d imagined aimlessly for months about seeing your former lover again, you can’t seem to look him in the eye for fear of what you might feel. “I’m going out.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.”

Wordlessly, you pace toward the door, refusing to look back to suppress the urge to sprint back into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking just a few hours ago, but this was not going to end well. If you couldn’t manage a simple dinner sitting across from him, what could you manage?

You’re in such a rush that you forget to bring anything besides your wallet.

By the time you’re on your way back to the house hours later, you have a backpack shoved full of fabrics with nails and a hammer to go along with it. As you pass by the taverns, you hear music playing from inside, alongside a few cheers and what you can only assume to be a crash of chairs as people applaud. 

You can’t help but peer through the window as you walk past, where a bard merrily plays on his drum, lightening the mood of the entire tavern—even the bartender smiles along as he plays tunes you’ve heard a million times before. And while your hands itch for a lyre—to feel the string snap against your fingertips—you know no good will come of it. You’ll only sit before the instrument, your hands unable to find the emotions to exert in the form of notes. 

As you stare at the bard, you remind yourself you’ve long given up on that kind of life.

So instead, you continue your way to the Highberry’s home. When you knock on the door, a very weary Cora Highberry greets you with bags under her eyes, but a calm smile still stretching on her lips nonetheless. She steps out of the way, inviting you in, and you do so.

“You didn’t have to, dear,” she says as she takes a bag of the city’s finest fruits from your hands. “The neighbors have been oh so gracious to us. They’re helping the children so much, I couldn’t possibly ask for more.”

“I was just passing by, that’s all,” you offer. “I wanted to check on you since I left a bit abruptly last time.”

“Oh, dear, you know how to make a woman feel special. It’s been terrible, really. I haven’t gone so long with my husband in ages…” she laughs, wiping at her swollen eyes. “But we were an old couple anyways…I had some time to prepare my emotions. I just didn’t think he’d go like that.”

You nod as she hands you a mug of hot tea. “But never mind that. I’ve spent the past two weeks talking about nothing but myself, so I’m quite tired. What about you, dear?”

“Me?”

“You look like death themselves,” she frowns. “I’ve lived for quite long…I recognize that heartbroken face anywhere. Has something happened?”

The way she’s staring at you—it’s different than pity. You can’t quite identify it, but she smiles again. It’s not the kind of smile most people give you—not one of anticpation, not one of gratefulness, but just a regular, old smile. And it makes your shoulders untense just the slightest before they tense again. You take a swig of the tea, nearly burning your throat in the process as you set the mug down, splitting a pathetic smile. “No, I’m okay. Just--tired.”

Very, very tired. Not physically, no, but tired of the indecisiveness that is your heart.

Her face falls softly. “How troubling it must be to have the weight of the city on your shoulders."

Before you can answer, there’s a loud thud upstairs. She notices your alarm and shakes her head. “Ah, must be Berry. She’s one of the younger children, and she’s been taking my husband’s death quite hard. Please excuse me, dear. I need to go put her back to sleep.”

And with that, you’re left alone on the first floor of the building again. You contemplate staying to say your farewells but the cries from upstairs convince you otherwise. Taking one last swig from the mug, you gather your things and leave.

When you get back home, it’s well into the night, an hour or two after midnight, you’d think. None of the lights are on, so the first thing you do is light a candle when you step through the door, dropping your backpack onto the dining room table. Dunking all your materials out, you take the hammer and start your work.

There’s something soothing about the darkness outside, with the way nothing seems to exist besides you and your own thoughts in a city that overflows with a sense of community. You try not to think about the man most likely reading in his room just a floor above you and focus on hanging the fabrics in front of all of the windows. The cloths are mismatched in color, and your hammer work is nothing more than sufficient, but it’ll do for now. At least until you can get actual curtains installed.

You worry that some of the fabrics aren’t thick enough to absorb all the sunlight, so you layer another fabric on top of it until you’re sure that even your candlelight cannot be seen from outside. Why you’re going so far for him, you do not know. You prefer to assure yourself that you need him to help stop the spawn from devouring the entire city, but even in your own thoughts, it sounds like a lie.

You wonder if he cares nearly as much as you do. He probably doesn’t.

You hate him, you think for the millionth time today. You want to, at the very least.

You flinch when a splinter in the wooden wall splits your skin open, forming a drop of blood on your index finger. Curse the heavens above, nothing was going right today. You quickly reach for a towel but nearly jump when you hear his voice from the stairs. 

“You really need to stop with that habit of yours.”

You spin around, and he’s already at the foot of the stairs, reaching to grab a towel from the kitchen. But you’re faster, snatching it away and pressing it over your hand while he raises both his own, imitating a surrender of getting any closer. You can’t look at him in the eye—you don’t want to either. “What habit?”

“You’re speaking to me now?” he raises a brow, and you turn away again after shooting him a glare. “I’d thought you’d avoid me forever—scurrying off like a squirrel whenever I step into the room.”

You should avoid him forever. But the words don’t reach your tongue, and you choose to ignore him.

He doesn’t budge. “I meant bleeding around me.”

“What?”

“Every time I see you, you always seem to be bleeding.”

You frown at him. “Maybe you just prefer being around me when I’m bleeding.”

“You might be right." You think maybe he’s done with this painfully awkward conversation until you see him staring at the windows covered with random pieces of fabric, and suddenly, you feel embarrassment creep up your skin. You realize how bizarre your actions must appear in someone else’s eyes, staying up to the break of dawn so that he’ll be able to traverse someplace outside the confines of his own room…

It might make him think you care, and the worst part is that a part of you does.

“I hope you don’t expect me to thank you, darling.”

The nickname feels like a stab to your heart, haunting, even, but you do your best to brush it off.

“For what?” you manage to force out through clenched teeth.

“The cell they would’ve thrown me into is nothing different from trapping me in that room, I’m afraid,” he laughs bitterly, and you want to crawl into a hole from how cold his voice sounds. Distant. Like how he’d sounded the day you found him next to his nautiloid pod. “But I suppose I should be grateful for having a bed instead of having to spend my days rotting away on the dirty floor?”

You bite your bottom lip, brows furrowing. “I don't expect anything from you.”

But you do. Not quite an expectation, but a lingering wish that maybe you can heal. It's pathetic, even in your own eyes and surely everyone else's, but you can't be bothered to care.

It pisses you off a bit. How he seems perfectly unfazed while you continue to drown in your own feelings.

“Are you just here to taunt me, or is there a reason for this conversation?” you snap. This is not quite how you wanted your reunion to go.

He raises a brow. “Taunt you? I'm only answering questions you're afraid to ask.”

“I don't need to know anything about you,” you grit through your teeth. “You left my mind the second you abandoned us.”

What a poor, wishful lie.

“Ha!” It doesn't really sound like a laugh—more a scoff of disbelief. It's like he knows what you're thinking, and for a split second, it feels like there's a tadpole in your head again. “Of course you think I'm the villain of your precious heroic tale! Honestly darling, the irony just writes itself.”

You fight the urge to scowl, but you're not sure if you're successful. You find yourself gripping onto the towel harder, teeth clenched as your chest tightens just hearing his words. You truly hate that he seems to care less than you—it’s like he's not even taking you seriously.

And that damned nickname.

It feels like talking to the Astarion you first met—one who’s only intentions were to use you—but this time, you don't think it’s a mask. He doesn't want anything more from you. Only your own suffering from taking the power that would have made him untouchable.

“So tell me, dear, do you wish for me to grovel at your feet?”

Your eyes widen, and the term of endearment that once made your cheeks flush only makes you feel sick. “What?”

“Do you expect me to drop to my knees, begging for your forgiveness?” he says again, eerily composed while you struggle to come up with words. “Perhaps I would have if we were still staying in that camp. Put on a show, even."

You frown, setting your hammer down on the counter. “I’ve never made you grovel. I’ve never made you do anything.”

“Maybe not directly, no, you’re too kind of a soul to do so,” there’s venom lacing the words that feel nothing short of a lie. Somehow, he’s still smiling. “Instead, you made me beg for your help. You accepted—made it feel like I had a choice. Then tore it away just the same, in the cruelest way possible. Impressive, really. I didn't expect such dramatic sins from you.”

The way he looks at you, words dripping with sarcasm, makes you want to melt into the floor, ceasing to exist as a whole. But alas, you continue standing like a deer in headlights, unsure of how to respond. You look down to see the towel stained with your blood and inhale deeply, watching the dark sky lighten with daybreak through the window. “The sun’s rising.”

His smile drops, something foreign flickering in his eyes. He suddenly steps toward you, and as soon as he gets within two feet, you find yourself stepping backward, your fingers tightening around the hammer. You have no idea if you'd even be able to use it, but it's better than digging your nails into your palms.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he asks, his expression indecipherable. “I didn’t realize the great savior of the city could be afraid of a mere vampire spawn.”

You don't want to think he'd truly kill you. Not really, but your mind flashes back to the look in his eyes when he had his hands wrapped around your lifeline, and you grip the hammer tighter, heartbeat pounding impossibly fast.

“You did try to strangle me last time we spoke,” you mutter.

His lip twitches, and he steps back bitterly. You feel like you can breathe again.“Ah, yes, that.”

You swear your stomach drops to your feet at the mere suggestion he’d forgotten what haunts your nightmares every night, forcing you to lurch from your rest in a cold sweat, hands shaking, and having nobody to turn to for comfort. He couldn't be that cruel…could he? You want to scream at him, punch him, kick him, tell him he’s not being fair. You want to defend yourself, say that all you’ve ever wanted was for him to be safe, but even that feels like too much when he’s giving you so little.

“Very well, I’ll indulge you,” he grins again. You realize your time is running out, the sun beginning to peer out from the horizon. “Why did you assume responsibility for me? I can’t imagine why you’d want such a terrible foe in your life living right next door of your own sanctuary.”

For the city, you tell yourself. For Cora's husband and the poor victims drained off their life, all alone in the darkest corners of Baldur's Gate. “...I didn’t do it for you.”

He searches your face for something, his eyes narrowing. He's waiting for you to continue, but there's no more fuel in the tank, and now you just want to sleep for a very long time. You assume he comes up empty when the corners of his lips fall, and he turns to climb up the stairs. Sunlight hits your back as your eyes trail him in his steps, and it does nothing to warm how cold it feels in the room.

“That much I’m aware,” he stops his steps for a brief moment. You barely catch it, but it's there. “Terribly aware.”

And when he finally leaves, you bury your face into your hands.

"I'm nervous."

"What for?"

"What if the ascension goes wrong? Are you sure we should really be doing this, Astarion?"

He brushes your hair out of your face, cupping both your cheeks in his hands. "We'll be okay, my love. I will still be here, and so will you. I'll just finally have enough power to protect what I care about."

He sees the hesitance in your eyes and leans his forehead against yours. You melt into his touch, placing your hands atop his.

"So please, stand beside me for this," he pleads.

And despite the way your intuition screams at you otherwise, despite the way your very being begs you to pull away, you nod, sealing your fate.

"I'll be right here."

Tags:@ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @ukeia-uchiha @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3 #angst with a happy ending #angst #gale of waterdeep #shadowheart

[alocon]

My Person - Mick Schumacher

written by alocon

Summary: You're an aggressive driver... except when it comes to him

Before you read: Couple of curse words x

fc: N/A

[The Masterlist]

MS47 X Fem!Reader

Mad Max had seen nothing on you when you got crashed into in a race. The media, especially Drive to Survive, had always portrayed you as some evil, harsh, aggressive woman when you were nothing but a sweet, loving soul behind the camera, behind the racing where people actually know you. Sure, you weren't too big on making friends or pursuing friendships with people you didn't trust. You were friends with all the drivers, though. Even if you weren't best friends with them all, you were still relatively close with them all. That didn't stop the media from treating you as though you were the human equivalent of a pile of garbage. Typical. 

The drivers insisted that you were completely different from racing but no one believed it. Your positive radio messages praising good moves, even those against you, weren't shown and all your good deeds seemed to be overshadowed by DTS. You had fans though who knew all that you liked and what you were actually like. 

It didn't matter to them, though. To the media, to DTS, you were nothing but an evil, harsh, rude, disrespectful driver. You couldn't help being passionate about your job, though. You wanted to make your family proud. You wanted to make the whole of Brazil proud. You needed to make the whole of Brazil proud. So it made you tough, determined, it made you realise that there isn't much you wouldn't do to achieve your dreams. If it meant all your time and effort, it meant all that time and effort. Every. Single. Bit. But that's just something that came with being a Brazilian, determined Formula One driver who's dad was THE Rubens Barrichello.

Your dad and Michael Schumacher were closer than people believed. It was sometimes played off as a rivalry with a hint of friendship but, realistically speaking, they were relatively good friends. You weren't too close with their family, though, until around 2009. You had always been a very determined racer. And that meant being overly competitive in your karting days. Most of your karting group weren't as close with you because of that. Except one person - Mick Schumacher.

The friendship between you both had started off with you being quiet and closed off to everyone. He had been very determined to change that. Over time, you had learnt to tolerate his bubbly, smiley self and had started to care deeply for the man. He was the only person you allowed yourself around. You had never once raised your voice at him. Then again, you had never been angry at him post race. He had always been there if you had been taken out of a race. Whether that be him having DNFed as well or after he finished a race, he would always be there for you. And you were for him. No matter what happened, if he finished the race, if he dnfed, etc. you always made it very very clear that you were proud of him. You never let him feel anything but an incredible driver, an incredible person. Because that is exactly what he was. A good talent in a shitbox Haas. A good person. Your person. 

A fond memory the pair of you held was when Gina had convinced you both to watch Grey's Anatomy so she could discuss it with someone and you had watched it together. When Meredith first called Christina her person, Mick had looked down at you, where you had been cuddled into his gentle embrace. “You know,” he had said softly, pausing for a moment as you looked up at him, watching you as your beautiful eyes had met his, softening the second you had looked at him, nothing but adoration in your eyes. “You're my person.” He had stated it so genuinely, his hand running through your hair as you both just stared at each other. He had watched the way your eyes seemed to light up the second he said it. Just when he was convinced he couldn't pine over someone as much as he did, you once again had proved him wrong.

Mick had never considered himself scared of you. Lots of people would say that he was only friends with you because he was scared of you. But that wasn't true. That had never been true. He loved who you were when you were with him. He knew how misunderstood you were. He knew that, sure, sometimes you got pissed off when you DNFed, but everyone did. Sure, sometimes you would exchange a few words back and forth with another driver who took you out, but you always apologised if you got angry and the occasions you were very angry were incredibly rare. As in, he had only seen you properly shout at someone 3 times in the time he'd known you - once when Pierre Gasly had been driving incredibly recklessly and you had yelled at him a little bit because he easily could've seriously injured someone, once in Karting when you were 11 and someone had cost you the championship through a stupid move (yes, you had apologised for that), and in 2021 when Max Verstappen had crashed you out of the championship fight. You wouldn't have yelled at the man (and slapped him) had he not had that fucking smirk on his face when he found out that he was still in the championship fight, even though you weren't. He didn't care about you no longer being in the championship. In fact, it suited him better because it had been a two way tie instead of 3. He had later apologised for that though so, not wanting to cause any drama, you accepted.

Mick had never felt so scared in his life as he had been during the 2022 Japanese Grand Prix. Someone, he wasn't sure who, had hit the back of his car and he had felt his heart stop when he felt himself latch onto the back of your car, dragging you with him, quite roughly. What had stopped his heart most, at that point, was the tractor that was on track without a red flag. Luckily, to both of your luck, you were both in a position where you were just out of the way so you had both hit the barrier, albeit pretty hard, but without any tractor incidents. And the race had finally been red flagged. You hit your hands on the steering wheel, speaking over the radio. “For f**ks sake. Please tell me I'm not out of the championship.”

“You're not, Y/N. You're still in the championship race.”

“Thank f**king God. Who even crashed into me? That could've been so dangerous for both of us if we had gone into that tractor.”

“Uhm, it appears to be Schumacher. All cars are past, you can get out of your car now.”

You had taken your seat belt off with record speed, getting out of the car and replacing the steering wheel. You turned, seeing Mick. He was sitting on the floor, knees brought up to his chest, helmet off, and his head in his arms. You were confused. Was he hurt? You headed over to him, crouching down.

“Mick. You okay?” He looked up at you, nodding. “You're not hurt, no?” He shook his head. “Alright. Come on, let's go get in the car and get back to the pits, alright?” He followed you.

However, once you got out of the car, he rushed off straight to the Haas garage. No goodbye or anything, just left. Placing your helmet into the hands of your race engineer, you watched Mick wipe his face as he headed into the Haas garage. You turned to your race engineer, zoning in as he questioned you on you being okay and not injured and stuff.

You had joined Formula One in 2021 with Porsche. Porsche weren’t meant to be coming into F1 for a few years, however, they had somehow managed to convince the FIA that there should be an 11th team on the grid and, somehow, they had agreed. Willingly. Thus, Porsche F1 Team was born. The grid increased from 20 drivers to 22, with you being joined by someone you drove in F2 with - Felipe Drugovich, another Brazilian driver. You had been beyond hyped, especially when Porsche had absolutely ripped, bringing you all to P4 in the constructors in its first season. Now, however, there was a chance of it being P1. And you were going to take that chance. Your dream was to be a champion, to make your country and your dad proud, and you would do anything to make that happen.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you turned to see a frantic Haas employee. “I'm so sorry for interrupting. Mick is freaking out, we need you.”

“What happened? Is he okay?”

“He's really worried that he took you out of the championship. I think he's scared to lose you. We tried to reassure him but I think it would be better coming from you. He also isn't going to medical despite needing to.”

You turned to your race engineer. “Can we catch up later?”

He shook his head. “Y/N you need to go get checked in the medical centre. That should be your priority right now.”

“No. I don't think you understand. Mick is my priority. Always. I'll go to medical with him.” You walked away quickly, following his race engineer towards Haas.

You walked into the garage, ignoring the weird looks you were getting, and straight over to the German driver who was sitting in the back corner, just like how you found him at the track, but inside this time, surrounded by people. They quickly cleared off when you signalled for them to. You knelt down in front of him. You didn't say anything, placing your hand gently on his knee.

He looked at you. “I am so so sorry,” he whispered, and you could see that he'd been trying.

“For what? You didn't mean to take me out with you.”

He had already looked away from your face.  “Yeah but I ruined your chance of winning the championship again. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me, I don't want to lose you.”

You placed your finger on his chin, lifting his head so his eyes met yours. Your hand then moved up to his cheek, taking his face into your hand softly. “Mickey, you didn't take me out of the championship. I can still win. And even if you did, you wouldn't lose me, alright?”

“But… Max last year.”

“Mick Schumacher, the only way that you will lose me is the day that I die.” He smiled slightly and you took the opportunity to wipe a bit of the wetness on his face away with your thumb. “Plus, that was so, so different. Max smirked and made a comment when he found out I wasn't in the championship, it was deliberate, and I still forgave him. But he's nothing compared to how far you would genuinely have to go to push me away.”

“I don't get it, why?”

“You're Mick. You're my Mick. You're my person and I love you more than I'll ever be able to express to you.”

You hadn't felt his hand on the back of your neck until it pulled you to connect your lips with his. You didn't react at first, just genuinely in shock at the feeling of his lips on yours. His soft, gentle lips. The thing you had always wanted. And it was what you had wanted for years. And then he pulled away. “Fuck, I'm so sorry Y/N, I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have-” You cut him off again to reconnect your lips, which he seemed to appreciate, as evident by his grip on your hair tightening slightly. 

You pulled away from the kiss. “Odds on our PR managers having heart attacks right now?”

He chuckled quietly, showing you that beautiful smile of his that you adored. “Oh, almost 100%,” he responded, causing you to laugh as well, head leaning to rest on his shoulder. “We're on camera,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Give them a wave,” you joked in response. “I believe we have to take a trip to medical.” You stood up, hand outstretched to take his. You shot a wink at the camera as you both stood up, before you walked out of the garage.

-Word Count: 2,083-

Hi All, This is short and quickly written and unedited. Apologies for not posting this on Monday. Let me know if you want to be on my general taglist Have a good day x Alocon

General Taglist: @casperlikej

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #Mick schumacher #Mick schumacher x reader #Mick schumacher imagine #mick x reader #mick #ms47 #ms47 x reader #Mick schumacher haas #Mick schumacher x you #Mick schumacher fanfic #Mick schumacher fic #ms47 one shot #ms47 imagine #ms47 fic #ms47fluff #ms47 angst #haas formula one team #haas f1 #haas f1 team #haas #haas racing f1 #Mick schumacher one shot #Mick schumacher fluff #ms47 x you #ms47 x y/n #ms47 fanfic #ms47 haas

[safination]

Partners in Death…And Life

Part 4: The Radio Stars’ Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes

|Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted| Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Parings: Alastor x wife! Reader. Tags: fem!reader established relationships, hopefully not but just in case ooc!Alastor (I'm trying my best, guys) Reader is in hell for a reason, Warnings: Very brief dissection of the human body. Kidneys It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me. I am sorry :D. These past *checks notes* three weeks (yikes) have been really busy for me. But I’m finally posting?

The light from the bus stop illuminates Alastor’s block handwriting. Smiles are drawn on the edges of note with different colored ballpoint pens. Dear God, it was like looking at kindergarten art, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Alastor’s instructions tell you that his house is a ten-minute walk from the bus stop.

You flip the note, studying the map Alastor drew.

A bird caws from the patches of trees across the road. There’s no living soul out here besides your own for miles.

You tighten your grip on the straps of your bag, and walk until you find yourself standing before a wooden gate. The hatch unlocks easily, and you hike up the path until you’re stepping on to the porch. Alastor’s house isn’t much—well, it’s much more than the tiny apartment in the city that you call home, but besides that, he has a very normal looking house. You don’t know why you expect anything different. The flowers on his windowsill brighten the place, and the rocking chairs by the edge makes it homier.

You smoothen your hair, fiddling with the note. A deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another—

Fuck it. You knock on the door.

A beat passes, and then another beat passes, and then another. Oh God, did he not hear your knock? Should you knock again? Your father always said that it was rude to knock twice, but you’re sure the knock should have been heard. Alastor was probably at the back of the house. You’re just going to knock again.

Alastor swings the door open, smiling at you. “You are right on time!”

Soft music plays behind him. The lights inside make his living-room look warm. “You said to be here by eight … so … Here I am!” you say with a light laugh. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “I’m very fond of being punctual.” Okay…hmmm…why did you say that?

You smoothen your hair, and fiddle with the straps of your bag.

 “I admire punctuality.” Alastor smiles at you.

You smile back.

He opens the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’

‘Of course I would!’

All proper responses to his question. It’s a shame you don’t say them. You reach into your bag instead, and shove a paper bag into his arms. “It’s raw.”

Alastor lifts the paper bag, studying it with careful eyes until they flicker to the wet patches at the bottom. “…I’m almost afraid to ask who it came from.”

You step through the door, and take off your coat. “My father, actually.”

Alastor tilts his head. “This is your father—am I supposed to cook him or something?”

“It’s venison!” you say, and run your hand through your hair. “Dad went hunting last week, and he gave me a bunch of meat and well…well, I thought you'd appreciate it more than I do. There’s too much for me to eat alone. And it’s always polite to give a gift when you’re visiting a home.”

Alastor secures your gift around his arms, and takes your coat. He’s smiling. You think he’s being genuine—you can’t really tell. “Thank you.”

He hangs your coat on the rack, and ushers you deeper inside his home. Alastor disappears into what you think is his kitchen, but you stay planted in his living-room floor. His house is nice for someone who lives alone. Things all have a place, they’re not necessarily organized, but it’s neat. It makes you smile.

It’s easy to see Alastor between the walls.

This is a home that’s been lived in. You count at least three portable radios in the living-room alone. There are books on the coffee table by the window, and the spines are creased as if it’s been read over and over and over again. There’s a chair next to the window as well. It has stains, and the cushions sink as if they’ve been loved for decades. You can practically see Alastor in that chair, a warm drink in his hand. He’ll reach across, and twist the knob of the radio that already has his favorite station tuned.

Alastor strides out of the kitchen, your gift probably inside his freezer. “Follow me,” he says with a wave of his arm. “I have something to show you.”

“Oh…okay.”

There are photo frames lining the wall of his stairs. You observe it as you follow deeper into this house. Some are photographs of what you’re going to assume is Alastor, and some are certificates. You don’t have time to poke around and read each and every one of them.

Alastor opens his arms, shaking them as he presents you with a door.

A single door…One door at the back of the house. A door you don’t know where it will lead.

You stare at him, and take one single step back. “You’re not going to kill me in your basement, right?”

Alastor laughs at you, wiping a tear for the sake of showing you. “Good heavens no! Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I’m inside a man’s house, and he’s currently leading me to the basement. A man, might I add, dumps bodies in the forest,” you tell him with a wonky smile. “I hope you don’t go around asking every lady to your murder basement.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“My goodness, you really know how to make a lady feel extra special.” You fiddle with the straps of your bag, tightening your grip to stifle the urge to smoothen your hair. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Alastor tilts his head. (It’s kind of cute.) “Do what?”

“You know…uh…. You’ll  tell me to run,” you say, then motion to the china vase behind. “Then I’ll grab this really nice and expensive looking vase and smash it over your head.”

“Please don’t.”

“And then I’ll make a run for the door.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t interested in running last time.”

“And I’m still not,” you say. “So there’s no point in killing me.”

He chuckles a bit and his glasses slide down his nose. He pushes it up. “Think of this as a gift! Or more like an offer of partnership.”

“A gift of death?”

“I've already told you I wasn’t planning on killing you anymore,” he says, sighing. “Just…just follow me, and you’ll see!”

You huff and cross your arms. “I detest being lied to.”

Alastor opens the basement door. The hinges creak. It appears as if darkness itself lives inside, swirling and eating up whatever light that passes through. “Yes, that’s good to know.”

You take another step back. “That’s a really creepy basement.”

“You haven’t even been inside yet,” Alastor says. He places a light hand on your back, practically pushing you down. “Now, now, don’t be so stubborn.”

You grab the door frames, and push against him to resist. “I’m not going without knowing what’s down there.”

Alastor presses on your back. “If you go down there and see what I’ve prepared, you will feel very silly for causing such a ruckus.”

You push back harder, using the door frames as support. “As first dates go, this is giving really mixed signals,” you say, trying to smile. “I hope you don’t treat all ladies like this.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Just the stubborn ones.”

You and Alastor are at a stalemate. He pushes. You push back. The classic dilemma of an unmovable force versus an immovable object. “If you kill me, I will haunt you,” you say, digging your feet into the wooden floors. “I will haunt you, and hide all your tacky bow ties.”

Alastor stops pushing, and you fumble backwards from the lack of his opposing force. He points his nose to the air, straightening his bow ties. “It is not.”

You frown at him. “Oh…I’m really sorry.”

“You should be.”

Taking this opportunity, you press against the wall like a hissing cat. “I’m sorry you actually believe that!”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes one deep breath. He strides to you, and the world goes upside-down when he flips you over his shoulder. Alastor carries you like a common sack of worthless potatoes.

“I really don’t like this!” you shriek, angling your head to glare at him. Alastor has a surprisingly really nice back. Like…a really, really nice back.

Alastor meets your eyes and smirks. “You’ll like it in a second.”

He tightens his grip around your hips, and his boney shoulders dig into your stomach. You keep your eyes ahead. “You have a really flat butt.”

He pauses for a second. “Stop looking at it.”

“I will do as I please,” you say with a huff, and go limp in his hold as you accept your fate. “It’s just all pointy. Maybe some squats will be helpful?”

“If it’s such a horror to you, stop ogling my buttocks like a pervert.”

“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth,” you say with a weird giggle. “These pants suit you well.”

He shakes you like a wet noodle. “I will drop you.”

“Please don’t.”

Alastor flips you, and your feet land safely on the ground. His basement is totally not creepy, totally not creepy at all. The fluorescent light bulb swaying around totally does not add to general horror. The blacked-out windows, and the spiderwebs on the wood make you not want to sprint to the top.

The cadaver bag on the table makes you stay.

It’s filled. You walk to the table, and observe the lump. Grasping the zipper, you pull it until the face of a dead man greets you. He’s fresh. Killed less than a day ago.

Alastor opens his arms, wide, as if to present to you. “Your studying can all be done right here!”

You stare at him, accepting the smile that creeps on your face. “Really?” you say, and trace this man’s nose with your fingers—his skin is cold. He is cold and dead, and full of organs you can poke around and observe. “You’re going to just allow me to dissect this body?”

Alastor smiles at you. “See?” he says. “You were making all the fuss, and now your smile could light up this very room.”

The laughter starts as a soft giggle that builds into excited glee. “I could kiss you right now.”

Alastor takes a step back. “Please don’t”

You roll your eyes then observe the person lying on this table. He wasn’t as big as the one before. This man still has the colors on his face, a bit pale, but he looks like he could just be in a sickly sleep. “Did you like this person?”

“Not at all,” he says. “He’d be alive if he was.”

“Then do you like me?” you say with a grin, placing a hand on your hips. “All this to get my attention, I see. I prefer being dined first, but not the worst first date I’ve ever been on.”

Alastor glares at you as he makes a face. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“So quick to answer that it’s almost insulting,” you say. “Well, it was your decision to keep me alive.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that pierces your very core. The lightbulb makes a shadow pass over his eyes, and you swear his eyes glow. Every single cell in your body screams as Alastor looks down at you from his glasses with a smile and darkened brown eyes that match his well-kept brown hair. “And I’m currently debating my choice,” he says. “I do not like being mocked. I can still change my mind if I find you a weak link.”

“Oh…I…oh….,” you say dumbly, coughing a little bit.  The words aren’t doing their job.

“Do you understand me?”

Basements are supposed to be cold—you definitely don’t feel cold right now. “I’m sure you can—I don’t doubt that at all.” To break your gaze on him, you turn to the dead man between you and Alastor. “This man didn’t suffer.”

Alastor’s eyebrows raise. “And?”

“I’m not a total idiot when it comes to… uh… hunting,” you say, tilting the dead guy’s chin to see his neck. It was a bit stiff. “There’s a single deep slice on his neck. He was probably still high on adrenaline when you killed him, but with the other body, you took your time. That guy suffered—this one didn’t”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t see your point.”

“Nevermind…just…,” you start and smile a bit. “Thank you for preserving this body so well, but unfortunately, I think I’ll have to refuse.”

Alastor’s eye twitches as he takes a step closer to you. His shadow towers over you. “You’re refusing?”

You zip the man back into his bag. “You don’t need a partner,” you say. “If anything, bringing him back into your house is risky. If it’s my silence you want, you already have it. There’s no need for all this.”

“I never asked for your silence.”

“Yet it’s yours nonetheless,” you say. “Thank you for the gift or offer for partnership, but I’m not interested in going into business with you.”

“Is this not beneficial for you?”

“It is…it really is, and every fiber wants to give in but it’s not wise for me to get mixed up with you,” you tell him. “I think you’re mistaking my sin for gluttony. I know trouble when I see it, and I’m not afraid to flee from it.”

Alastor’s face twists as his smile turns into a snarl. “All you could ever want right here.”

“You obviously want something from me,” you say. “I know you’re not above using tricks to get what you want. Although, I don’t understand why you take such time out of your day to do such consuming things.”

He glares at you. “There’s always the chance that you’d say no,” he says. “And I can’t have that happen.”

“I decide if something is worth my time or not,” you say. “I will only ask once: what do you want from me?”

Alastor exhales, and pushes his glasses. “I’d like to watch you work. There’s something I want to confirm.”

You study him for a second. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Then hand me a pack of gloves please,” you say. “I can show you all the things I’ve learned.”

Alastor tosses gloves to your face. It whacks you and lands on the table. You curse at him, and roll your eyes.

There’s a large container of formaldehyde under the table. You don’t know where he got it or how, but still, you take a stray brush forgotten on one of the tables, and brush the skin with chemicals. The sharp smell stings your eyes, but you’ve learned to tolerate it. Alastor scrunches his nose, taking a step back.  

Opening the window would probably be wise, but you could do that later. Your father always did hope that you’d grow out of your bad habit. But with such an exhilarating opportunity, caution is at the back of your mind.

The scapple fits into your palm as if it was made for you. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

Alastor laughs, not the breathy and light kind, but in a loud and triumphant way. His eyes bulge out, looking like they could pop out any second “It seems I was not wrong,” he says. “You have the most precious smile I have ever seen.”

“Okay?”

Alastor leans closer to you, jerking your chin to face him. “All this time I’ve seen you; I have never seen your smile as true and honest as now.”

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The bristles of the brush tangle on your feathers. It’s a struggle to smoothen the feathers at the back of your head now that you live alone.

The clock strikes an hour past noon, and work will call for you soon. It would be nice to be one time if this motherfucking brush would do its fucking job! You tug on the handle, cursing when it jerks your scalp. The smack of your forehead on the vanity table echoes around the room. The feathers bundled on the floor make you screech. That’s it. It’s over. You are not taking another second of this.

Discarding the brush, you head to the kitchen.

You grab two mugs, and take two spoonful of coffee ground and feed it to the coffee machine. With only a press of a button, you make the most perfectly perfected perfect cup of coffee. You take both mugs and take a seat on that little side table inside the kitchen.

The second mug steams with coffee.

You plop your chin on the table, unable to draw your eyes aways as you stare at it. Making a second cup is a waste of your money. Deep down to your very core, you’re aware that it’s a waste. It strikes you with the gentleness of a plane crash every single morning you make it, and every single night you have to throw it away.

Silence is your companion in this empty house. Where are the days when soft music plays on the radio? Where are the days where light footsteps walk around the carpeted floors? Where are the days of stories over dinner?  These days watching television is the only way to fill that silence.

A knock breaks your pathetic moping.

The knocking starts out soft and hesitant, until it’s replaced with loud banging.

Swiping your mug from the table, you stride to the front door and swing it open. Charlie and Alastor stand in front of you, big smiles on their faces.

Your husband pushes a small ugly statue right up your face, presenting it to you with a self-satisfied smile. “I was told it was polite to bring a gift to a person’s home,” Alastor says. “Do you like it?”

“Oh no…,” Charlie says, frowning a bit. “I didn’t bring anything.”

Alastor places a hand on her shoulder. “No worries then! This gift shall be from the both of us.”

The mug slips from your hold. Charlie catches it, not a single drop spilling, and plops it back on your hand. You blink at Alastor and frown. “Why are you knocking?”

“We’re here on super serious business talk,” he says, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to bring her closer. “Charlotte here has something to ask you.”

Charlie smiles. “Just Charlie, actually.”

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mug. “No.”

Alastor tilts his head. “No?”

“No, this is your home,” you say, opening the door wider. “There’s no need to knock.”

Alastor and Charlie step inside, and you take a sip of your coffee—a long, drawn out sip. Alastor walks to the shelf nearest the door, placing your ugly little statue on the shelf that’s meant for all other ugly knickknacks. It blends in with all the other gifts Alastor’s given you.

Charlie’s eyes bounce around the walls, eyes wide as she looks around. “Wooooaaaaah,” she says. “This is a really nice house you guys have!”

Alastor glares at the television. “Why, thank you!” he says. “I put in a lot of care into how it looks. It seems you’ve redecorated—I don’t like it.”

“Oh, you never do,” you say. “Let’s move to the kitchen, shall we?”

Alastor’s ears straighten. “The kitchen?” he echoes. “Oh yes. Let’s go the kitchen.”

Alastor hooks his arms around yours, pulling you to the kitchen. There’s determination set in each step. You and Charlie take your seats by the kitchen table. Charlie continues to look around. You see it in her eyes as they flicker around to count each radio.

It seems you’ve made a mistake.

Alastor goes straight to the refrigerator, and swings it open.

With horror, you watch as his gaze observes each level meticulously, humming as he does. There’s not much to look at, considering the only thing inside are a couple of eggs, empty plastic containers that you’ve been too lazy to wash, last week’s takeout, and a couple of sauces and condiments.

When he finally closes it, your shoulders sink as you exhale…until, of course, Alastor wraps his fingers around the freezer’s handle.

“Would you like anything, Charlie?” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. “I think we have juice or lemonade—”

“We don’t have any of those,” Alastor says, and his gaze bears down on you. “It makes me wonder what will be inside our freezer, my love.”

Charlie smiles brightly. “I don’t need anything,” she says. “I had tea with Rosie this morning, and Alastor and I had lunch on the way here.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” you say, chuckling nervously. “You know what? It’s such a hellish day today, and it would be a waste to spend it here. Why don’t we move to the garden?”

“No.” Alastor crosses his arm. “We are staying right here.”

You sulk in your seat, drooping a little. “…okay.”

Finally, Alastor opens the freezer door. His twitching eyes and pursed lips tell you everything you need to know about how the next fifteen minutes will go. Carefully, with the tips of his fingers, Alastor pulls out one of those microwave meals you buy at the grocery. He glares at the frozen chicken nuggets and pork cutlets, and all the processed frozen food you store there for easy meals.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say, giving him your most innocent smile. “And I barely eat those anyway. Those microwaved meals are just there for the occasional meal, I swear!”

Without uttering a single word, Alastor opens the cabinet under the sink where the trash can stays, and pulls it out. Empty microwave meals fill the brim. He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh dear…” Charlie winces. “That’s a lot, even for me.

You sulk deeper into your chair.

Alastor inspects the cabinets above the sink. The only things that greet him are a bunch of pots and pans. Relief pours into you…until of course, Alastor grabs the largest pot at the back of the cabinet and opens it, smashing any sense of relief with a metal bat.

Alastor pulls out a large pack of instant noodles. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks. “I remember telling you that I don’t like you eating these.”

“But they’re delicious,” you say, pouting a bit.

“These aren’t healthy,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re full of chemicals!”

“Everything is full of chemicals!” you counter. “And I only had a few. The dosage makes the poison.”

Alastor opens the trash can and tosses what was supposed to be your dinner. “The plastic said it was a pack of twelve?”

You cross your arms. “And? I don’t see your point.”

“There’s only two left.”

You fiddle with the handle of your mug. “I…I was busy…?”

“We’re all busy,” he says and you could pick out the faintest sound of static. “Not a single fresh fruit or vegetable, or any proper meats. Have I taught you nothing?”

Your pout deepens. “Do we have to do this in front of Charlie, my deerest?”

Charlie raises her arms in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “Aren’t you a doctor?”

“Yes, one would think….,” Alastor trails off. His eyes land on the second mug of coffee on the table, and his neck tilts to angle until it snaps. Static scratches that air until it warps. His eyes darken to reveal radio dials. “Expecting a guest today?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, and take a long and drawn-out sip of your coffee to try and compose yourself. It doesn’t work. “I don’t make coffee for guests.”

Charlie panics a bit. “There, there Alastor,” she says. “No need to get all crazy!”

Alastor’s antlers grow. “I’m aware you don’t. So, who is it for?”

“Oh….” Dumbly blinking at him continues, and the words don’t seem to be doing their job.

Alastor leans closer, his voice morphing a bit. “I’d appreciate an answer, my love.”

“It's yours,” you find yourself saying. “…If you want it, that is.”

He blinks at you. You blink at him. Charlie blinks at the both of you.

Gone are the growing antlers, and the static that buzzes your skin. Alastor stands before you with that never ending smile, perfectly normal—well, as normal as he can be. “You weren’t aware I’d be visiting.”

You frown at him. “It’s not a visit if it’s your own home.”

“I didn’t tell you I’d be coming home,” he says. “Why make one for me?”

The heat on your face makes you turn away. “Just take it, deerest.”

“Taste lovely as always!” he says, taking a swig. Your frown turns into a soft smile as your watch him drink. “But don’t think you’re getting away from this conversation.”

“It really isn’t my fault.”

“Oh, really now?” Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I’m positive I taught you how to cook nutritious dishes.”

You flick the mug, and a soft clink echoes a bit. “I still cook proper food for myself,” you tell him, showing him your saddest smile. “But…I find myself hating the dishes.”

Alastor twirls his microphone, and it strikes the ground with a soft thunk. “And you think saying this will get you off the hook?”

You stick your tongue out. “Is it working?”

Alastor sighs at you, and turns to the ticking clock. “We’re wasting time—go talk to Charlotte.”

Charlie smiles awkwardly. “Just Charlie, actually.”

With a triumphant smile, you turn to Charlie. “So,” you begin, “what business are we going to talk about today?”

It’s Charlies turn to sulk into the kitchen chair. “Extermination is a month away,” she says. “And Adam is heading straight to the hotel first! It’s just one bad event after another because Heaven refuses to listen, and I’m running out of options.”

Alastor steps behind you. Suddenly, a brush combs through the back of your feathers, smoothing those parts of your head that you’ve never been able to reach by yourself.  Sometimes, you think Hell gave you feathers so someone could brush it for you. A part of you warms at the fact that you didn’t even need to ask your husband to smoothen your feathers. It’s a job he’s been doing since you first spawned in hell, and it seems it’s work he’s keen on continuing.

“Extermination,” you echo. “I love the extermination. There are so many desperate and poor souls who want to keep their limbs. I get rather busy—prime deal making opportunities right there.”

Charlie winces a bit. “Oh dear…um…okay. That sounds fun? And a little violent.”

Alastor speaks up from behind you, still running a brush through your feathers. “We can from Cannibal Town! Charlie was able to convince Rosie’s people to take arms.”

“Then, what brings you to me?” you ask, stiffening your back as you try not to lean into the brush that combs through your feathers. Alastor always was better at preening you. “I’m not much of a fighter.”

“Alastor suggested that I ask for your help,” Charlie says. “He said you’re one of the few people who knows how to fix wounds that come from Angelic Weapons.”

You bat your eyes at Alastor. “Spilling all my secrets, I see.”

Alastor glides the brush over your hair, leaning close to your ear. “Oh, not everything.”

You laugh and glance at Charlie. “In front of a guest, my deer?”

Charlie cringes with the most hilarious frown.

“It’s just a matter of counteracting the holiness of their weapons,” you say, clearing your throat. “After that, it’s purely medical.”

“How is that even possible?”

Alastor trails through your feathers, and it tingles and flutters. You keep your expression emotionless. “I’m surprised you don’t know this,” you say. “Did Belphegor never tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well, eons ago, Belphegor found out that angelic weapons are considered holy, and that’s very bad for a Sinner,” you explain. “So, she and a bunch of her team found out that if you cut off the holy site or embed a large amount of Sinner energy, one will be able to treat it.”

Alastor leans closer, butting into the conversation. “I prefer it when you cut it off.”

“Of course you do,” you say with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Embedding the wounds with your magic takes too much energy from you, and because of that you always come home to me with sunken eyes. That is, if you don’t pass out before you reach the front door,” Alastor tells you. “I don’t understand why you go out of your way when they’re not worthy.”

“Worthy?”

“Yes, worthy,” he says. “Had they been competent, they wouldn’t need to go to you in the first place. It only proves that they’re weak.”

You smile at his words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.

Charlie rolls her eyes at the both of you. “So, you could help us?”

You twist, turning to Alastor. “I think you’ve gotten all my feathers straightened out,” you say. “My love, can you do me a favor?”

Lightly, Alastor taps your head with the tip of his cane. “Of course, how can I help?”

“I think the plants need some watering.”

The brush on Alastor’s hand dissolves with a poof. He leans closer once again, trailing your cheek with his finger until they hook on your chin. He captures you with his stare, and you allow him to trap you. He presses his lips on your cheek, and disappears into his shadow.

You take an even longer sip of your coffee.

Charlie massages her forehead, eyes twitching. “Dear Satan, it’s like watching my parents all over again! I can leave, you know,” she says, snorting. “Give you two a little privacy?”

“Oh, don’t bother,” you tell her. “There wouldn’t be enough time.”

Her brows furrow. “Time?”

“After all, extermination is in a month,” you say, brightening your smile. “We’re going to need at least two.”

“What the fuuuuck,.” Charlie whispers underneath her breath, her voice a pitch higher.

“Every couple of years, there will be certain seasons where it takes six!” you say. “Sinner bodies are just so exhilarating.”

Charlie chokes on her spit, and her eyes bulge. “Are you serious?”

“Hmmm, I could be—who knows?” You raise your mug to toast, and take a drink.

“You’re joking,” Charlie says. “…Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“My dear, is that a question you would want an answer to?” you ask. “Would you be prepared if the answer happens to be no?”

Charlie sinks deeper into her chair. “Okay, then! Moving on, now.”

Leaning on your palm, you laugh. “My deerly beloved husband wouldn’t give all this information for free,” you say. “What did he ask for?”

“We made a deal.”

Your hands drop to the table. “Oh Charlotte,” you say. “That was a foolish mistake. You don’t know what Alastor does to the so—“

“I still have my soul!” Charlie exclaims, balling her fist. “From Vaggie! From you—his own wife! I did what I needed to do to keep my people safe…Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be so reliant on Alastor,” you tell her with a small smile. “You can’t trust him.”

“He’s given me no reason no to trust him, and…,” Charlie trails off. “And Alastor is my friend.”

Your smile brightens a bit. “Friend?”

“Yes?” Charlie says. “Everyone at the hotel is my friend, and he’s been a tremendous help.”

You place your hands over Charlies and give it a squeeze. “Convince me to help you.”

“W-what?”

“Alastor isn’t asking me to go play medic in the middle of a warzone.” Your brush your feathers out of your face. “If he was asking, I would say yes without a second thought because that’s who we are, but he isn’t asking me, Charlie, you are.”

Charlie hums, placing a finger on her lips as she thinks. “I heard from Angel that you and Alastor got married whe—“

CRASH!

She grips the table, eyes wide as she looks around. “What was that?”

You take a long and drawn-out sip of coffee, contemplating your choice for marriage. “Nothing to be worried about,” you say. “That was just my television.”

“Your Tv?” Charlie frowns a bit. “Did…did Alastor just throw away your Tv?”

You laugh, swatting your hand in the air. “Not at all!” you say. “It probably tripped out my window—those picture boxes are always so clumsy.”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “You’re saying that your Tv…just tripped out the window.”

You smile at her. “You were saying something?”

She sighs, massaging her forehead. “You got married when you were alive, but continue to stay together. It’s very rare for Sinners to do such a thing,” she says. “And with all of that…uh…Alastorness.”

“It’s alright, you can just say bat-shit crazy.”

“I’d prefer not to,” she says with an awkward laugh. “So, how were you able to stay together for so long

“Are you…,” you trail off, blinking. “Are you asking me for relationship advice?”

“A bit? If that’s okay,” she says. “Rosie already helped but, well, she did eat her first husband.”

“I don’t think I can be of much help.” Your lips purse. “Alastor and I don’t exactly have the most conventional marriage.”

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1927

“Do you like it?” Alastor offers you a spoonful of the simmering sauce.

You lean closer, shifting from your seat on his kitchen counter. Alastor dips the spoon in your opened mouth. “It’s spicy,” you say, lips twisting when you cough. “Is it supposed to be like that?”

Alastor tilts his head. A lock of his hair falls to the side. “No…it’s not.” He takes back the spoon and dips it into the pan. Alastor coughs as soon as it hits his tongue. “How many peppers did you add?”

Your legs sway, and the heels of your foot tap the cabinets below you. “I added what was written on the recipe! Exactly twelve peppers.”

Alastor twists the stove’s knob, killing the fire. “Take a look at the notebook again,” he says and reaches over your legs, grabbing his book full of recipes. “If you use these things called ‘eyes’ and ready, you’d be able to see that it says, ‘one to two’!”

“No, it does not!” you huff, grabbing the notebook from him. You read through the list of ingredients. There, near the bottom, pass the four cloves of chopped garlic, half a shallot, and a pinch of pepper, ‘one to two peppers’ is scribbled with blocky letters. “Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me.”

Alastor adjusts his sleeves, pulling it back up his forearm. (Hmm, not a bad look.) “There’s no point in teaching you how to cook this if you don’t know how to read!” he says, eyes twitching. “Go…Just go over there and let me fix this.”

“I already said I was sorry!”

“No, you did not!” Alastor says, throwing his hands into the air. “What you said was,‘Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me’, actually.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” you repeat with a snort. “That’s my bad.”

“Get out of my kitchen before you ruin dinner.” He leans on the counter, crossing his arms. You hum to yourself. Alastor should pull his sleeves up more. “Go set the table or something. And wash your hair when you get home—it smells like chemicals.”

With a huff, you do as you're told.

You slide off his counter, opening the cabinet and grab two bowls with one arm and reach for the table placemats with the other.

Two sets of utensils, glass cups, and paper napkins. It’s one more set than what you prepare when you’re at your own home. Two…Two. It’s becoming quite the word in your vocabulary.

There’s a proper table waiting to be used in the other room, but this smaller one you’re setting, with its fraying edges and turmeric stains suit the both of you much better.

Three ice-cubes bobble at the top of Alastor’s water. It’s how he likes it. It’s funny. You don’t remember Alastor disclosing this particular information. It’s just something you noticed one day, and you’ve never stopped noticing. What else have you unconsciously learned about him, and what have you unconsciously taught him about you?

Alastor walks to the table, a large steaming bowl in his hands. He places it between the bowls, and you reach into the drawer for a ladle.

The taste tingles your tongue. It’s good. Better than anything you could possibly make for yourself.

You reach into your pocket and toss a handkerchief at Alastor’s face. It lands on between his hair. He tilts his head, shaking it, and the cloth slides on the table. “It’s yours,” you tell him, taking a spoonful of your food. “Thanks for dinner.”

Alastor studies how his name is embroidered in near letters, thumbing the music notes framing it. “Dinner was a way to thank you for this week’s meat.”

He tosses back the handkerchief. It smacks your face.

You peel it from your skin, and trace the letters you’ve threaded during your very scarce free time. “I can’t go around with a handkerchief that has your name on it.”

His smile widens. “Why not?”

“People would think I’m a fan.” You hand Alastor the handkerchief this time. “Just take it as a gift then.”

Alastor takes it from you, and places it into his pocket.

You hum into your spoon with a pleased smile. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor takes his time chewing and swallowing his food. “As you can see,” he tells you, “I’m eating.”

“I’m bored,” you say. “Eat while you talk.”

He reaches across the table, and his fingers catch on the knob of the radio to turn it on.

Classical music plays out of the speaker. It was correct to assume that Alastor pre-sets radios to play his favorite stations. Although, you didn’t imagine that each of his many radios would have their own specific station. A different radio for different stations. You questioned Alastor about it, but he didn’t say much.

Once the bottom of the bowls has been scraped into your stomachs, you take the dishes and go to the sink.

Your nose scrunches at the sight of the piled dishes. Alastor watches you with a smile. You turn away when you notice.

Alastor takes a container from the cabinet above your head. He’s warm. Always warm.

He takes two containers, placing the leftovers inside. And there it is again, that word—Two. Not one, but two. One for him. One for you. You didn’t ask for leftovers. You’ve never asked at all. Alastor will just hand you the container like it’s the most automatic thing in this world for him to do.

You take the first of many bowls, and rinse the stubborn pieces with your hands. “There’s too many dishes,” you say. “It’s like you have one for every ingredient. Did you really need to use separate ones for each and every ingredient we used?”

He leans on the counter, slotting himself next to you.  “I don’t like mixing the flavors until it’s time to add them.”

Alastor adjusts his pulled sleeves and crosses his arms.

The bowl slips from your grip.

“Oh…I…uh…sorry,” you say, picking up the bowl. “I mean, you really didn’t need one for the salt and pepper. They already come in containers—why couldn’t you just, I don’t know, eyeball it?”

“Eyeball it?”

“Yeah, or feel it with your soul or something,” you say and pick up the measuring spoons to show him. “You had to measure three pinches of salt instead of actually just pinching it.”

Alastor laughs, and strands of his hair slide down to his eyes. “And how did it taste?”

Your shoulders slump when you sigh. “Good.”

He bumps his shoulders with yours. “That’s just the way I was taught.”

“Well,” you start, “your way creates more dishes for me to clean.”

Alastor pivots from the counter, and takes his place in front of the second sink. He grabs the dish you’ve already rinsed and sponges it with soap. It’s quite the system you’ve created. You grab a dirty dish, rinse it, and pass it on to Alastor who cleans it with a sponge.

The next minute goes something like this:

Alastor flicks water at your face. You ignore it.

Flick. Ignore.

Flick. Ignore.

Flick. Ignore.

The water damps your hair. You kick his leg. “Stop that.”

Alastor drenches his hand under the faucet, letting his fingers accumulate water. He flicks it at you.

The grip you have on the plate tightens. “I am going to smash this on your head.”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. He glares. You glare back. He cups his hand under the faucet like a bowl. The water pools between his hands. He throws the water at you. It hits your eyes, blinding you. That does little to stop you.

You grip the plate, swinging it in his direction.

The plate doesn’t connect with anything… Sadly. You rub the water out your eyes, and find Alastor kneeling on the floor with a triumphant smile.

Alastor stands up, brushing dirt from his pants. “You missed.”

“You ducked.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” he says. “What if you actually hit me?”

You pass the plate to Alastor before you scratch the urge to swing at that smug smile of his. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor closes the faucet. “You always ask me that.”

“That’s because you say it in entertaining ways,” you say. “It’s boring to wash the dishes without something to distract me.”

Alastor soaps the dish. “Your lessening attention span worries me.”

You roll your eyes at him, and flick water at his face. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says. “I find myself having no reason to deny you.”

Alastor’s glasses slide down his nose. He leans close enough for you to smell his perfume. He’s warm—always warm. It takes a second for you to understand. You dry your hands on a stray towel, and fix it in place.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1928.

The metal bench cools the back of your neck.

The sun blinds your eyes, but you keep a steady gaze on the afternoon beams. When was the last time you felt the heat of the sun kiss your skin? As the seconds tick by. As the birds fly above you. As the leaves fall from their stem, melting on this bench seems like a heavenly idea.

But as the clock will eventually strike. But as the birds will eventually find their nest. But as the leaves will eventually land. So, too, must you eventually go back to work.

A shadow blocks the sun.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Alastor’s upside-down face smiles at you. “Good morning to you!”

With a yelp, you swing your forehead forward.

Alastor leans backwards, narrowly missing your head by centimeters. “Not the greeting I imagined, but hello to you as well,” he says. “The receptionist said I could find you here.”

You twist, turning to him with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Alastor slides over the bench, and takes the free seat next to you. His legs cross. “Why would I not be, okay?”

There’s some bag slung over his shoulder, but that’s not important right now. Your eyes trail his body. Hair? Fixed. Smile? Wide. Clothes? Perfect. “You’re at a clinic.”

Alastor swats his hand. “I was in the area.”

That classic city stench attacks your nose, but it’s just nice to feel the way your hair sways from the breeze. “You’re not going to kill me, right?”

Alastor nudges his leg with yours. “You say that every single time!”

Your smile turns smug. “I’ll stop saying it when it stops becoming funny.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, showing it off to you. “It never was.”

“It is to me,” you say and wave your hands in the air. “Just imagine this, the great Alastor had to stalk me!”

“I am great, but remind me again,” he begins, propping his arm on the bench to lean on it, “how long did you have to follow me?”

Sighing, you lean your head on the backrest to count the clouds. It’s nice to be able to see actual clouds for once instead of the drawing of children who wait. “…Three months.”

“Exactly,” he says, and you hear the smugness in his words. “And I didn’t need to do any stalking—you led me straight to your house.”

You blow a raspberry at him. “Why are you even here then?”

Alastor props his legs on your lap. You push him off. He brings it back. It’s not worth fighting him right now. “I actually was in the area,” he says, and hands you the bag slung over his shoulder. “The director thought it would be a grand idea to bring the staff out to lunch.”

You unzip the bag, and packed lunch greets you. And there it is again. Two. Two. Two. One for you. One for him. Maybe both for you? “Al, tell me why I’m currently looking at two packed lunches?”

Alastor beams at you, and slides his legs off your lap. “I accidentally cooked too much today,” he said. “I thought it would be a grand idea to share.”

Your frown. “But…you already ate.”

“Oh…I was already planning on dropping by,” he says. “It was quite the stroke of luck that you’re only taking your break now, and that we happened to have lunch nearby. I thought I’d bring you a treat.”

Questions bubble on your throat. “Thank you, Al,” you say instead. You open the container and take a bite, savoring the taste. “It’s delicious.”

Alastor leans closer, and picks a leaf off your head. “That’s because I actually followed the recipe.”

You point your spoon at him. “That was just that one time!”

He smiles at you, chuckling softly. “Three actually.”

Before the clock strikes, it will tick. Before the birds find their nest, they will fly. Before the leaves hit the ground, it will fall. And before you eventually go back to work, you will eat on this bench, Alastor to your side.

He stares ahead. As you eat, you watch his eyes flicker. It goes from the kid then to a plant then to an old lady. This, you don’t question. You’ve stopped wondering what he could possibly be thinking years ago.

Alastor leans closer to your ear. “Do you see that lady?” he asks, voice low. His breath tickles your skin. “That one over there with the feather on her hat?”

You scan the people around the area, spotting the lady old enough to be your grandmother. A scarf wraps around her neck, despite the sun beaming with the afternoon heat. She lazily walks around. “What about her?”

“Do you think her name could be Edith? She looks like an Edith,” Alastor says. “She probably had three children, and married young when her parents forced her to marry this ugly but rich man she could never love.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. It’s like a mantra that plays in your head. There’s no reason not to play along whatever nonsense he’s spouting. “Sure, why not?”

“But no!” he exclaims into your ear. You jerk away and shove him with an elbow. “Oof….Edith just had to defy all expectations, and she chose to elope with her childhood sweetheart. He’s not the richest man, but they survived.”

“That’s sweet.”

“And to this day,” he says, “everyone still calls her, ‘Edith the Penguin’.”

“Edith the penguin?” you echo. “Now I’m just confused.”

Alastor’s eyes shine. “Because she walks like a penguin with their ass on fire,” he snorts. “Your turn, now.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

“Fine.” You place your spoon down, and look around to the first person who grabs your attention. “That little kid over there—His name is Thomas, and he likes balloons.”

Alastor blinks at you. “And?”

You take your time chewing and swallowing your food. “That’s all.”

He gawks at you, and rolls your eyes. “It must be so boring to be you.”

“It is not!” You huff at him, and kick his leg. “I am a very interesting person, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh really, now? Thomas, and he likes balloons?” Alastor says,and points at the kid with twitching eyes. “He’s holding a balloon!”

You wave your arms, the spoon still in your grip. “So, he probably likes it!” you say. “Thomas wouldn’t get a balloon if he didn’t like it.”

“I pity your sense of imagination.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

You swallow what remains inside the container, and pack it up. “Is this what you do when you zone out as I’m tal—and you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” you say. “You are an incredibly judgmental person.”

“It’s called using my imagination. Something you apparently don’t have,” he says with a snort. “So…tell me what you did today.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “That’s my question.”

Alastor shrugs, taking the closed container and zipping it inside his bag. He hands you a tissue. “Well, I’m asking it now.”

You prop your arm on the bench, leaning on it. Alastor’s hair spikes out in odd places today. It must have quite the trek to the clinic. “I’m not as good a storyteller as you are.”

He props his arms on the bench, mimicking your pose. His eyes stare straight into yours. “ I don’t need a story,” he says. “I just want to know what you did today.”

You press your palm on his face, pushing him away from your face. The sun’s heat is really getting to you. Alastor’s nose crinkles as he rubs it. “Why would you even want to know what I do?”

Alastor props his elbows on his knees, observing the people around him. “You always ask me what I did,” he says. “I want to know if there’s something special about it.:

“There’s nothing special about it,” you tell him. Was there actually? You’re not sure. “I just like knowing, and it always entertains me.”

Alastor meets your eyes with a wide smile. “Then tell me what you did today,” he says. “Entertain me.”

The clock ticks closer. The birds are already close to their nests. The leaves are already floating to the ground. You are already close to going back to work, closer to this moment becoming nothing but a distant memory. “That was my first meal of the day.”

Alastor’s eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a hard scowl. “That’s not healthy.”

You shut your eyes and sigh. “I never said it was.”

“How would you live without me?”

Remember, Alastor brought you lunch, and it would be nice if he could bring you lunch again. “I’m going to hit you.”

Alastor bumps your knees with his. “Lovely,” he says, and you can hear the smile he’s wearing. “I’m sure it will be very painful because you’re so full of energy right now.”

Eyes still shut, you bump his knees back. “I’ve been busy,” you say. “And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “First of all, we’re all busy,” he says. “Second, I didn’t roll my eyes.”

“You did—it was audible,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. “Anyway, there’s nothing new with my day. It’s just the usual, people to see, files to file, blood to draw, pee to get on me.”

Alastor digs his finger into your cheek, twisting it as he presses down. “Wow, you really are a horrible storyteller.”

You know what, maybe you don’t need Alastor bringing you lunch. You peek open an eye to stare at him. “I’m going to smash a plate on your head once we start doing the dishes.”

Alastor mashes your cheek like some button. Over and over and over and over again. You swat his hand, and he rubs it with a grimace. “Were you planning on dropping by today?”

You place an arm over your eyes, blocking out the sun. “Will I have to do the dishes?”

“You don’t have to specifically do the dishes.”

You comb through your hair with your fingers. “That wouldn’t exactly be fair to you.”

“If you're so insistent, we can find something else for you to do,” he says. “I mean, if you hate it so much you don’t have to do it.”

“I don’t hate it,” you say with a sigh. A church bell sounds. It echoes through the buildings and through the trees. “Al…I’m tired.”

“I know,” he says, and you hear how softly he chuckles. “Your eyes are drooping so low I could fill the entire ocean in them.”

“I want to sleep, Al.”

“I know.”

“I hate this job.”

Alastor pauses for a second, and he bumps his shoulders with yours. “You don’t.”

The clock hasn’t struck yet. The birds haven’t flown to their nests. The leaves haven’t reached the ground. And so too will you stay in this moment of time.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1929

Footsteps creak on the wooden stairs. The sound is ignored, just like every other thing that isn’t relevant to you.

The dead cadaver under you has weird kidneys. The one on your palm is too small for a kidney that belongs to someone of his size. You take your scalpel, slicing it to observe the cross section.

“It’s time to stop,” Alastor tells you. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Him and his smile is not important right now. “You’ve been here all night.”

“Leave me alone,” you mumble. The human body continues to be amazing. The medulla is clearly outlined. The colors of its cells were so different from the cortex. “…Kidneys, Alastor. He has weird kidneys. Hehehehe weird kidneys…”

Alastor says your name in a way that forces you to listen.

“…Oh…yes?” you say a bit dumbly.

“It’s nightfall,” he says, and the tone of his voice buzzes your skin. “Come on now, do as you're told. Be upstairs in fifteen minutes.”

It’s not an easy task to do as Alastor says, especially when this man’s left kidney is a whole different size from the right. However, with a frown, you slot the kidney from the opened chest cavity, and pack up the body.

You step out of the basement, and walk to the kitchen.

There’s a plate waiting for you on the table. It’s still hot. Muffled music plays from the porch, and you see Alastor’s outline through the windows. Taking your plate, you step out the front door and into the outdoors. (Something you really need to start seeing more.)

And oh…he’s not listening to the radio. Alastor plays the recording of his show. It was a present you got him a few months back.

You take your seat on the matching rocking chair.

Alastor watches you settle into your seat. He turns the volume down. “Tables were invented for a reason.”

The chair rocks when you swing your legs. “It’s nice out here,” you say, and take a bite of vegetables. “The sky is much clearer. It helps that there’s no stench of piss.”

He turns to you with a small smile. “That’s because you live in the city.”

The wind blows your hair into your face. You push it out of the way. “Hey, Al,” you say slowly. “Tell me what you did today.”

“Why should I?”

You lean back into the chair, letting the rocking sway you. “Well, you got home late,” you say. “I had to use my keys.”

Alastor leans back on the chair, using the tips of his shoe to rock himself. “Yes, that was the point of the keys,” he says, humming. “It would be a shame to come home to another broken window.”

The taste of the vegetables mixed with the meat makes you smile in delight. “Are you still holding on to that?”

“Always.”

“I paid you back, eventually,” you tell him, pointing your fork at him. “Why are you still holding a grudge for an honest accident?”

On his cheek , where it’s always been and where it’ll always be, his smile strains. “You expect me to believe that a rock smashing my window was an honest accident.”

You offer him your most innocent smile. “Yes.”

“Well, I hope your windows are much sturdier then,” he says, mimicking your smile. “One of these days, I might cause an accident.”

The stars twinkle in the sky. There’s a vast amount of knowledge those gassy balls hold. Maybe your life would be less horrific if you were interested in the stars instead. “In my defense, you were late.”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

You take another bite of your meal, and sway happily to do a little dance. “Just… okay? Just tell me what you did before I finish my meal.”

Alastor reaches into his pocket and tosses a keychain at you. It lands between your legs.

You set the plate on the coffee table between you, and hold the keychain to the light. It was a cute, little cartoon alligator. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours.”

“I can tell that much,” you say, twirling the gift between your fingers. “You never give me nice knickknacks. It’s always the ugly ones

Alastor huffs at you. “That doesn’t sound like my problem anymore,” he says. “I thought you would appreciate something that looks halfway decent one and for all.”

“I find the ugly ones really charming, actually. They’re very funny to look at,” you say. “So, where did you get this?”

Alastor clasps his hands, resting it on his stomach as he rocks himself. “Saw an advertisement. Went to the zoo.”

You scrunch your face. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“Go finish your meal.”

You pocket his gift, and grab the plate on the table. “Master of storytelling right here, ladies and gentlemen,” you say, barking a laugh. “I figured you would love the excuse of hearing yourself talk.”

Alastor ignores you, reaching for his notepad instead.

You watch Alastor as he writes on his notepad. The breeze sways a strand of his hair. His lips twist when he thinks, just like he’s doing right now

Your eyes fall on your plate, to where vegetables and meat were carefully tossed together. Alastor cooked today— he always cooks. When you finish, you’ll grab the plates, and begin the mountain of dishes. Even when dish soap stings your fingers, even when the feeling of wet food grosses you, and even when thousands of dirty dishes wait for you…it’s something you don’t mind..

Once this meal is finished, you and him will step inside. He’ll properly tell you about his day, and you’ll take the pan and scrub it.

Ah…there it is again. That word—Two.

But it’s not two of anything. It’s simply just two. You and Alastor.

“You’re frowning,” Alastor says. He stares at you from the corner of  his eyes. “Why?”

It’s weird.

Very weird.

You don’t…You don’t understand. How do you say the words you do not know how to explain?

It’s almost as if… “We should get married.”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the open land. “No.”

The inside of your cheek stings from how you bite it. You turn away to hide your flushed cheeks. “I…It just came out, okay?” you mumble. “I’m really trying not to be offended that you turned me down without a second thought, and with a laugh as well.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m nothing you want.”

The moonlight reflects off his brown eyes. “Sometimes…,” you begin, and a small smile appears on your lips. “Sometimes I wish you see yourself the way I see you.”

Alastor laughs at you again. “You’ve been having such thoughts about me?” he says. “What an absolute honor! I’m deeply flattered.”

“And then you say words like that, and I immediately know it’s not worth it

Alastor lifts his eyes from his notepad to peek at you. He fixes his eyeglasses. “You don’t actually think we should get married.”

To be infuriating, you take a bite from your plate, savoring each flavor with drawn out chews.

“I have no idea,” you say. “But…I mean, why not? There are many good reasons for me to marry you—it’s advantages for me, and everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad, shaking his head. “That’s the most absurd idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What, being in a relationship with me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s twice you’ve managed to offend me.” You laugh to hide your frown. “But that friend of yours. The feathery one from the lounge you like taking me to.”

Alastor tilts his head. “Mimzy?”

“Ah yes, her,” you say with a hum. “She asked me if you um…uh… well, if you liked vanilla or hot and spicy.”

“If I had to answer, Id say hot and spicy?” Alastor says, and you laugh at the confusion on his face. “I got a bottle of this pepper flakes infused with old. It was quite the treat.”

“That’s exactly what I figured you would say,” you tell him.“Unfortunately for you, Mimzy was talking about sex.”

Alastor scrunches his face.

Oh don’t make such a face, there is absolutely no need to be afraid of the prospect of such activities.” The final bite of your meal bursts with so much flavor that you revel it for a second. “Al, let’s get married.”

Alastor glares at you. “No.”

You place the plate on the coffee table. It can be  washed after this conversation. “Why not?”

He points his pen between you and him..“We aren't even dating,” he says. “And…I can’t express such passionate displays of affection.”

You rock the chair with your shoe. An owl hoots from somewhere beyond the trees. Huh, you weren’t aware owls lived in this area. “Don’t be a child—just say sex.”

Again, his face scrunches. “I will not.”

“It’s a really good thing,” you say, sighing, “that no one’s asking.”

Alastor searches for your eyes. He holds it. It was only ever his to hold anyway. “I’m not even sure I’m interested in romance.”

You look around, whipping your head. “I think I’m missing the part where someone asked.”

“Be serious.”

“Okay fine. This is me being serious because I am when I say that all I don’t need your romance—Al, you accepted me for who I am, and to me? That is enough,” you say with a soft smile. “You are all I could ever ask for.”

Alastor stares at the stars, his eyes capturing each one. “I can’t love you like a husband should.”

The stares are really beautiful.

Each shines in their own way. Alastor sees the beauty in them, but you aren’t going to be beaten by a gas ball. Tomight, you will be the only star Alastor should keep his gaze on. “Alastor, look at me.”

He keeps his eyes on the stars.

Huffing, you stride to his chair, and block his view of the night sky.

You plant your arms on the armrest for support, and inch your face so close that you are the only thing he will see. “Alastor,” you say his name, voice oh so soft, “look at me.”

Oh…his eyes are browner than you thought. It’s a deep and dark brown that pulls you in.

“You can love me in ways that matter.” You press your forehead against his, and close your eyes.

There are more words to be said, but right now you and him stay in this moment of time. Just…for…a second.

“I will never force you to love me in ways you cannot,” you whisper. The ends of his hair brush against your skin. “Alastor, I could never reject the type of love you can offer me. I can never deny you.”

Alastor caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Friends don’t get married.”

Impulsivity was such a bad habit of yours. It’s a fact that makes you bear the consequences, but consequences be damned. You take his hand, holding it in yours. The pads of his fingers have different textures. Some are smooth. Some are rough. But the whole thing warms you to the touch. It’s unfair. He’s unfair. How could something as simple as taking his hand intoxicate?

Your lips hover over his skin, brushing it a little. Alastor doesn’t pull away. With a smile that Alastor always seems to put on your lips, you plant a soft kiss on his ring finger.

“We aren’t normal people. There’s no reason to force ourselves into a conventional relationship.” You meet his eyes with a smirk. Every word you utter brushes your lips yo his skin. “This marriage will be defined however we want. You offer me a partnership in death…This is me offering you a partnership in life.”

You press your lip on the back of his hand, one final time, and return to your chair.

Alastor doesn’t speak.

You rock yourself with your foot, enjoying the sway of the chair.“There is that added benefit that the police won’t be suspicious of a doting husband.”

Alastor scrunches his face. “Doting husband?” he echoes. “I thought we wouldn’t be having a normal marriage.”

“That doesn’t mean a lady doesn’t want to feel special,” you say, snorting. “I’ve always dreamed of a doting husband.”

Alastor rips a page out of his notepad. He folds it with his hands.

His vets match his shoes today. The hair on the back of his head sticks out and curls. Did he take a nap today? “I could be like this every single night,” you say softly. “You and me. The two of us under the stars until our hairs turn gray.”

Alastor’s gaze stays locked on the piece of paper he’s folding. “Why me?”

You stare at him with a smile, and lean your face on your palm. “Does it need to be said?”

Alastor glances at you with those brown eyes of his. “I’m asking.”

“It’s because…It’s…I…,” your trail off. How do you summon the words to describe something you don’t understand?

There’s a smug smile on Alastor’s lips. “What, is it because you love me?”

“Would it be so bad if I did?” you say, chuckling into your arm. “But…well, I don’t exactly know how to properly say this.”

“Just open your mouth,” he says, rolling his eyes, “and let the words do it’s job.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” you tell him, and your cheeks tingle. “Maybe even past life. Can you imagine that? You and me in hell, doing our dishes together.”

There’s an odd look on his face. “Sure.”

“We can listen to the radio,” you say. “And I’ll ask you about your day, and you will tell me the wildest and most grandiose story while we clean a pot.”

Alastor smiles at you. “You hate doing the dishes.”

“I do not.”

“You do. I see it—I always do,” he says with a soft chuckle. Alastor taps his nose. “Your nose scrunches every time, yet you never ask for help.”

What expression are you making right now?

You bring your legs to your chest. “I’m willing to give up everything for dirty dishes if it means I have you as a companion for the rest of my life.”

Alastor turns back to whatever he was folding.

You hide your face in your legs, face flushed and warm. “Say something…please,” you say, whispering. “I just poured out my heart for you

You hear Alastor rise from his seat. He places a hand on your head. “Today’s dinner…,” he says, and his voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Did you like it?”

You smile even if he couldn’t see it, and lean into his hand. “It was one of the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

“I wouldn’t mind making it for you for the rest of my life…if you’re willing to wash the dishes with me for the rest of yours,” Alastor says, and you think this is the most honest thing he’s ever told you. “It’s yours. Even if you don’t want it, this is yours now.”

You peek out of your knees. Alastor’s smile is soft. He opens his palms and your eyes flicker to them. He shows you what he’s been folding. It’s the paper of his notepad folded into a ring—a paper ring.

“Do it again,” you say with a beam that could rival the stars. “Ask me again.”

Alastor caresses your cheek, the back of his finger brushing down your skin. “Doting husband?”

“Exactly,” you say with a laugh and lean into his touch. “You catch on very quickly.”

Alastor takes your hand in his, and his thumb brushes over your ring finger. Does he feel your skin the way you feel his? He kneels on one knee and the paper ring is presented to you. “Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

You insert your ring finger into the paper ring. “The honor would be mine, my dearest.”

Alastor stares at you.

You stare back.

 The moment your eyes settle on one another, laughter echoes across the land. It’s loud and breathy, and it echoes so far that the local wildlife gets disturbed. Alastor settles back on his chair, rocking himself.

Alastor calms down first. “Oh…uh…Should we share a passionate kiss?”

The stars shine above you. Not a single gas ball can beat the brightness of your smile. “Do you want to?” you ask. “Be honest, my dear.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “Not particularly—Do you?”

“Maybe? Sometimes?” you say with a shrug. “I could live a happy life without such passionate kisses.”

“Really?” he says, and the surprise in his voice makes you laugh. “You would be fine without one?”

“Well, since you’re so insistent, I’ll allow a kiss.”

Alastor snorts into the air. “And where and when would you want such a kiss?”

You hold him in your gaze. There’s so much to learn, so much to figure out. It’s alright. There will be time. “Anywhere and anytime, you want, my love.”

“You’re going to give me control?” he asks. “Is this not something you would want as well?”

“I’ll make this easy enough for you to understand,” you tell him, tracing the paper ring around your finger. “I demand a kiss whenever you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.”

Alastor hums, looking away to study the woodcarving on his chair. He picks on them. “I supposed if you need anyone to fulfill your needs I only as—”

“Just say sex, my dearest,” you say, and Alastor sinks into his chair with a huff. “That will never happen. This isn’t a friendship, my love. I am entering a relationship with you. No matter how unconventional, it is still ours.”

Alastor locks your eyes with a pleased smile. “Good.”

The rocking chair rocks you into a small lull. “My dear.”

“Yes?”

“My love.”

Alastor sighs. “Yes?”

“My dearest,” you say. “Would you want to share a bed?”

Alastor stays silent. There’s hesitation on his face. You see it in the way his lips twist. You see it in the way his eyebrows furrow. You see it in the way he leans back on his chair to stare at the stars.

“Okay then, we can circle back to that later,” you say with a soft chuckle. “How about a room—Do you want to share one?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows, staring at you with silent judgment. He is a book that you are allowed to learn. There’s so much to read, and so much still left to be read. That’s okay. There’s time. No matter how long. You have time.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we can share a room without sharing a bed,” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. “We can even have bunk beds. That would be cool. I’ve always wanted a bunk bed.”

Alastor rests his face on his palm to look at you. There it is again, the breathy and light laughter. “We are not sleeping on a bunk bed.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie’s smile slowly morphs into a frow that you cannot decipher. It makes sense that you can’t. Afterall, she is not the book you’ve spent your life learning to read. “You…You don’t actually love each other?”

There’s a frame hanging on your kitchen wall that says otherwise.

It holds an art piece you embroidered for the sole purpose of giving it to your husband. The color of the wooden frame compliments the colors of the thread, as if it was carefully chosen to match. The one here in the kitchen is but one of many frames around the house. Alastor keeps every single item safe beneath the glass to to be admired.

There’s a shelf standing on the living-room carpet that says otherwise.

It holds ugly knick knacks that Alastor bought for the sole purpose of giving it to his wife. It’s a pain to dust the shelves, but not a speck of dirt touches its surface, as if it was carefully taken care of. The one in there in the living-room is but one of many shelves around the house. You keep every item spotless to be admired.

“We’re not heartless,” you say. “Alastor and I don’t have the same relationship you and your girlfriend have.”

Charlie sways in her seat, a hand rests on her chin when she hums. “ I am so sorry,” he says. “I think it’s great and all that, I’m just having trouble understanding.”

“It’s not exactly for you to understand.” You take a sip from your mug.

“So it’s not a relationship,” Charlie says. “Sooooo, is it like a really really deep friendship?”

“The lines between us are so blurry that it’s become deeper than friendship,” you admit with a small smile. “I just know that my soul is connected to him in ways I do not know how to tell him.”

“Is that really possible?” Charlie asks. “To just…love each other so differently?”

“Can our relationship not just…exist?” You lean on your palms. “Do you really think it’s so impossible for two people to just…to just look forward to cooking and washing the dishes together?”

Charlie’s eyes brighten. “I think I’m starting to understand,” she says. “So like—”

“Charlie…if I sit here and answer all of your questions, we’re going to waste time.” You play with the fiddle of your mug. “You didn’t come here for relationship advice.”

“Oh…yes.” Charlie sits there. Her smile slowly falls into a frown. “I’ve been thinking of how to convince you to help me, but…I can’t think of a single thing to say, and I don’t want to force you either.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You haven’t exactly asked for my help either.”

Charlie blinks at you. “…Huh?”

You raise your mug to toast to her. “If you want my help, just ask for it.”

Charlie grabs your hand with a tight grip. “Please, help me,” she says, voice shaking. “I don’t want to drag Cannibal Town into an all-out war without knowing there was a way to keep them safe.”

“Sure, why not?” You pull your hand away.

A loud squeal bounces off the walls.

Charlie pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. She hauls you with all the strength of a hellborn princess.  Your feet drag against the floor as she pulls you out of the kitchen and into the living-room.

Charlie drops you with a wince on her face. She stares at the broken window, and the obviously missing television.

You trip out of her hold.

Alastor wraps his hand on your shoulders, steading you against him until you find your balance. His touch lingers on you.

The television shaped hole on your glass window makes your eyes twitch.

Alastor steps away from you, twirling his microphone. It strikes the floor with a harsh thunk. “Oh, yes that,” he says. “It seems there was an unfortunate accident.”

“Oh, really now?” you say, placing a hand on your hips. “I would love to know exactly how that happened.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and his arms wave the air. “The clumsy boxed tripped right out the window.”

Your smile strains. “…That is rather unfortunate,” you say. “What a shame, I rather liked that television. It’s been a constant companion, and never has it once disappeared on me for several years.”

Alastor glares at you.

You glare back.

“I would love to help you clean this mess,” Alastor says with that triumphant smile of his.

Would a second broken window be worth trouble if it means there would be an Alastor-shaped hole?

“Perfect!” you say. “I’m sure you still remember where we keep the broom.”

Alastor boops your nose. “Unfortunately, the cannibals will be meeting us at the hotel,” he says. “I think it’s time we take our leave. Say goodbye to my wife, Charlotte.”

Charlie opens her mouth to correct him. She changes her mind at the last minute, choosing to sulk with a wave instead.

Alastor opens the door, allowing Charlie to step out first. She strides to the flowerbeds, kneeling to observe the plants.

Alastor stills by the door frame.

He inches close enough for you to reach him. The fabric of his lapels smoothen as you adjust its fit on him.

A breeze tussles Alastor’s hair. You swipe the stray locks, brushing his hair away from his forehead, until…until the x that marks the gunshot catches your eyes. Frowning, you thumb the mark, caressing it with oh so soft touches. There was a time where you believed that you and him had all the time in the world. Death laughed at you that night.

Alastor watches you, taking your wrist to pull it away.

He leans closer, and picks a feather on your head. “Will you indulge me?” he asks. “There’s just something I want to ask of you before I leave.”

“Say it, and it will be yours.”

Alastor pokes his cheeks, mimicking a smile. “Just one of these from you will do—Something to power me through the day.”

With a soft chuckle, you widen your lips to show him the brightest smile you can muster. “Is that much better, my love?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “Indeed,” he says. “You’ve been frowning for a while now.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Have I?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You have,” says. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s nothing serious to you,” you tell him with a shake of your head. “It’s nothing worth listening to.”

Alastor taps his fingers across his microphone. “It’s not nothing. Especially when you frown like that,” he says. “If it’s serious to you, it is worth listening to.”

“Sometimes…I still find myself wondering how you feel,” you say, smoothening the feathers on your head “Even after being married for so long, there are times where I still do not know

“You’re not a mind reader,” he says. “If you want to know, you should just ask.”

“Alright then,” you say with a smile. “How are you feeling today, my love?”

Alastor caresses your cheek. The back of his fingers brush down your skin until it hooks around your chin. You tilt it to the side, offering your cheek, ready for him.

Alastor tugs your chin, adjusting your face until your eyes are drawn into his own. And oh…Has he always looked at you like this?

Alastor inches closer, his nose nudging against your own. Your heart thumps in your ear.

A minute has never felt so long as you stay frozen. It’s a whole minute  if his lips brushing inches above yours. It’s a whole minute of his finger stroking the skin of your chin. It’s a whole minute of feeling his breath on your skin. It’s a whole minute where inches of space separate your

Alastor tortures you with the simplest of sensation that intoxicated you to your very core. You don’t move away, not from him—never from him.

Your eyes close when Alastor presses his lips across yours.

The taste of this morning’s coffee is dizzying. The soft tickles of his breath make your fingers curl around the fabric of his coat. You were never a poet. It’s Alastor who was better with his words. You cannot describe the way he kisses you with sweet metaphors or soft analogies.

Alastor pulls away.

You inch closer to chase him, until self-control takes over. It splashes you with the warmth of a bucket filled with ice.

Oh…oh.

There are words to be said, questions to be asked. The heat tingling of your cheeks and the electricity buzzing your lips make it hard to find the words.

You bury your face into the fabric of Alastor’s chest, curling into him to hide how red your face flushes. The back of his coat crumples when you grip it.

Alastor wraps his arms around you, tightening the hug. His finger stroke your shoulder blade. “Does that answer your question?”

You inhale into his clothes. It’s warm. He’s warm. So warm that int transfers to you. “No, not at all,” you mumble. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Alastor leans back, pushing you away to search your face.He stares at you.

You stare at everything but him.

Alastor squishes your cheek, giving it a light shake. “Stop demanding things from me when you’re not going to remember.”

“I did no such thing.” You swat his hand away. “Will I be seeing you soon?”

Charlie catches your eyes. She quickly glances away before eventually looking back. You bring out your hand, folding your fingers to indicate the number two. Charlie cringes so deep she creates a double chin.

Alastor brushes feathers out of your face. “You wouldn’t need to ask if you accepted Charlie’s offer to stay at the hotel,” he says. “ I was given a room there. I think you would like it…but, there’s still thousands of unused rooms if you wish to stay somewhere else.”

“My deerest, are you asking me to stay at the hotel?”

Alastor’s silence makes you chuckle.

With the tips of your toes, you reach to press a kiss on his cheek. “I will see you soon.”

“You always will.”

Charlie and Alastor leave with a wave. You close the door before they reach the gate, leaning on the door. The wood does little to settle the way your skin buzzes. Demand a kiss? You would never do such a thing.

The clock strikes. It’s time to leave for work. You take your coffee mug, scrubbing it with soap. (If you drop it twice, then that’s your business.) You open the cupboard, placing your matching mug next to Alastor’s clean one.

Today…Today will be a good day.

For today, there’s no need to throw away cold coffee mugs.

First of all, you will never catch my Alastor cooking jambalaya. It’s a great dish, I know. But I refuse to fall into the curse. Part of the reason why this chapter took so long to publish, besides work getting in the way, was because I didn’t know how I would want Alastor and Reader to love each other. Like do I make it purely romantic?  But I like keeping this as canon as possible. And I know that Alastor is only canonically ace. This problem struck me until I realized that to be accepted is to be loved. So I decided to write a story that will make me happy to show you. There are so many other fics with pure romance, and I wanted to respect Alastor’s asexuality and everyone who relates to him. This is my love letter to him and to you. Also, I’m just going to put it out there, just in case someone might ask why there’s a kiss on the lips? This is a reminder that you can define a relationship any way you could want. I debated whether that kiss should be on the cheek or on the lips. A cheek kiss isn’t inherently romantic, so I could have just done this. The lip kiss just felt…correct. I wanted to showcase that the relationship between Alastor and Reader isn’t a conventional one, and that it’s fine to have one that differs from what is considered normal. So the best way would be to take something that everything thinks is very romantic and twist it in a way that it could mean something different. And thus, any kiss before and after this chapter really just means that Alastor is completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @holymusicialmothman @lyralibra @alastorssimp @aestheticglas-blog @slaggylemon

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x wife reader #Alastor #radio demon

[koolades-world]

Hello i'm the person who gave you the idea of satan being an angel and i wanted to say thank you very much!.

I really liked how you did the reactions and the ending with MC is adorable. If i'm honest it was my first time asking for a request (manly because of my english) but when i saw that you liked my idea i was excited ♡.

So here's another idea in case you need any what do you think if MC holds a grudge for all the brothers threats?. For example all those times when Mc's life was put in danger, the insults and threats make MC start to hold a grudge against the brothers. Of course when it happened with Belphie *cough Mc's death cough* Mc snap at the brothers. It would be great if the brothers have to earn Mc's forgiveness.

(By the way i realized that the editor changed two words in the previous request so if it happens again i'm going to cry)

hello again!! so glad you liked the way I wrote the previous request <3

of course i can write this! hurt/comfort is so fun to write and i feel like it's for sure not talked about enough the way Mc would feel after the events of chapter 16 especially towards Belphie

please enjoy and hope to hear from you again soon!

Mc with a grudge against the brothers

Lucifer

he knew you weren't exactly fond of him towards the beginning of your stay in the devildom and while he did feel a little bad, at first he felt like he couldn't undo the damage that was already done

he harbored a lot of guilt especially after he got to know you

he understands when you got upset because the entire situation really was all his fault

he wants to gradually rebuild the trust he broke and makes sure he doesn't rush you

Mammon

as the only brother who never threatened or harmed you, he's on your side since the way his brothers treated you was shitty

after you finally snap at them, your mutual bond only grows as you only really want to be around him

willing to be the middle man between you and his brothers

he'd do anything for you babes

Levi

he isn't sure how to feel at all

he didn't think he'd be so upset by someone who'd only known for such a short period of time

he didn't think he'd miss you so much but he's afraid to try and talk to you in case you got mad again

it might take him a while, but just know he thinks about you daily

Satan

he kind of thought you wouldn't be mad at him after that serious bonding you guys did but understands where you're coming from

it was wishful thinking

he really wants to make it up to you since you helped him become who he is and let him know he's got nothing to prove to anyone

he gives you lots of gift and cards instead of trying to talk to you in person at first, then personally talks to you

Asmo

at first he's certain you're not mad at him but comes to a shocking realization

he struggles to accept the fact that you're upset with him but eventually comes to the realization that you might hate his guts

he actually remains in denial for a while and acts like nothing is wrong

only after you yell at him does he realize what he's done and tries his best to give you the space you need

Beel

he hates to admit it but he was part of the problem

although one of his rampages is what caused you to grow closer he won't ever forget how he acted towards you

he's probably the most genuine in his apology

he really misses having you around so he's the first to admit he's in the wrong since he wants to be able to talk to you again

Belphie

at first, he didn't think what he was doing was the big of a deal since you were just a way to get what he wanted

after he goes through with it and sees the damage it caused, he changes up

he doesn't expect you to forgive him

he works hard to show you he's changed and even if you never want ever be his friend again, he at least wants you to feel comfortable living in the same house as him

#obey me! #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beel #obey me levi #obey me belphie #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #omswd

[ichorai]

ties that bind ; nanami kento ; march 14th.

pairing ; nanami kento x reader

drabble synopsis ; even the strongest sorcerers need to be saved sometimes.

themes ; fluff, slice of life, established relationship (married), parents au

warnings / includes ; gojo has no sense of boundaries, tiny hint of jealous nanami at the end, and all the jujutsu students are just chilling in this one :) can you tell i'm in desperate need of slice of life content, introduction to the other kids reader has with nanami! yuriko (born 2019), hiro (born 2020), and takara (born 2023)!

series masterlist.

14th march, 2024

With the cold remnants of winter fading into the soft blossoms of springtime, you and Nanami ventured out to the parks with the kids more often. This time, you’d brought the Jujutsu students along to enjoy the day as well—Yuji and Megumi were playing a rather competitive game of catch with a frisbee, Nobara and Maki were off buying ice cream from a cart vendor, and Toge and Yuta were leaned up against Panda, all soaking up the afternoon sun. 

Nanami was by the playground, gently pushing Yuriko and Hiro, five and three respectively, on the low kiddie-swings with a small smile on his face. His lips were moving as he spoke to them, but you couldn’t hear from the bench you were sitting a few feet away. You were rocking a stroller, carrying your youngest daughter, Takara. Her soft hair, a shade somewhere between you and Nanami’s own heads, was pulled into a tufty bun, which threatened to come loose with the position she’d fallen asleep in.

Gojo had also invited himself to the excursion, currently sprawled out in the space beside you, having his third—or was it his fourth? You couldn’t quite remember—brightly-colored popsicle. The two of you had exchanged quite a few pleasantries, but mostly it was just him chatting away about his students and the missions they often frequented. 

“I still don’t really understand,” you said, which made his head turn your way. “I can’t believe you actually teach these kids how to survive by dropping them in dangerous situations like that.”

The thought of your own children going on to learn in such a way made a shiver run down your back. Nanami would also surely pop a blood vessel if he thought about it for too long.

“They wouldn’t die,” Gojo responded easily. “Not on my watch, at least. I can save anyone. Anyone who wants to be saved, anyway.”

There was a distant tone to his words, but he was wearing a wide smile as he regarded you through his blindfolds. 

“Hm…”

“Don’t be worried about them,” he reassured you. “Trust me, showing them the real world is the best way for them to learn.”

“I know,” you said, voice small. Your eyes darted to Yuji, who had leapt an incredible distance up in the air to snatch the frisbee Megumi had tossed. “I just worry for all of them so much. It’s like they’re all my kids too now, you know?”

Gojo licked a long stripe up his melting popsicle, humming. “They’re stronger than you think. Besides, they’ll always have each other.”

Your next words made Gojo freeze in place, tongue still stuck out flat over the popsicle.

“If you save everyone, who saves you?”

Gingerly, Gojo pulled away from the popsicle. He laughed then, but it was slight and hardly genuine.

“I don’t need to be saved,” replied the white-haired man. “I’m the strongest.”

That elicited a soft snort of amusement from you. You weren’t looking at him anymore—instead, facing your husband at the playground, who had taken to helping Hiro and Yuriko onto a see-saw. A fond smile graced the corner of your lips. 

“Everyone needs to be saved at some point, Satoru. All we have is each other, in the end.”

There was a long silence as Gojo thoughtfully slurped up what was left on the popsicle stick. He was already itching for another.

He reached out to pinch at your cheek, ignoring your noise of surprise. “You’re so cute, you know. I’m so glad Nanami married you.” His words were high-pitched and crooned right into your ear.

“Ack—Gojo, stop!” You were laughing, nose wrinkled as you swatted at his hand.

Gojo had to pull away eventually, because he could feel your husband’s exasperated glare fall onto him. A second longer, and he figured Nanami would’ve pulled out that blunt blade of his.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fanfiction #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento ff #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami fanfiction #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento drabbles #nanami kento imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff

[cringefailvox]

what do u think abt the dynamic of the vees? they’re truly a fucked up lil family hehe and i wonder how they work in relation to one another ! also specifically val and vox ! i think it’s interesting how there’s some respect between them considering their different strengths lol ( porn and tech/news)

TY FOR ASKING bc i looove the vees so bad.

vox + valentino: most obvious, they're that messy on/off couple with severe issues that nonetheless do genuinely care about each other at the end of the day. val breaks his phone, vox screams in his face, they giggle and dance together, they have the range. they might rile each other up and throw each other under the bus for petty reasons, but in a life or death situation, they protect each other without hesitation. power vacillates between them like a seesaw. manipulative, toxic beyond belief, unexpectedly wholesome - they're made for each other.

valentino + velvette: i just know these bitches live for the drama. they keep each other updated on the latest gossip, they make fun of vox together, they're that awful best friend duo from high school who look at you like you're a bug under their shoes and then they skip class to go vape in the bathroom. val is very fond of her and she likes the attention, but she also gets easily annoyed with his lack of impulse control and inability to play a long con like her & vox. i think she's also one of the few people in existence that val won't sexualize (both bc she'd kill him and bc he sees her as a real person, not a toy).

velvette + vox: these two are the real power houses of the vees. i think vox was a mentor figure of sorts at the beginning, impressed by her ambition and drive, who gave her the tools to succeed and then stood back and watched as she clawed her way rightfully to the top. he respects her and her take-no-shit attitude. she loves him as much as she sees right through his bullshit, and even though she knows he needs her for his empire to function, she acknowledges that she needs his support too. they're both strong leaders and rule their employees with an iron fist. vel doesn't hesitate to call him for backup and both her and val trust vox to take care of them.

vox + val + vel: most importantly, all of the vees see each other as equals. they're all self-obsessed tyrants who view everyone around them as lessers EXCEPT FOR one another. at any given moment, all of them are thinking "i can't believe i'm the only sane one here." vel rolls her eyes and buries her face in her phone while voxval make out with each other over dinner, vox/vel stop val from doing something crazy and impulsive again, vel/val physically drag vox away from his desk to make him take a break from his work.

you disrespect one of the vees, you disrespect all of them. they're fiercely protective of each other and they still let vox humiliate himself on live television for shits and giggles. they're terrible. they love each other. they're a family in every sense of the word, dysfunction and all. they enable each other's worst tendencies while also keeping each other in check. they are everything they are the moment

#i LOVE themmmm <3333 #i need to write more about them as a team #the vees #vox #valentino #velvette #vees #hazbin hotel #staticmoth #voxval

[yanderes-galore]

Hello, could you make a platonic concept for Sonic and Tails (game version) sharing the reader? Since they both see each other as brothers, they could try to make the reader their new sibling.

Aww... Sonic and Tails making you part of a trio 💜 Here you go! Sorry for the long wait as always, I'm really trying :)

Yandere! Platonic! Sonic + Tails Sharing Darling

Pairing: Platonic - Sharing

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Jealousy, Paranoia, Tracking, Stalking, Violence, Brief blood mention, Clingy behavior, Implications of murder, Dubious companionship.

Sonic and Tails have been friends for, what, years?

The two are probably the closest to one another due to all the adventures they've had.

They'd definitely share an obsession between one another as friends.

I can't really see the two fighting over someone... they care for each other too much.

The two would be protective of a shared friend between them.

Like... extremely protective.

The two have been through nearly everything together since they were friends.

Most of the time it's due to them dealing with Eggman.

I imagine the two ended up meeting you on one of their adventures, perhaps even saving you from Eggman.

Sonic is his usual cool and laid-back self, always playful with you and Tails.

Tails is more shy but always wants to help you out, often offering you a gadget to help your daily life.

The two love to give their friend gifts as then you'll think of them.

The two are no doubt incredibly affectionate with you as their friend.

Now, if they view you as a friend or sibling... they could go either way as it doesn't change much.

Tails seems like he'd love hugs, honestly Sonic would too but not admit it often.

There's times when you greet them and the two bombard you in affection.

They are both definitely physical when it comes to affection.

Regardless on how they view you, as platonic yanderes they take such a role seriously.

The two value your safety... especially with all they've been through.

Tails definitely hides at least one tracker on you to know where you are like in his usual concepts.

He'd often alert Sonic where you are, originally he only uses it to keep you out of trouble.

Over time they both just find comfort in knowing where to find you....

I imagine Tails is more tame while Sonic can come off as intense at times.

Sonic can come off as intimidating if his friends are hurt.

In this case that would include both you and Tails.

Because of the universe and personalities of both characters, I don't expect any murder.

Violence on the other hand... that can happen.

Tails seems like the type who would give subtle threats to those who bother you.

While Sonic is similar, I can see Sonic being more up front about threats.

While the two care about you a lot, I want to believe they won't socially isolate you too much.

They'd be more likely to just insert themselves into interactions you have instead.

For example, you'll be talking with someone only to have either Sonic or Tails join the conversation.

Tails is always so sweet about it while Sonic uses his popularity to distract the attention off of you.

I'd say they both can get jealous.

Tails is more quiet about it but Sonic seems to be more vocal about it.

They're probably one of the best duos to have since they are mostly not that intense.

They genuinely just want to care for their friend and most likely won't kidnap you.

Instead there's the whole tracking situation... but with that you at least have your freedoms, right?

They aren't too fond of isolating you too much.

Even Sonic loves his freedom.

Instead they choose to protect you from danger as friends should.

Although... they may make you second guess your choice in friends.

Maybe the two end up giving you trust issues, jealous if you're spending time with others more than them.

They can be lenient... to a point.

The two see themselves as your heroes, always knowing what's best for their dearest friends.

Heroes shouldn't get blood on their hands...

Key word is shouldn't

However... perhaps there's some exceptions.

If the two ever did hurt someone for you, they'd work together to hide it.

The most I can see them doing is beating someone up or threatening someone to be quiet.

The two killing is rare and almost unheard of...which may just give them the perfect cover if I'm being honest.

You have no clue what the extent of their friendship with you really is.

Far as you know, they're harmless heroes who are just protective of you.

In reality they may be threatening and beating up those who may make your life less than perfect.

Perhaps the friendly exterior Sonic and Tails have around you and others isn't fully truthful?

Maybe they really do threaten, lie, beat up... or maybe even kill...

But surely there's nothing to worry about...! They'd never do such a thing... that's what you tell yourself, that is.

In reality, who knows what they do to maintain their friendship with you...

Perhaps the rumors are true... and there really is blood on their hands.

"Hey, has anyone been bothering you lately? You seem a bit worried...."

"You shouldn't have to worry, friend... we'll take care of everything, right?"

#yandere sonic the hedgehog #yandere sonic #yandere tails #yandere miles tails prower #platonic yandere

[ipostdumbthings]

Romantic Headcanons for Sorcerer Reader with BG3 Companions

Astarion

Well of course he attempts to seduce you, magic is so deep inside you, there’s no telling the scope of things you could be capable of, especially when directed towards his own interests. Expect him to initially try to manipulate in the early stages, and he may get a little frustrated if you don’t fall for it. It’s not personal, of course, he has to insure his own safety. In some ways, it’s a compliment. You’re useful.

The thing that strikes him first about you, is watching you cast your magic. The effortless way it flows from you is like poetry in motion, and he’s nothing if not a man that can appreciate beauty in its various forms.

He’s a bit hesitant in confiding in you, you’re a person of considerable power, and that’s a concern for him. He doesn’t want to find himself again at the whims of a powerful person, so it’s extremely important you treat him as an equal and show that you have deep respect for his abilities.

When you do, he finds himself more comfortable than he expected in confiding in you. Afterall, you can actually help him, you can protect him if the need arises. Something he’s just so eager to return the favor on.

Shadowheart

While she respects your privacy if you don’t wish to discuss it, Shadowheart can’t help but be curious about you. Where does your magic come from? It’s an interesting mystery, that she’ll have fun hypothesizing on her own if you don’t or can’t supply her with answers. It’s more a fun thing for her to think about as opposed to something she’s determined to get to the bottom of, but the idea of being impacted by some magical being through ancestry, happenstance, or mishap deeply resonates with her.

That makes conversations with her frequent and pleasant. You’ll find yourselves initially scratching the surface on such matters, fun little chats about that and the members of the group. She enjoys these moments quite a bit, and it won’t take long before you’re having much deeper conversations.

Because you aren’t necessarily attached to a deity, she finds it a lot easier to talk about her faith with you than she may be with others. You’ll be able to learn her deep held philosophies and personal beliefs, and your status as an outsider means you might have the unbiased insight that may help reaffirm and challenge them.

She’s very fond of your magic, and the way you cast it, she swears that it feels differently when you do it. 

Gale

If you’re the sort of sorcerer that looks at Wizards with reverence and respect, you’ll find that you and Gale buddy up almost immediately. In fact it becomes a bit of a running joke amongst the group (mostly from Astarion) that the two of you have formed a club for magic nerds.

Oh how dear you become to him quickly, the bond is soft and affectionate, a meeting of two like-minds and equals. He has the utmost respect for your talents and has complete trust in your abilities. 

You may even become a source of inspiration for him in the form of pushing his magic or even his poetry. Your relationship is forged first on that mutual respect and adoration, it is deep and emotionally passionate.

If you’re the other sort of Sorcerer, however, the sort that likes to be snarky/smug/condescending towards Wizards, you’ll find that energy met in kind by Gale. It’ll start out sincere too, a genuinely discontentment for your dismissal of his talents. Make no mistake, he’ll serve the snark and condescension back, and he’s an expert in both.

But when you prove you're devoted to the cause, and that you’re capable and willing to help your teammates, that dynamic will start to move from mildly antagonistic to genuinely playful. Which ignites a connection of a different sort. The sexual tension is palpable.

It doesn’t mean he’s going to act on it any faster, but no one can miss the chemistry between the two of you. The emotional connection will deepen as you two navigate that dynamic, because he won’t pursue anything with anyone that he only has a physical connection with. 

Lae’zel

Lae’zel is very quickly enamored with you. You naturally have skills that people spend decades honing, and you wield them with the same precision and accuracy that she wields her blade. That’s no small feat. It makes you a most attractive candidate for a partner.

You can expect her to approach you quite often for sex, she’ll take any excuse to wear you out. Especially after you do something particularly impressive.

It surprises her how much she finds herself liking your charm and charisma. The way you can guide conversations or have the force of will required to navigate any situation is what makes her start thinking of you as more than partner in sex. That doesn’t mean she wants you to try putting those moves on her by any stretch of the imagination, but she has to admit it’s impressive to witness you do it to others.

You’re one of the few humans who’s lead she will gladly follow. She respects you, and in an interesting turn of events she didn’t expect, she trusts you. You might even manage to get her to start having some deep conversations with her much sooner than most do.

Wyll

In some ways Wyll envies you, and he’ll admit to as much in his charming way. It’s hard not to wonder what his life would’ve looked like had he been born into magic instead of the path he took to it. He doesn’t say it to make you feel bad for him, but merely to express how much he respects your capabilities.

You’ll find him responsive and sensitive when you confide in him the struggles being a sorcerer can provide. He doesn’t assume your life has been easier than his, and he’s empathetic and compassionate to your history.

Respect between the two of you is like second nature, you have a sense of mutuality that many other relationships may struggle with. It’s a genuine connection between two people on equal footing, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

He does romanticize the story you share together, but it’s not cheesy or whitewashed. It reflects the genuine and grand feelings he has for you, the sense of beauty in the world you spark for him. 

Karlach

Karlach isn’t as impressed by your magic as some of the others are, don’t get her wrong, it’s really nifty you can do that stuff, but Karlach is much more moved by actions and content of character rather than fancy things like who can cast the shiniest spell. There are a few exceptions to this, of course.

She does simply adore it when you cast the fun spells though. The first time you decide to host a little light show in camp, she is absolutely delighted. She insists that you need to do that at a party with music so she can properly dance to it.

She also quickly gets fond of yelling at you to polymorph some arseholes who fancy themselves impressive right in the middle of their monologues. You can hear her cheers for a mile if you actually interrupt some evil idiot by doing it.

The magic doesn’t make the connection you two share anymore meaningful to her, true, but it can be an amazing source of fun for her, and she desperately craves those moments after spending so long miserable.

You may find her wondering if you can cast a spell while she tosses you into a fight, like, if you cast burning hands after having been properly yeeted, would you be able to spray it across the battlefield as you went? Expect a lot of those hypotheticals. It’s one of her favorite ways to spend time with you.

Halsin

Halsin considers you proof of the powerful and wonderful capability of nature, regardless of what sort of magic you favor. After all, you are what happens when magic and man entwine completely, and you should expect him to have a romanticized idea of what that means.

He sees your casting as part of the very fabric of who you are, and he takes great pleasure in watching you cast and perform your talents. He’s just as delighted to listen to your experience and views on magic and nature.

He, probably more than anyone else in camp, is very aware of just how… delicate people of your skills can be. Not that he doesn’t think you’re capable, but is very much aware of how much he needs to to stand in front of you as a bear when danger is nearby. He often tries to position himself to make it easy to step in front of you when tension runs high.

He’s also very quick to check in with you after a fight to make sure you aren’t seriously injured. He’s quick to heal you if you need it, and will definitely carry you to safety if the need arises. 

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #shadowheart #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #lae'zel #wyll #wyll ravengard #karlach #halsin #romance #fluff #self insert #bg3 headcanons

[soberpluto]

Explaining Dignities: Exaltation

The reason why I want to talk about them is because I've actually seen dignities play a big role in readings, as they do describe how well or adverse certain matters can play out for the querent...so here's a little analogy to understand them better!

Context: In Hellenistic (traditional) astrology, exalted planets are said to be like the favorite guests of a given sign (host), so the resources they have at their disposal are equal or even greater than the host's. In other words, imagine a queen or king being invited to a neighboring kingdom, they will be treated with the greatest of honors and commodities! In a practical aspect, this means that the qualities of that planet (the guest) will be able to shine at their maximum, making that particular area of life (house) easier or more fortunate for the owner of the birth chart.

*Mind that below I’m speaking metaphorically of “house” as the SIGN the planet is exalted, and not the astrological house as such (1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc.). *

Sun in Aries: Sun is a friend of Mars, as both rule fire signs and are leaders by nature. Mars is delighted to receive his royal friend, as he’s anxious to show him how noble, honorable, brave, and pioneer he is, and just how much he has achieved on his own. His job is to win wars for the kingdom after all! He’s thrilled to share his best tactics and borrow his friend his most treasured weaponry. The Sun feels comfortable because he has all he needs to command freely in this household, as his creativity, charisma, leadership and authenticity are praised by his friend. Together, they come up with solutions and strategies to conquer whatever they want! They are not afraid of competition or enemies, as both are equally ambitious and powerful in their own ways. Mars trusts the Sun, as he believes nobody is as visionary and talented enough to lead as he does. The Sun, in return, feels even more driven and powerful to accomplish his goals, as he has access to an incredible arsenal and his mission is thoroughly supported by his friend’s energy and fiery ability to execute his plans.  

Personality keywords: high self-esteem, passionate, entrepreneurial, courageous, independent, self-reliant, proactive, resourceful, inspiring, competent, combative, non-stoppable.

Moon in Taurus: The Moon feels really welcomed in one of Venus’ places, as both value beauty, security, domestic life and emotional closeness. They speak the same language, as both love to connect and celebrate relationships. They allure through tact and sweetness instead of brute force as their counterparts (the Sun and Mars) do. The Moon loves Taurus’ palace since she’s fascinated by beautiful art, exquisite food, overgrowing nature, dreamy romance, and abundant wealth… she’s just so inspired and fulfilled with this kind of luxury and magnificence! In here she has firm and solid grounds to step on, so her moods and emotional needs are stable as well. The Moon is able to relax and enjoy life effortlessly as she becomes more in tune with her physical senses and the things that bring her genuine pleasure. With Taurus’ gentle and grounded approach, the Moon lets her love flow naturally in all directions without the fear of being judged, ridiculed, or getting hurt. Like her friend, she is moved to become the glue between the people she’s fond of and attracts what she desires through her feminine and gentle nature. The Moon is so pampered and taken good care of that she’s able to channel her emotional depth and excellent organizational skills towards the growth and embellishment of her relationships and surroundings in a lasting way.  

Personality keywords: soothing, calming, relaxed, adorable, loyal, possessive, down-to-earth, practical, trustworthy, maternal, cozy, warm, gentle, nourishing, wealthy.

Mercury in Virgo: Mercury is always eager to pay a visit to Virgo´s realm, as he feels productive and useful here. As the guest, Mercury has all the mental and practical resources to give his thoughts structure and build all the great things he imagines into reality. Virgo gladly grants her friend access inside her huge library so he can explore his wide range of interests and gives him the key into her laboratory and workshop, places where he can experiment and practice all his learnings and become an expert on what he chooses to. She knows how anxious and critical he can get when he doesn’t rest or when things don’t go his way, so she also allows him to use her gym and provides him the best doctors and nutritionists to ease his stress. Virgo is pleased to see that Mercury quickly understands the importance of wellness and health, as she knows he cannot get his job done without proper self-care. Once relaxed and restored, he feels inspired to be of service, as he believes his quick wit and knowledge are put to good use. Mercury, thus, is motivated to grow, upgrade himself, achieve mastery and share his gifts with the world to make it a better place thanks to the wisdom, tools and care her friend borrows.

Personality traits: methodical, skilled, expert, wise, smart, discerning, perfectionist, high-standards, inventive, detail-oriented, practical, productive, industrious, quick wit, self-made.

Mars in Capricorn: In this sober and ancient residence, Mars is forced to cool down a bit and think before he acts. He understands that there is no one to conquer or outdo but himself. As guest in other households, Mars, as explosive, impatient and ambitious as he is, sometimes can get lost in the way, initiating projects and strategies that he later on drops because he gets bored quickly or doesn’t get the immediate results he wants; he also throws tantrums and whims when this happens, and his anger makes him do reckless and foolish things at times, something other hosts find puzzling or repulsive, where they either encage him or make him submissive, something that irritates and demotivates him even more. Capricorn, his patient and wise host, on the other hand, knows just how impulsive and enthusiastic his friend gets, so he kindly but firmly teaches him the art of discipline to achieve his goals, explaining him that violence is of no use here, but instead, self-control and resilience. After many trials and tests, Mars sees how his dedication pays off, and finds out that with constancy and practicality, his immense passion and drive can get him to unimaginable heights! Capricorn teaches him the required organizational and leadership skills to leave a renowned legacy well beyond his years. With his inborn initiative and fiery spirit channeled into the material realm, Mars is ready to raise an empire if he wanted to!    

Personality traits: ambitious, self-made, responsible, go-getter, director, powerful, resilient, pragmatic, dedicated, strategist, organized, efficient, problem-solver, relentless, strong.

Venus in Pisces: When Venus enters the sacred and watery temple of Pisces, she is mesmerized by the enthralling type of beauty she finds in here. His generous and candid host takes her for a walk throughout the entire temple and reveals to her the mysteries of the universe. He grants her access to his secret chamber, where he teaches her the art of magic and spiritual healing, and lectures her about ancient and mystical knowledge, long forgotten to humankind, but very present and real nonetheless … these are wonders she didn’t knew existed before! Pisces knows how to inspire her soul in the most delicate and virtuous ways by reminding her of her true nature, that of divine precedence. Venus cannot help to spill what’s in her heat, so she asks her friend the tools to create beautiful music, paintings, and poems so she can share them with the world. Magnanimous and wise as he is, Pisces grants all her wishes, but also shows her the secret suffering that people are burdened with, and how cold the hearts of men have become before this pain. Awed and deeply touched, Venus’ empathy and understanding grows, and she starts to see the veil between the material and spiritual realms dissolve before her. She’s never felt such calling before! She knows her mission is to spread beauty, compassion and kindness, and she does this with unconditional love and devotion.    

Personality keywords: romantic, good-natured, fair, balanced, connected, spiritual, creative, artistic, imaginative, warm, gentle, generous, understanding, devotional, forgiving, tolerant.  

Jupiter in Cancer: When Jupiter enters the sanctuary of Cancer, he becomes even more lucky and faithful in life. He radiates joy and candor! This is because Cancer teaches him that without love, good-will alone is not enough to make himself and others truly happy. Jupiter is aware of this, but he sometimes can lose himself in fantasies and utopic scenarios, where he wishes things could be different instead of trying to build them into reality. He dreams and preaches, but he can sacrifice practicality in the process. When Cancer has him over, she shows him how to extend the bridge between good intentions and actions, as she’s amazing at ordering her surroundings and making a heart-felt home wherever she goes because of her innate gift for nurturing. She also helps his friend to tap into his intuition and use his common sense to tame his emotions, which can be boundless at times. She does this by treating him with praise, understanding and acceptance, so he can practice them with himself and others. Jupiter finally feels a sense of belonging, as his good intentions are not abused, misunderstood, or minimized... they are used to make good things happen. Through accessing his more feminine side, Jupiter is compelled to give selflessly more of himself to others, and since he’s in a house that governs creation and karma, what goes around comes around multiplied. By practicing morality, ethics, charity and unconditional love without expecting nothing in return, as Cancer does, he finds out that he attracts the best of fortunes.

Personality traits: kind, compassionate, loving, caring, sympathetic, cheerful, charisma, altruistic, supported, rooted, lucky, fortunate, cozy, happy, benevolent, comprehensive, soft, guided, protective.

Saturn in Libra: When Saturn is in Libra, his sobriety and coldness start to wash off and trade for diplomacy, elegance and a profound pursuit of justice and fairness. In the friendly home of Libra, Saturn feels the need to connect, as her host reminds him the importance of friends, allies, and partnerships. After all, he cannot get ahead in life alone! Saturn’s industriousness and wisdom are channeled into building loyal and lasting relationships, where all parties get what they need equally. Libra knows his reputation well, and although she recognizes that his friend can be a bit stubborn, stern and gloomy at times, she loves to lighten him up and remind him of his noble character, and how it can create enduring and strong bonds. She gives him the mission of justice and impartiality, as she knows nobody is better suited than him for his seriousness and sense of responsibility. Saturn protects and respects Libra and feels empowered because she realigns him with balance and high ideals. He does not feel rejected or lonely anymore. Libra teaches him to relax a bit and to seek pleasure from the warmth of social interactions, and in consequence, Saturn learns to apply his maturity and discipline to persuade others into creating a kinder, fairer and wiser world.   

Personality traits: noble, just, dignified, committed, loyal, elegant, eloquent, responsible, diplomatic, mature, moral, impartial.

That's all! Thanks everyone for reading!😘

Book personal readings here: https://starintuitivehealing.etsy.com

Written by @soberpluto

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology notes #birth chart #astrology signs #12 houses #astro community #astro observations #exalted planets #dignities #hellenistic astrology #ancient astrology #traditional astrology #sun in aries #moon in taurus #mercury in virgo #venus in pisces #mars in capricorn #jupiter in cancer #saturn in libra

[beevean]

So I'm putting some thoughts about how I see Charlastor in order, just in case I'll need them in the future lmao

Alastor craves power, control, and freedom. These are his main drive forces. The reason Lucifer's presence in the hotel rattles him so much is because he is both more powerful than him, a mere demon... and because he is a more important person in Charlie's life, and she asked for his help rather than Alastor's. While most of his taunting Lucifer about being a better dad than him comes from a place of wanting to hit the King of Hell where it hurts, he's also clearly consolidating his hold on Charlie's heart... who doesn't protest the fact that this consummate liar is calling her "his daughter".

(related to this, Charlie beams when Alastor calls her "good girl", which is completely normal I'm sure 🙂)

Alastor is implied to have been forced by whoever is holding him on a leash to protect the Hotel, going by his wording in Dad Bead Dad. By the end of S1 he is sick of it and wants a way out... but it's also implied he was growing a little fond of the hotel.

Charlie's feelings for Alastor seem to be ambivalent. By Hello Rosie, she's still fully aware that Alastor is a sadistic jerk who delights in people's suffering, and she is extremely reluctant to make a deal with him, putting every stipulation she can think of. However, she has also defended him against Lucifer by saying that he trusts what she's doing, and she's comfortable enough to talk to him about her personal problems with Vaggie even as it's clear that he couldn't care less lmao

Alastor giving his beloved mic to Charlie could be seen as a sign of genuine trust as well: by that point, he doesn't need to go the extra mile to manipulate her, since she owes him "a favor".

Alastor's touchy tendencies have been downplayed since the pilot, when he even slapped Vaggie's ass to annoy her. But he still enjoys touching Charlie a lot 👀 Both in a creepy, possessive way (bro really laid on the bed next to her...), and in a genuinely cute, friendly way. Charlie clearly doesn't mind the latter.

In short: related to the fact that Alastor enjoys being at the center of everyone's attention and is pissy when he gets ignored, Alastor wants to be important to Charlie for reasons yet to be disclosed, and he's willing to charm her in any way he can to make her trust him above others. He keeps his cards close to his chest, but he has been a real help to her, making his possessiveness and manipulation more disturbing.

Charlie is, as of now, in an in-between state where she still doesn't fully trust Alastor but she is growing fond of him and perhaps sees him as an odd friend of sorts - look at her wide grin when he comes back in the finale and she hugs him! She is not stupid, but she does see the good in everyone, and Alastor is no exception.

Alastor might also be eager to use the power of the Princess of Hell for his own purposes... namely, gaining back his full freedom. He might actually need her, perhaps even more than she, as of now, needs him.

In a general sense, both of them might be corrupting each other. Alastor is inherently a corrupting force in a Faustian way, manipulating others to gain more and more power, and so far he seems to be succeeding in getting Charlie to his side by playing the part of the helpful, resourceful hotelier. But Charlie is also an extremely positive force, and as I said before, Alastor seems to like her a little in his own cryptic way. I doubt that this would be enough to "redeem" Alastor... but it would be interesting to see him fight with himself against his newfound affection :)

(bonus: really curious to see where Husk would fit into all of this. I doubt he'd be happy to know that Charlie made a deal with his owner...)

#hazbin hotel #charlastor #charlie morningstar #alastor hazbin hotel #food for thought #really enjoying what they did with these two lol #as i said: i wasn't particularly impressed by alastor in the pilot so i never paid attention to the ship #but oh boy i've been eating what he had to offer in the show proper #so yeah. i'll rotate this in mind :)

[winepresswrath]

hi! i always love your MDZS/CQL takes; can i ask what are the questions you think CQL is asking, as compared to MDZS?

I haven't actually revisited either canon in ages, which is making me nervous. what questions the novel is interested in can be pretty contentious all on its own! @mikkeneko has an excellent answer in the notes here which I reccomend to everyone. My own thoughts are honestly pretty scattered- I keep on deleting things and going hm, that's not quite right.

So, for the obvious-to-me example, people reasonably zero in on the creation of innocent doctors/radish farmers who Wen Ruohan is holding hostage. In CQL it's easy to infer that Wen Qing and Wen Ning are maybe the only cultivators and almost certainly the only combatants among the Wen remnants, and their status is much more ambiguous in the novel, which I personally think is asking, essentially, "and so what? were they wrong to run, when they had a chance? Do they deserve what Jin Guangshan will do to them if they go back? Aren't they just people, actually?" Whereas the question that CQL is asking is more to the effect of "What does Wen Qing owe these people, when she is their only defence? What is she entitled to do to save them, at other people's expense? If she fucks up that moral calculus, what then? Does it matter if she's personally fond of some of the outsiders who are going to get hurt? If one of them saved her brother? Later, this question will flip to what Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, and the parallel to Jiang Cheng's situation in particular is, I think, genuinely pretty fun. You're giving up the Wen as soldiers who've laid down their arms in exchange for Wen Qing also grappling with leadership and the question of how many horrors she can stand to look the other way on to protect her own people. one reason I keep deleting so much is that a lot cql's changes were motivated at least in part by censorship, which I think we mostly share a general and justified distaste for! but I also think that within the bounds of that censorship the creative team put a lot of work into actually doing something interesting with those changes. Or, for another example- nieyao! There's a much greater emphasis on the nmj-jgy relationship, it's unambiguously very close and they are clearly extremely important to one another, and I think that's because the cql team has a lot to say about love, trust, power, and the ways those things interact, and that reflects back on all of the other relationships in play, including Wangxian. Almost every time, when CQL chooses change a relationship they make the characters in question closer- that's true for Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, for Wen Qing and the Yunmeng contingent, for Zixuan and Mianmian, and Huaisang and Meng Yao. It's even true for Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, who have a close and trusting relationship in first life! CQL puts a much greater emphasis on "all right, so you care, what next?" How do you choose someone and then choose to be good to them? What if there's a massive power disparity between you? What if you seriously disagree about your priorities and morals? How do you trust someone who's betrayed you? When is it a stupid choice to trust at all? How do you have faith that you know someone well enough for that trust to be meaningful?

for legal reasons i would like to specify that it's not that mdzs isn't interested in these problems. i do remember wangxian's literal trust fall. cql is asking these questions all the time about everyone. also for legal purposes i'm not suggesting that cql lwj and jc love each other. but! they establish a three month wartime partnership looking for wwx and then jc immediately drops him on wwx's say-so despite apparently having a positive enough opinion of him to tell wwx he thinks they should make up twice. lan wangji will later tell wwx he thinks he should loop jc in on the second flautist! these are people trying to navigate some kind of relationship/shared interest/community, as opposed to a hateful void. cql wants to say hey, how do you go about this? while I'm here and rambling cql also puts a lot of emphasis on wwx's connection to yunmeng and changes things up so instead of feeling alienated right before he leaves our last glimpse of him there is happily picking lotuses and playing with a kid! in both stories the narrative is asking who do you protect? who do you leave behind? can you ever get it back? but the angles are very different.

#why are there so many people who simultaneously argue that cql dumbs down mdzs and also that mdzs is the slow reveal of how wwx is a #perfect angel who has never done anything wrong in his life #being let down by everyone around him #surely you have to pick an option #but lan wangji and wei wuxian being close friends in the first life really does change everything #i have seen people (reasonably) be annoyed with this as an adaptation choice #but! i like this change a lot and i think they do interesting things with it #There's still a lot of emphasis on what makes them so particularly perfect for each other but imo moving Lan Wangji into the category of #people wwx loved in the first life #shifts the focus from #when will they get together #to #What it would take and what would they have to do for these people to have to do to have a successful partnership? #If loving someone is the first step what comes next? Who do I want to be to the people around me? #i love the focus on wwx's trust issues as trust issues! problems that he's had with lwj specifically before! #and the solution isn't just oh well lwj is perfectly trustworthy #though that's obviously part of it #wwx has to like. decide for himself to do some things differently this time around in order to reap the rewards of being really in it with #someone. and lwj does too! it's a journey they're on together #i have simply rambled in all directions i'm sorry anon

[llamagoddessofficial]

Please tell me where I can find the pride and prejudice au? Please please please

HKFsdf, well, here's the original p&p au post. And here's some extra details to go with it.

Sans:

Sans is a surprisingly humorous gentleman... when with his designated friends. If you aren't in his circle, and even worse if you're a human, he's famously cold and unpleasant.

It's a level of unkindness only the upper levels of society can get away with. Ironically, his choosiness with his inner circle just makes being his friend even more desirable

On their first meeting, he underhandedly insulted her family and her status. So she underhandedly insulted his shitty attitude

"so kind of the host, to allow attending families of such... interesting standing." "I also find, sir, they allow attendees with equally interesting manners."

instant love hearts

Her family is very keen for her to foster his favour, so when he starts inviting her and her companions to various private events, she's under far too much pressure to decline.

She engages him in little verbal spars to try and drive him away. They have the opposite effect. There's nothing he enjoys more than when she starts sending those witty barbs his way.

(She actually enjoys it too, not that she'd ever admit it)

She sometimes privately laments that he’s such a prideful asshole; if it weren’t for that, she’d consider him a perfect match. She likes his wit and style, his calm nature, they enjoy the same music and poetry, she definitely finds him handsome. She just can’t stand his snobbish attitude. Besides... he’d never bother with her, when he’s got so many other eligible ladies vying for him.

... She's completely oblivious to the fact that he's literally actively courting her

Red:

Initially, her family doesn't want her around Red, thanks to his famous womanising and gambling. Red quickly won her family (and most of the local area) over with a series of elaborate parties, though.

He's very fashionable, always at the forefront of the current trends. He adds his own flares though, he particularly has a fondness for gold chains.

Mc’s quite outspoken about her dislike of his gambling habit. He jokes she's just upset he's the only one who's ever beaten her at cards

Red is the skeleton Mc is the closest with. He's the only one she feels like she can genuinely talk candidly to- she doesn't yet trust Sans with her true thoughts and Skull can hardly get a word out when she's in the room. Red's the only one who acts normal around her.

... Which he does because he's trying to set her up with Skull. Awkward.

Red always conveniently invites both of them to his place around the same time, conveniently often draws parallels between their interests, and also conveniently seats them right next to each other at dinner. He often busies himself by finding out what events she’s attending, so he can show up with Skull in tow. 

He’s trying his best to shake off his own crush on her. She’s the first person Skull has ever actively tried to pursue, this is extremely important for his dear friend. But he’s starting to get worried- no matter what he does, his feelings for her just sink deeper.

Skull:

He's the only one of the three skeletons who's a member of the nobility. They other two are in the gentry- Skull is a titled landowner, a very important guy.

His injury and difficulty with speech have made him an extremely rare sight outside of the comfort of his home. He's literally never seen in public without Red.

Skull is deathly afraid of talking to strangers. Because of his terrifying stature and injury, people mistake his silent panicking as disinterest or annoyance. Really, he’s just overwhelmed, and wants to go home.

He tries to talk to Mc. Keyword ‘tries’. To everyone's absolute shock, Skull does actually manage to get a few words out for her, but he quickly gets flustered and goes back to just staring.

Red’s one of few people that can translate Skull’s grunts, nods and glares into full sentences. Skull only uses whole words when he's in the comfort of his home, with people he trusts to let him take his time.

"skull, buddy, i know it's a busy party, but you gotta go say somethin' to her instead of just staring. she thinks she offended you." "......." “we can’t leave yet, it’d be rude. try talkin to her.” “..............” "... what do you mean you can't speak anymore ‘because she smiled’?”

Skull is genuinely completely head over heels for Mc. It's difficult for an outsider to tell his different stares apart, but to anyone who knows him, it's embarrassingly obvious that every look he gives her is a flustered, utterly adoring one.

He had a little portrait requested of her. He keeps it in a locket... she has no idea.

#llamagines #p&p au #mc and sans will throw little (kinda flirty?) insults at each other for hours if they could #meanwhile if skull can get more than 5 words out to her before clamming up its cause for celebration