#and how the afterlife functions and all that

[spoopyyaoikingdom]

I LOVE NONE OF THIS WAS SPECIFIC TO THE PHANDOM IN THE FIRST PLACE

This is just the idea of vivisection and method in general AHAHAHAHAJAJHAA AHAHAHA AHAHHHHHHHH

ALSO i assume the liver if its DP x DC ? Thats gotten SUPER HUGE. tim drake wayne (red robin) had his liver taken by Ras al ghoul of the League of assassins a literal immortal life finding death cult. (Father to Talia Al Ghoul who Bruce use to bone and train with. grandpa to damian wayne *artificially inseminatef and born and only blood relatef child bruce has. Depending on the fic*) who raised him until he went to live with bruce at age 10 (yes hes fucked up from being in a cult. Damians one of my fav characters along with jason todd wayne)

Anyway Tims SUPER FUCKING SMART. Got Ras attention as i heard it and at some point Ras took his fucking liver. And NOBODY BUT HE AND RAS and i think talia KNOW ABT IT LMAO at least in most fics i read

Lots of fics have danny related to tim or jason or damian the most (besides also bruce and clark for 2md most being like blood related to somehow or an alt dimensional version of them)

And thusly my guess is it has to do with yhat? Cuz i found this in dp dc so i dunno xD

Also yea like the other person said. It make sense u want ur experimental being to stay alive long enof to examine function if u only care abt their body and not like....their actual thoughts and feelings *coughGIWfentonparentscough*

Ahem. Anyway Hope this helps! Also have u seen the Red Duck Candle thing yet? Or the Little Baby Man Danny stuff yet? Highly reccomend.

@supremeladyoftherandom

I hope u enjoy ur time in our phandom! And join us!

And how can there not be a ridiculous ambt of angst tags when its literally abt a kid who died and spent his afterlife fighting for peoplr who didnt give a fuck for a GOOD WHILE xD ahahhahahahah its rlly dark as fuck everything yht happened to him when u think abt it all on its lonesome canonically.

He literally has been strapped down and told in show hed be tortured dissected or more and heres it every morning at breakfast. HE calls it vivisection as HE knows HES ALIVE. Other people (mean people) would call it Dissection instead.

Hes literally comstantly electrocuted,beat up, forked with, mess with his life,parents, school, bullies, and VLAD gods VLAD ALONE IS A LITERAL CHILD ABUSER

Yea this stories gonna have dark as fork elements when the people who watched it grow up and have the most brilliant minds to make an qwesome phandom that i adored as a teen and now as an aduly with even more stuff and cool crossovers *mainly DC* im in adoration

Joins ussssss

Edit: almost forgot. Im almost 30 now (ugh tht felt weird to say still a handful of a yrs off) and heres my fav gif of danny

I love this one of him hes great

A question for the Phandom.

What obsession do you people have with this kids liver why cant you just let him keep it?

Why is there a whole TAG for vivisection

like i get trigger warnings but when this specific tag has MORE THAN A THOUSAND FICS (understandable, kid is a walking science experiment) FOR THIS TAG AND THE FIRST THING THEY TAKE IS ALWAYS HIS LIVER (not understandable please elaborate. normally as a layperson i would imagine the brain would be the first to end up in a jar(normally they dont seem to care if he lives or not))

[evolutionsvoid]

Elementals can be created both naturally and artificially, as long as enough of a certain material or element is near and the right magical spark is ignited. Of course, this is simplifying it greatly, as the process takes quite a lot of resources and is pretty complex. But the theory behind it would suggest that the amount of elementals one could create is practically bottomless, especially if you are a human. With their ability to practically wield every kind of magic, then anything should be possible. However, you have probably already seen that this idea isn't really executed all that often. Humans have created and wielded elementals, but the variety of them is pretty low. That is because these familiars need to have some kind of use, a function to explain why someone would go through all the effort. Thus, mages and such tend to lean on the tried and true type, picking the safest bets to ensure they get their money's worth out of this creation. Other elements or materials are too hard to get, or are too chaotic to work with. Others would create something with no obvious use, which doesn't really help anyone. And in some cases, a type of elemental may not be made because few people even know that kind exists. But in the case of the Clonal Elemental, the ignorant ones are non-dryads, who pretty much never see such a rare creation.

Clonal Elementals are a dryad creation, and a rather bizarre one to outsiders. They appear to be a floating ball of plant and fungi parts, a cobbled entity whose form seems pretty useless. Indeed, their birth comes from the energizing of roots and mycelium, weaving them together into a singular being. When the process is done, these materials are given life and the Clonal Elemental is complete. It appears some form of magic allows them to float upon the air despite their weight, though they can also be seen being carted around by dryad workers. Their hanging tendrils sway in the breeze, and many gnarled roots and growths twitch and stretch. They are an interesting sight for sure, but eventually one has to ask: what do they do? The answer to that question is why you will never see a human or non-dryad ever make a Clonal Elemental, because their purpose is to simply exist.

It may seem absolutely useless when you hear it, the creation of a being that simply hangs around doing nothing. Can they cast magic? No. Can they do chores? No. Can they communicate in any way? Uh, kinda, but not really. This leads to the frustrating wondering on what the point of them even is then, as they seem utterly useless. This is funny, because it shows the lack of understanding one has for dryad culture with this question. Because while all other races see them as pointless, dryads see Clonal Elementals as precious and incredibly crucial. Why that is ties into what happens when dryads die, and the afterlife they believe in.

A quick refresher of dryad funerary services: when a dryad passes away, a seed is planted in their body and they are returned to the earth. The corpse is buried, and the seed within them will transfer their soul into the next stage of existence. The tree or plant that sprouts from their grave is said to not only contain their soul, but is believed to be that very dryad given a new form. They live on within this plant, and when their roots connect to the rest of the intricate network of the forest, they are linked up with all the dryads who have passed on. The grand system buried beneath our feet is where their souls go, generations of dryads contained within plant, root and fungus. This is how they commune with those gone, and gain wisdom from past souls. And it is this belief that causes dryads to be fiercely protective of their sacred groves and living homes, as it is more than just a tree. If their forest were to be burned and the root system destroyed, than that link to their ancestors would be forever lost. It is no doubt a tragic thing, but the sad fact is that it is a very real possibility in this world.

Dryads and the places they find sacred have been and will be under attack in one way or another. Be natural disasters, plague or invaders, they are aware the time may come when their sacred root system is threatened. Obviously, they will fight to the death to ensure its survival, but sometimes they must accept the fact that victory is not possible. A raging forest fire may not be able to be stopped before it consumes all, an invading force may be too strong to push back. When this happens, dryadkind knows it is best to salvage what they can, lest all is lost. Obviously, one cannot uproot a tree and carry it to safety. It isn't possible to rip out an extensive network of roots and mycelium for transplanting. Doing so would kill it, and thus erase their past. But with the use of magic, a vital chunk of this may be given life and an easier to move form.

Clonal Elementals are essentially living containers, given the vital task of moving dryad networks to safer places. They are not big enough to carry the entire biomass, but one must remember how cuttings work. Sometimes, a single piece is enough to save and regrow an entire species, and that is how the Clonal Elemental works. By transplanting this piece of the network elsewhere, all that was once contained within the previous system is saved. Their ancestors can live on, their wealth of knowledge and comfort preserved for future generations. So even if their forest homes burn, dryads can find peace and hope in the fact that not all was lost.

The life of a Clonal Elemental is obviously pretty short, as they are created to simply move plant matter from one location to the next. Yet, these existences are vital and fiercely guarded. It should be no wonder why these elementals are rarely seen by non-dryads, and why any dryad would throw themselves into danger to keep them safe. For when these beings are returned to the earth, the past is saved, a new home will flourish and dryads will continue to thrive despite all odds and hardships.

There are some rumors and beliefs tied to the Clonal Elementals that wonder if they are capable of more. Obviously, the task they do now is vital, but think of all that is contained within them. A bottomless well of dryad souls, generations of knowledge and essence. And this being is the ward to all of this. Then look to see how life blooms after they have been planted, like an entire forest rising in a mere fraction of the time. Thus they can create life, but does that mean they can create dryads? Can they give those passed a new shot at life? Humans, and even some dryads, have pondered this. For man, it would explain how dryads are able to reproduce so quickly, how they have spread nearly as wide as humanity. And of course, this has been brought up in whispered conversations about the infamous and mysterious Pando Village. That isolated dryad community that feels half fiction and half fact. Those strange, strange dryads, whose origins remain unknown. Some wonder if their creation is the result of a Clonal Elemental, perhaps one that went very wrong. Some think darker magic is at play, others think an insidious plot, and one very loud and angry dryad would prefer to beat all those theorists in the head with a stick.

[fatelcved]

i got the urge to lore dump now, especially after what i brainstormed last night, but i'm just... where do i start

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: two lineups of the Paranatural AU versions of the Commission characters; one set ten years ago and one set in the present of the au.

Ten years ago: only part of Carmichael's head is a fish tank; Herb has a dad-stache and is wearing a button up with a v neck; Dot has no glasses and her hair isn't pulled back; the Handler has longer hair and is wearing a typical Commission suit; Five is a teenager instead of an adult; Cha Cha has longer hair; Hazel has longer hair and a fuller beard; and the person who runs the commission, who is God in TUA, is a cowboy and a horse instead of a little girl. End ID.]

A look at the Paranatural au version of the Commission! They do basically the same thing as the Consortium in Paranatural (aka who the fuck knows not me, something to do with keeping spirits in line) and it is also similar to the Consortium in one other important respect that i will get to shortly

Some notes on designs:

reminder that AJ is a medium (person who is possessed by a spirit), and mediums (and tools) look more and more like their spirit over time. ergo, he has more human features ten years ago.

the handler probably wasn't management ten years ago, so she has to make do with the regular uniform

five probably wasnt actually in the commission ten years ago (tho he WAS already a spectral) but hes here anyway for thoroughness

i almost forgot to put hazel and cha cha in here which is a crime

hazel is 100% the guy who had a ponytail when he was 21

cha cha's spirit power is this gun she found

and finally

the little girl god runs the commission in this!! of course she does!! why didn't i think of it sooner. In the webcomic, the consortium is run by a mysterious medium whose spirit is a wight.... except it turns out theyre not actually a person at all, but a construct made to look human by a very very powerful wight. Every so often the wight 'retires' the current construct and installs a new one; thus, the little girl is the commission's current model, and cowboy god from the comics was her predecessor!

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss her…

[amtrak12]

The idea that a god-like character with (supposedly) unlimited powers should snap their fingers at the end of a TV series and remove all pain and terrible things in the world so humans no longer had any suffering is the most BAFFLING thing I have ever heard. WHY DID THE SHOW EVER EXIST IF FIXING THINGS WAS THAT EASY??????

[tearlessrain]

okay the way gods/the afterlife are handled in forgotten realms lore is bleak as fuck. like. the mortal realm basically being a prayer-powered generator and source of fodder for the gods to throw at each other in their constant conflicts and if you don't like that and refuse to participate, fuck you you're Going In The Wall. they may or may not be interested in helping you but you're still gonna have to pick one to grovel at if you don't want to spend your afterlife getting Pink Floyd-ed into oblivion and/or shanghaid into being a demon.

like. what the fuck. this is a dystopia and even dying won't get you out of it.

[t-a-a-1]

Dandelion: Prequel

4k Words

One-Shot

Summary: Optimus loves you. You love him. The two of you are too stupid to realize each other's feelings. 

But following a conversation about the afterlife, you realize how much he means to you.

...

A/N: Yearning. Love confession. Jealousy. Optimus confesses but doesn't realize it. You are dumb. Angst and Fluff. Enjoy!

Dandelion: Prequel

.....

Optimus thinks about you.

A lot.

And more than he likes to recognize.

Optimus has learned many things about Earth. You showed him music, art, poetry, literature, and movies. He enjoyed them, mostly because you shared them with him. The archivist in him was hungry for knowledge and you were the chef who satisfied his craving.

He also enjoyed sharing things with you. Of everything he could of Cybertron. The arts, the poetry that sometimes you didn't understand. The history and legends of his people.

He had thought many times of the things he would like to show you once Cybertron is restored. You would love it, he was sure of that. He could take you to see a play or maybe show you the beautiful cascades of Energon or the resting place of the Primes.

Optimus also thought of building you a home. You would be coming to Cybertron often after all. Maybe if you were comfortable enough, you could live with him. That way he could take care of you, just in case you woke up scared from a nightmare. He would cradle you until you fall asleep again and if needed, you could share his berth with him. Cybertron is naturally cold, he could keep you close to his spark to keep you warm.

"I won't live forever you know?"

You were waiting for him to roll into your driveway. He had promised you to do this for a very long time now and there's no way escaping it.

"I am aware," he says as he swiftly moves forward. "Your life expectancy is rather short."

"The more reason I have to clean you up," you walk towards him. "I may die tomorrow and you may live on without a proper bath? Not in my watch."

You had two buckets of water and a hose ready to be used. Some soap, sponges and rags. The buckets were heavy as you struggled to pick them up, you somehow still managed to whistle a song as you made your way to him.

He didn't understand how you could look so content while talking about your death. Optimus couldn't even phantom the idea. Much less imagine a day when you won't be with him. He had grown too accustomed to your presence. His spark had grown too fond of you.

In fact, you had occupied so much space in his spark that he knew that it wouldn't be able to function without you.

What will he do once you are gone?

"Where will you go?"

He asks as he feels the warm water impact his windshield and hood. It was nice to think you took the time to heat up the water just to make him comfortable.

"What do you mean?" you ask as you put soap on the big sponge and start rubbing it around. You had to use a small stool to reach the top of his hood. This is the first time you were doing this and you were trying to be extremely gentle. You had to remind yourself that Optimus is still a biological being. His body may be made out of metal but he still feels everything.

"Once I stop functioning, I am certain my spark will become one with the AllSpark," he makes a small pause before continuing "But what about you? Where will you go once you die?"

You stop and look at him.

"Will it be a place where I can meet you? See you at least?"

Contemplating what to do, you look at the sides to make sure no noisy neighbor is listening to you talking to a truck. You look back at him and wonder if you should tell him the truth or lie a little. He sounded worried. It is no wonder that he perceives death differently. For him, it was just another transformation. To you ... Well, you didn't know nor could explain the finality of death. You didn't want to worry him.

"Human souls work differently," you say as you go back to wash him. This time more delicately, trying to feel each inch of scratch he has ever gotten. War was written all over his body. "We don't go to a specific place. But I think we become one with the universe."

"Whenever you feel the wind on your faceplate," you lie to him but there's enough hope in your voice to comfort him. To make him believe you. "Whenever you see the rain or snow, when you see a rainbow, a flower or star. That's where I will be. Always."

It's comforting to know that everything beautiful the universe has to offer, is because of you. Of course, it would be. How couldn't it? When you smile the sun becomes brighter. When you laugh, the sound becomes a melody. You were alive and made life so breathtaking because of it. He imagined your death would be the same. Eternally beautiful as you become one with the universe.

He ex-vents in relief and you smile. Your lie was good enough. He believed it.

Nothing else was said but spent the rest of the time in a comfortable silence. You took your time to really study him. He has many scratches, some parts of his paint were even gone and you wonder if he had insecurities about them.

After all, if humans did, what made Cybertronians different?

You ran a finger through a large scraping on the top of his hood, feeling each small bump. The scrapped metal is rough against your fingertip, wondering what had attacked him to make this much damage.

"Are they not of your liking?"

For a small second, you could hear the doubt in his voice.

"Oh, no, I-"

As soon as you are about to respond, a sports car passes by, honking loudly and making the sound of its motor as loud as possible. Although you were uncomfortable you didn't want to give the guy the satisfaction of receiving attention. But you were now self-conscious of what you were wearing, Shorts and a dirty old black shirt. You wonder how was this even attractive.

"Hey, beautiful!" the guy rolls down his window and you feel the urge to wipe the smirk off his face. "Wanna ride this instead of that old rusty truck?"

You were about to defend yourself until you heard Optimus's engines turn on, the sound of his motor was so piercing that you felt your entire being vibrate. He turns his headlights as well, bright and powerful, almost blinding the guy.

Turning to look at Optimus, you see his holoform taking the pilot seat. You hated that holoform but it will do.

"Sorry, but my husband is quite overprotective."

You tell the guy, hoping he will take the hint and leave you alone.

"Well, if you ever want a good time, I am always available," his words disgusted you but you are glad he is finally leaving. "That truck got nothing on my car anyways."

Optimus moves forward in an aggressive manner. You are surprised at his behavior but don't question it.

"Thank you," you say as you step down off your stool.

You made sure that Optimus was covered in soap before taking the hose and letting the water flow.

"I don't know why every guy with a nice car has to act so weird."

"Oh, so you did find that car to be visually appealing?" He asks. "I would understand. After all, you might prefer an automobile with more agreeable qualities for someone of your age."

"Is that jealousy I hear, dear husband?"

You liked to tease him and even flirt with him from time to time. Mostly, you knew that nothing would ever happen. It was stupid to think that a Cybertronian and a human could ever be something more than just close friends. You assumed Optimus thought the same.

He had to.

"Just mere curiosity," he says as he feels the water running through his body, watching off all the dirt. It felt nice. "And what is a husband?"

"A life partner. Husband and wife usually take care of each other until the end of their days," that was the simplest way you could explain such a concept. "And I prefer Cybertronian men if you ask me. Even old rusty trucks."

"Can I conclude that you know other Cybertronian males who are old rusty trucks besides myself?

"No, just you."

Although you couldn't see his faceplate, you knew he didn't mind the comment. The two of you had joked around before and Optimus can definitely take a joke.

"So, you do indeed believe me to be an old rusty truck?"

"Yes, but you are my old rusty truck."

Optimus didn't know why but he enjoyed the sound of that.

"And that makes all the difference."

.

.

.

The hospital wasn't like you remembered. You had grown used to being in a military facility and being taken care of by soldier medics. Not only because of the Decepticon attacks you had faced before but because you had seen your fair share of war while reporting for the news.

"OH YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE NOW!"

The last person you expected to see was Agent Fowler. Stepping inside your room, with a suitcase on hand and documents on others.

"I am fine thank you," you say as you sigh heavily. "The car crash didn't kill me and no Autobots were involved... so why are you here?"

"Because I have a very bothered Prime demanding to see you, saying that as your husband he has a right to know of your well-being."

"... What?"

"Look, I knew you and Prime had something going on but this has become a national matter," he shows you the documents he was holding but your head still hurts and don't feel like reading at all.

"If you and Prime are indeed married then by law I have to let him come see you. Do you know how hard we have worked to keep the Autobot's existence a secret?"

"And since when does the government of the United States care bout following their own laws?" you look around your room. You hoped to see another change of clothes but nothing. You were in desperate need of a shower. "Look, this is all a misunderstanding, I'll talk to Prime."

"It better be. We don't want to deal with court cases about deciding which constitution laws will apply to non-human beings," Fowler was moving the documents very aggressively and you assumed those were drafts of new laws to be reviewed. He works fast.

"Do you know how many laws we would have to re-write if you and Prime were to be married? Don't even get me started if you two were able to conceive a child."

"You better than I know that's never going to happen."

"I don't know the way Prime was begging to see you didn't seem normal," he put the documents in his suitcase and for once you were glad to see him go. "If I was you, I would hurry up. I don't want Prime to cause a commotion because he can't see his wife."

"I am not his wife," you say again, the term annoying you a bit.

Fowler just rolls his eyes and opens the room's door.

"Yeah, yeah, just hurry up Mrs. Prime."

.

.

.

The drive back to the base was unexpectedly quiet. When you saw Optimus parked outside the hospital parking lot, you thought you would be bombarded with questions.

Instead, Optimus just opened his pilot door and let you in. Nothing else. You didn't even dare to ask him to take you home. You just let him do what he pleased.

You two arrived at the base's tunnel. He stopped before reaching the hangar. He opened the door and you assumed he wanted you to get out. You were worried by his strange behavior.

As soon as you got out, he changed back to his normal form. He didn't hesitate to kneel in front of you. His optics look at every inch of your body, examining you.

"How are you feeling?"    He asks you but there is a certain coldness in his voice.

"I am fine, thank you."

He stands up, his optics still on you.

"You shall remain here until the next sun cycle. To make sure of your well-being."

He turns around and starts to walk away.

"Are you alright?"

You run towards him, your head still hurts but you want to talk to him. His indifference hurts more than you imagined.

"You lied to me."

You were confused. Speechless. Has he found out? That the only reason you were helping the Autobots to find the ancient relics is because you were waiting for the right moment to expose them? That you had a notebook in your home, with all the evidence you have so far of the existence of robot alien life? That every day you were waiting for the final piece of the puzzle. The last thing you need before revealing the truth to the world.

"While at the hospital, Mrs.Darby approached me and briefed me about your status. We talked, and she informed me that there are no scientific conclusions on Earth that your soul can become one with the universe."

You weren't expecting that.

"She said that your soul may be going to an unreachable dimension or just become nothing."

You didn't know what to say. There was a certain hurt look on his optics that you couldn't believe. He is grieving. It's the closest thing you have seen him in pain. But you couldn't say a thing. You weren't expecting this would affect him so much.

"Prime, I just ... I just didn't want to-"

"My apologies," he stops you and turns around. He didn't want to see you. That made your heart sink. The thought of disappointing him, of inflicting any type of pain was unimaginable to you.

But why?

"I just need a moment to myself."

.

.

.

A few days had passed. You hadn't talked to Optimus. But today was Friday and as per usual, you made your way to the rooftop, outside of the base. It has become a spoken agreement between you and the leader of the Autobots. To meet every Friday and just enjoy each other's company.

You two usually go on patrol night before and end up talking until sunrise. But today Optimus had left the base early, leaving you unattended. You took the time to go to the closest gas station and get yourself a pack of cigarettes and Optimus's favorite brand of oil. With the hope that he will still meet you.

But the hours passed and you had waited. You started a bonfire and lit up a cigarette.

More time passed and you became worried. Was he still upset? The day had become dark, the night was cold and you missed him. Stupidly so.

And you feel pathetic.

You were about to give up until Optimus finally showed up. He looked surprised to find you there. Probably thinking that you didn't want to see him either. When, in fact, it was all the contrary.

He didn't say a word as he sat next to you. You quietly put a small bucket of oil next to him. Of course, he noticed you and accepted the gesture.

You are about to take another puff from your cigarette when you see Optimus' servo reach out towards you. Using two digits, he takes the cigarette from your hand and throws it on the bonfire before you.

"Hey, I was-"

"Ratchet has informed me that this object you inhale from can reduce your lifespan significantly," Optimus slightly lectures you and you can sense some anger in his voice. "I see no meaning in you engaging in such activities."

"I am here for a good time not a long time," you say as you search in your backpack for the cigarette box. Marlboro wasn't your favorite cigarette brand but it was the only one that had menthol flavor at the gas station. "A very, very short time compared to yours."

You wanted to somehow go back into the topic of the afterlife. Anything that could open the conversation so you can have an opportunity to apologize. You wanted to hear him too, his thoughts. You wanted to know if he still finds your company enjoyable. If things were right between you two.

"You know, it kinda makes me sad that you'll probably forget me one day," you use a lighter for the cigarette, feeling piercing optics coming from Optimus. "And there's nothing I can do about it."

"I don't believe my processor will ever be capable of erasing memories related to you."

"How are you so sure?"

"I'll always have you in my spark," Optimus doesn't look at you but rather stares into the bonfire. His optics follow the dancing of the flames. He speaks freely.

"Even after I rust away and turn into nothingness. Once my spark has joined with the Allspark, it will still remember you. Even after the last star in the universe bursts into oblivion, my spark will reach you and it will call your name."

You are about to take another puff from your cigarette but his words stop you. Eloquence was not unknown to the Prime, he speaks it rather fluently but you didn't imagine it like this.

"I remember you now and I'll remember you then."

It seems he was on autopilot. It wasn't Optimus speaking but Orion Pax.

The bot who once knew how to love, the one who had dreams and hopes and was free to be himself. Without the pain in his shoulders, without responsibilities. No. This was not Optimus Prime. It was not Orion Pax. It was someone else.

His spark.

It was talking directly to you.

"My spark will look for you and I'll know it's you even if I was blind and deaf. Even if I ripped off my sense of smell and touch. I'll know it's you because not even time or death could take you away from me."

It's like he came back to himself. He blinks repeatedly after staring at the flames for too long. It was as if he was in a trance and when he turned to look at you, he noticed your cheeks. A little more redder than usual.

And all you could think of was him. Of the purity of his words. Of his beautiful being, of everything of him. His kindness, his truth. How he had changed your world with simple words. It was just him and this moment. United in this time. And you thought that maybe the reason you had been born was only to meet him. To hear those words that will forever be engraved in your heart. Will he ever know how much it means to you?

You weren't a believer. You used to be, when you were younger and less experienced. Before you witness war. Now you don't believe in anyone or anything.

But you believed in him. If anyone could make the impossible happen it was Optimus.

If he says he will find you in the afterlife, you know he will.

He made you believe.

You feel relieved to know that your existence meant more to the universe. That there's more than just finality, your soul will travel somewhere and have an impact on the bigger scale of things.

And if not ... then at least you could spend all of eternity with Optimus.

Your heart had finally begun to feel hope again.

And maybe something more than that.

Oh.

"Are you alright?" He asks, concern in his voice. "It seems you are overheating-"

"YOU GUYS CAME HERE ON A DATE WITHOUT TELLING US?!"

You shake a little and Optimus immediately moves closer to you in a very protective manner. The unknown voice startled you both although Optimus is always alert in a different way.

He immediately relaxes as his optics lay on the known small figure. You kinda wished he had stayed closer.

"Miko, leave them alone!" Jack comes out of the rooftop door, following Miko close behind. "Besides that's the whole point of a date. Let them enjoy it."

"Oh, no, you actually missed it!" you decide to amuse the kids, knowing that Optimus probably wouldn't mind you playing along.

"Prime just proposed and I said yes! We are getting married and having a bunch of human-cybertronian hybrid sparklings!"

You giggle a little, saying that out loud sounded ridiculous.

"Aha! I knew you two had a thing! Optimus always cleans his windows when he knows you are coming!" Miko turns to look at Jack and points at him. "You owe me a free meal!"

"She's not serious!" Jack says with a hand on his hip, frustration is clear. "Besides Ratchet said Earth didn't have the necessary resources for (y/n) to conceive."

"Wait, wait, wait," you throw away your cigarette into the bonfire, not wanting to be a bad influence and smoke in front of the kids. "You two talk to Ratchet about us?"

"Well, yes," Miko says. "He also bet cleaning duty-"

"Ahh, tsk,tsk!" coming from the rooftop door, the medic bot pops out. "Not talking behind my back! I did not bet on anything!"

"Yes, you did!" Miko points at the Autobot leader as Ratchet fully steps outside the door. "You said Optimus would never confess!"

"Is that true, old friend?"

Finally, Optimus speaks. He doesn't seem angry but confused.

"I-umm," Ratchet stumbles with his words until the realization hits him. "WAIT, YOU DID!?"

"No," Optimus says. "My feelings for (y/n) are strictly platonic."

"Ha! I win!" the medic turns to look at the kids. "You two will be doing cleaning duty."

Optimus sees you laugh with the kids. A scene that warms his spark. He can't guarantee tomorrow so he will treasure the now. Then maybe, if the stars align, he will gift you the strange flower he found.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: Sorry for any mistakes I made, I don't proof read lol.

In this story, I originally intended for Optimus to have this big realization but Dandelion was already too long and rushed for my liking.

But, I think he has loved the reader for way longer than he realizes and  when he does realize it...

 Uff. He feels like a complete idiot and begins yearning for you like crazy.

I think Optimus would be devastated at the thought of one day losing you. He just doesn't know he would feel like that.

But I think my version of Optimus and Reader is that both of them are very oblivious to each other's feelings. Because in their mind, there is no way a Cybertronian and a human could ever share intimate feelings.

So they just go around each other thinking, 'Oh, this is a person whose company I enjoy very much' and 'Caring so much for this individual is absolutely normal ... Right?"

Dandelion was supposed to be a one-shot story but due to the support given I decided to write a prequel for it.

Sadly, I don't think I will write a continuation of the story. This is to prevent any more spoilers for the current fanfic I am writing 'The Darkest Hour.'

This prequel already gave out too many spoilers as it is and as I was writing this I had to stop myself from integrating certain scenes I wanted to write.

For example, Optimus finding out that human souls actually go nowhere goes completely different.

He can't understand the finality of death and he grieves for months at the thought he may not see you in the afterlife. He makes his research, anything, any sign that your soul and his spark might reconnect again.

And one day he sees you throwing away some of your things (you were cleaning your house) And he goes through the trash and asks you if he can stay with the things.

You tell him no because those things were trash (to you) they were like old used notebooks, empty boxes, pens, old clothes and make-up. He starts gathering things up but you take them away and he very anxiously tells you:

"Why are you so cruel to me? I only wish to preserve your memory once you are gone. You have taken my spark, do you also wish to take what's left of my sanity once you leave my side?"

Of course, he later on realizes that his love for you is so intense and real that he is certain his spark will meet your soul once again.

Dandelion may have come to its definite end but if you really want to read more then I do recommend reading 'The Darkest Hour' although it is a slow burn, it will have this type of content but more improved and polished.

ALSO

Requests are open so if any of you have any prompt ideas, you may inbox me or send me a message on this account. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, everything is welcome! I can write small drabbles and other stuff.

And once again, I want to thank you all for your kind support! I am very new to Transformers and I didn't think I would be good enough to write fanfiction of it. But all of you have been extremely kind and I'll continue to write things that make me and all of you happy. Thank you for reading!

And I'll see you next time :)

Dandelion Pt.1:

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/768702467874684928/dandelion?source=share

You can also read my other stories in here or Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandream

Thank you!

[callsign-datura]

a/n: y'all not a word. just literal ghost!simon for those who like this trope <3 tags: cunnilingus, ghost sex, ghost simon. yeah he's a literal ghost and eats you out.

ghost!simon riley. ghost that died, and is now a ghost. you were his wife-- so he haunts your new home. ghost!simon that scares away the men you try to hook up with after he dies. breaking things near them, flickering the lights whenever they're alone. you're his, not theirs. in life and in death, his. of course he's going to make them piss their pants before you can fuck them. he doesn't blame you, though. he blames them.

ghost!simon who can pass through walls and objects at will and touch them, too. so, when he finds out he can touch you? best bet he does.

ghost!simon whose main hobby in the afterlife is watching you. other ghosts may cause trouble... but he's not that type. he wants to watch his gorgeous wife, all the time, no matter what she's doing. ghost!simon who's a little too eager to watch you possibly touch yourself when you get horny. it's been years at this point, and he knows you- your tells. the way your thighs started to rub together as you laid in bed, tossing and turning.

ghost!simon who gets the idea to try and let you know he's there... watching. "bird," he mumbles. he knows you can't hear him, but he'll talk to you anyway. "so pretty." he brings a hand to your leg, dragging it upward gently-- testingly. he's surprised that he can touch you at all, so he continues. ghost!simon who leans down to kiss your arm. ghost!simon who recognizes the way your body freezes at the contact. who snickers when you curse about it. you know it's him... you know you're haunted by him in the back of your mind, even if you're in denial. --- "simon?" you whisper, sitting up. you know in your logical brain that this isn't happening-- you're just imagining it. but when the bedlight lamp flickers twice, your heart sinks and your stomach flutters. "...s'that you?" you ask, and the lights flicker twice once more. you feel more fleeting touches along the outer sides of your legs, and suddenly the bed dips at your feet. you feel something nudging your legs apart, and you curse yourself at how easily you follow suit and spread your legs. you're not the spiritual type... this can't be happening. maybe you're dreaming? maybe you're already asleep?

--- ghost!simon who moves between your legs and leans down, kissing your leg just above the knee. his hands move up to the waistband of your pants, and he tugs lazily. sure, he's been a ghost for a while-- but it takes ghost energy to move things! you should do it for him. and he hums when you do, watching the way your hips shift as you pull them down, panties following. you know it's him, and that makes him smug. even after all this time you haven't forgotten his touch. his love. he moves and lays down, and the bed dips further beneath him. his weight, still tangible somehow even in the ghost plane, or whatever the fuck it's called. ---

you're questioning if you've gone crazy. you feel hands move up your legs yet again, stopping at your hips as you feel a few kisses at your hip bone. your head falls back and your chest swells. you shut your eyes and try to ignore the fact that simon always kissed you there before he went down on you. more proof that this was him. ---

he can't taste you. all of his senses are gone now, but at least he can feel you and at least you know it's him. his tongue darts out, leaving over the flesh at your hip before he nibbles there. he can use most functions of his body, some at will, others are just defunct. saliva is one that he still has. why? he has no idea. it's not like he can eat in the afterlife.

...well, not actual food, at least. ---

your eyes flutter. it's an odd sensation. you feel him kiss closer to your cunt, and you've fully succumbed to the feeling. your chest swells more and you feel countless emotions-- you knew he was with you, in one way or another. feeling his touch, his kisses. it almost makes you cry. you suck in a breath and lift your hips, and you feel vibration against your flesh, as if he laughed at you. you just wish you could hear it... see his face between your legs... the feeling is enough.

---

his tongue dips out again, moving between your folds, flattening against your clit. his hands find the bottom of your thighs, gently hoisting them up to give him better access as he tilts his head, swirling his tongue in slow circles like he always did. two slow swirls, four quick flicks. he knew how quickly it got you to cum when he was alive. he hopes it's still the same.

---

your hips twitch, and your back arches, soft sweet moans falling from your lips. the friction is odd, but lord if it isn't intense, your pent up body relishing the feeling of whatever the fuck this is. if you were doubting that it was simon before, you fucking knew it was now. you whimper and your hips buck, a heat swirling in your lower stomach. you feel another vibration against you and your clit twitches, another whine leaving your throat.

---

he's never forgotten you or your body. he's never forgotten the memories he had when he was alive, and even though he can't taste you now he remembers it. sickeningly sweet, he remembers. like honey. "pretty pussy," he grumbles, more to himself since he knows you can't hear it. his tongue flicks against your clit again, relishing in the way it makes your back arch and your hole clench. neglected. he knows you haven't had any since he died. dammit he's made SURE you haven't. of course he can only control things within the bounds of this home, but he knows you prefer having sex in your home-- where you can control things. the setting, the ambiance. one thing he loved. you always controlled all of that, and all he had to do was love you. and if he knew anything, it was how to love you. he decides now to just use his tongue. he didn't want to overwhelm you.

---

you were already overwhelmed. your clit twitched again with each flick, your back arching further and your legs twitching as you got closer to your orgasm. you know, you never thought it was possible to get eaten out by a ghost, but here you were.

---

you mumble his name, and he's done for. his pace increases suddenly, and he grunts to himself at the way your body writhes beneath him. his grip on your thighs tightens, and he pins them down to keep you in place, opting to flick his tongue against your clit to just get you to the edge. when you start whimpering and wailing, he slows down-- smirking when you whimper at the loss. he keeps doing that for a few moments before speeding up again, flicking his tongue against your clit and swirling it at the same time, squeezing your thighs once or twice. ---

you fold your hand over your mouth, head falling back against the pillow beneath your head. you cum seconds after he speeds up again, gasping and writhing still. it comes over you in waves, vision dotted and mind hazy with pleasure. your orgasm ebbs, and his movements slow until you're panting. you barely notice when he detaches himself from you, the bed dipping a bit more as he leans over you and kisses your head. "still as pretty as ever. haven't changed a bit, my wife." --- ghost!simon who breaks all rules of the afterlife to get between his pretty wife's legs again.

[mediumgayitalian]

“I just think improvements could be made,” says Will, absentmindedly taking a patient’s vitals and totally oblivious to Nico’s fervent praying for death. “Like, take Sisyphus, for example. I think he would be much happier if there was a big number at the top of the mountain —” he pulls away from the increasingly bemused daughter of Venus he is meant to be treating, waving his hands about in emphasis — “that incremented with each successful rock push. You know? And also if they let him spend those points on temporary tattoos or stickers or the such.”

He opens a dinky purple plastic treasure box, fishing out a sucker for himself and then offering the bounty to the legionnaire. She hums thoughtfully, deciding eventually on a glittery sun tattoo and using a random fever-breaking washcloth to stick it immediately in the dead centre of her forehead. Will dismisses her cheerfully.

“I just think it would improve the general morale of the area.”

“That’s — no,” Nico says, dragging his hand down his face. “There’s no improving morale, it is an eternal punishment. He cheated Death!”

Will waves a hand. “Bah.”

“Wh — don’t ‘bah’ me! He bound Thanatos up with leather string! He stuffed him under a mattress!”

“Thanatos is an all-powerful Nyxian deity,” Will points out. “If he stayed stuck under the mattress, that’s lowkey a skill issue.”

Nico sits in gobsmacked silence for several minutes. Will does not appear to notice.

“Don’t — say that,” Nico hisses, glancing around. “Christo, Will, you’re going to get smited.”

“I don’t think anyone will smite me. I’m not important enough. If I was important enough, they’d listen to me, vis-a-vis improving the Underworld vis-a-vis improving Sisyphus’ condition. Here, drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”

“What is your fascination with that man,” argues Nico weakly, accepting the drink and taking a wary sip. “Oh, huh, bubblegum.” He drinks half of it in one go. “That’s not too bad.”

“Yeah, I know you, di Angelo. You’re not mysterious.”

Nico’a jaw drops, and drops further at Will’s snickering. “I — am so.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well I would be more mysterious if you didn’t lock me in here four times longer than you said you would!”

Will slows down, sets down his suture needle, walks away from his patient — this time Conor Stoll, who holds closed his gaping leg wound with practiced patience — and walks over to Nico’s bed, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised to the mighty heavens.

“People who disappeared into the shadows and had to be dragged back by sheer force of Will — I mean that exactly as it sounds — do not get to complain to me.”

Nico settles back into his stupid infirmary bed cushions, bright red and scowling. As if it’s his fault the shadows tried to devour him —

“It actually is directly your fault, Mr. I Want To Valiantly and Dramatically Sacrifice Myself to the Nether Instead of Listening to my Doctor so I can Avoid That Foolishness.”

Nico ignores him, chugging the rest of his bubblegum-flavoured whatever-it-is, until he rolls his eyes and returns to Connor, who has at this point fainted from blood loss. Will flicks him on the forehead with impressive force and grace and he snorts right back awake. Nico catches himself feeling impressed and shoves it immediately away with a glower.

“Hmph. Go back to Sisyphus. You were less annoying when you were advocating that one of the original mortal sinners be pardoned.”

“Gladly! Do you think Sisyphus would be sad if they took away his rock and gave him a functionally identical one —”

“Oh my gods I take it back youre the most annoying person on Earth —”

“I can see the Doors of Death, I think,” comments Connor absently, and is ignored.

“It’s not annoying to care about the afterlife!”

“Focus on your own! How about that!”

“That’s depressing!”

Nico throws up his hands. “You’re an emergency field medic! Your life is depressing!”

Will snorts. “True,” he concedes. He pauses for a moment, and then Nico can tell, by the twitch of his stupid shoulders, that he is making that stupid smirking expression — “Although you know what would make it less depressing —”

“If the word ‘Sisyphus’ leaves your mouth I am going to leap out of this prison bed and maul you to death —”

“—if I was only sure —”

“— I’m not kidding Solace —”

“— that the state of my fellow dead man —”

“— I’ll be at your fucking judgement day, asshole, don’t test me —”

“— would be one of one of blissful, deserved relief.” Will glances backward, grinning. “By fellow dead I mean my homegirl Sisyphus, if that was in any way unclear.”

Nico brings up his hands and mimes strangling the infernal son of Apollo. It makes him laugh, dimple-cheeked and wide-mouthed, and Nico’s stomach flips.

“You’ll die by my hand, Solace, I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah, di Angelo, I’m real scared of a five-foot —”

Connor’s heart monitor lets out a long, continuous beep.

“Oh, shit, my bad. Clear!”

[lets-try-some-writing]

The Matrix's Guide to Choosing (And Raising) A Prime

Having grown increasingly frustrated with the continual failure of its Primes, the Matrix has had enough of being passed around. Determined to pick its own Prime for once, the Matrix has set off to select its chosen.

Well, it would be off doing that a lot more if it didn't have one young Orion Pax to take care of.

(NOTE: This is a snippet and will be a full fic soon :D)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mythology presented on Cybertron generally depicted Primus’s core, the Allspark, as being a place of peace and respite. By almost all accounts, this idea was supported and correct. Primus’s core was a lovely afterlife for the fallen until the time came for rebirth and a comforting cradle for those yet to be. But for one who was neither living nor dead?

It was the same as being stuck at the bottom of a hole with no real way out.

The Matrix’s initial decision to abandon the surface for a time was made in a moment of calculated rashness. It was tired of the foolishness of its previous chosen bearers and at the time, it had no desire to be passed around and presented only with lackluster options. Sentinel had not been its ideal choice, but Sentinel was all it had to work with during its last stint on the surface.

The Matrix refused to suffer through that again. 

It needed someone worthy, and it was absolutely through with leaving the selection pool up to someone else to create. No, the Matrix was going to find a right and proper bearer this time. It would choose itself and it would mold its champion into the glory of Prima without so many pathetic impurities to tamper with its work.

At least, once it got out of Primus’s core.

The Matrix contemplated for what could have been vorns. It was impossible to tell without access to the surface or the frame of its chosen. However, eventually, the Matrix reached a conclusion. It would ask, then it would adapt. The task was of course, quite daunting. None save for Primes spoke to Primus. The Matrix was a mere forging tool, unworthy of direct communication… but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I shall bring forth a Prime worthy of thy glory. Release me, and I shall not fail you again.”

The Matrix waited, its many failures weighing on it as it felt the attention of its god turn toward it. Primus’s gaze was a heavy thing to bear, and most mortals hardly even noticed it. The Matrix wished it had such ignorance as it sensed Primus sifting through its crystalline core, seeking answers and understanding. If the Matrix had been a living being, the prodding would have likely hurt. When Primus pulled back, it did however ease at the lack of further invasion.

“Seek. Walk amongst my children. Bring forth one who shall stand against the coming darkness.”

Blessed relief washed over the Matrix, memories of prior Primes struck down for their foolishness fading away as the Matrix found itself released onto one of the many winding paths surrounding its god’s core. It lay there, momentarily frustrated with its lack of mobility before it ran a quick assessment of its shell.

Technically, the Matrix itself was a crystalline computation device and sparkless intelligence. It did not possess the necessary components required for full frame functionality. If it had a bearer, then it could make adjustments, but on its own, the closest thing the Matrix had to a frame was its shell. The ancient sentio metalico that made up its shell was moldable, easy to change if the Matrix demanded it. How else was it to bond to its bearer? Some were small, some were large. It had to make some adjustments.

It had never used its shell’s adjustability in this manner before, but again, desperate times called for desperate measures.

After sifting through a few old memories of creatures that met its size categorization, the Matrix shifted. Its shell warped, changing from golden handles and casing to instead create four spindly spider-like legs. Its core was carefully kept encased and served as the centerpoint for its new mobile frame. The change was disorienting for a moment, but soon, the Matrix adapted.

It always did.

Up it went, painstakingly using its legs to pull itself up and through shafts long abandoned. It knew these paths, for Prima had walked them before. After him, Guardian travelled far and wide and Nova went through great pains to know as much as possible for fear for his own life. The Matrix knew what roads to take and marched without regard for the passage of time or nonexistent exhaustion. It did not wither, it did not fade. It was the Prime forger, a tool designed for one purpose and one purpose alone.

Find, forge, and guide Primes to better Cybertron and its people.

Its design pushed it onward, until at last, the Matrix emerged from an old garbage chute. It was dirty, a fact that bothered it to a degree. Potential bearers would not be fond of seeing it in such a state. But first and foremost, its task was to assess and then, if the Recorder Prime still lived, return to him for guardianship. Alpha Trion always listened to the Matrix. It was he that carried the Matrix to Guardian after all.

The Matrix shifted its attention, sifting through memory until it determined its estimated location. Based on the towering and geometric city structure, it suspected Iacon. Outer Iacon at any rate, considering the amount of dilapidated buildings it observed. The trek was going to be long at this rate, but that afforded the Matrix time to observe and learn-

The Matrix halted in its steps as a cry rang out, young and desperate. Its legs tapped as it turned, adjusting its view and scuttling toward the source of the sound. Part of its design was to seek out and guide its Prime to aid the weak and the needy. The Matrix had no bearer, but it could not help but wish to see.

And see it did.

Rounding a corner, the Matrix saw devastation. Fallen crystal spires and toppled sunstone trees littered the area, plant life uprooted and made into little more than rubble. This was absolutely the outskirts of Iacon. These areas had been home to Iacon’s last forest, the only place Sentinel had seen fit to preserve at the Matrix’s prodding. Now it was little more than a barren wasteland, caution tape and markers for new construction already in place.

The Matrix was not living. It did not feel rage. But if it could have felt rage, it would have been seething as it carefully made its way through the ruins, searching for the cry that rang out without end. On and on it roamed, until finally, it came to a pile of rubble. It was largely leaf litter and branches from fallen trees, but hidden behind all that, the Matrix sensed life. Small and fearful, but living nonetheless.

“Be at ease. I mean no harm.” 

The Matrix projected its field, presenting the copied signatures of Prima and Nova, the most empathetic of its chosen. As it did so, a small frame sifted through the mess, lingering by a hole leading into the rubble and glancing out cautiously. The Matrix paused, its sensors picking up something impossibly young.

A sparkling. This one was a sparkling.

Immediately the Matrix folded its sharp limbs away, softening them and shifting until its shell produced optic shutters so that it might make its core appear as if it were an optic, and thus, less terrifying to the little one. If it had a face and vocalizer, it would try to smile and coo to ease the tiny being before it. Instead, all it could do was settle and emit waves of peace, blinking slowly to show its docility. 

The sparkling remained a careful distance away, growling lowly. But after a time, the sparkling came forward, prodding at the Matrix with tiny clawed digits. As it did so, the Matrix could finally get a good look at the distressed sparkling left to rot in fields of destruction. 

The sparkling was still largely matte gray, as was customary for all newly forged little ones. Its optics were a stunning blue of the cycling variety, taking after Amalgamous in design. Its frame type indicated it would be meant for the ground, but the small finials on its helm reminded the Matrix of Thirteen, Prima’s ever elusive visionary. The sparkling’s growls slowly eased into faint chuffs as the Matrix continued to emit soothing waves of emotion, finally letting fangs hide behind a soft smile.

The sparkling patted the Matrix’s shell, gently caressing its core. They were almost the same size, and yet the sparkling was so thin…

The Matrix was not intended to get involved in such affairs without a bearer. But looking around… there were none to care for the sparkling before it. The newspark was bound to extinguish at this rate. That could not be allowed if the Matrix had a say in things.

Hoping for the best, the Matrix carefully unfolded a limb to draw the sparkling closer. The sparkling hissed at first, tensing and batting at the Matrix’s outstretched leg. But after a moment, it accepted the contact, returning to a comforting series of chuffs as the Matrix purposefully increased its temperature and wrapped itself around its newfound ward. It had to go slowly, so slowly in fact that by the time it wound fully bound to its new ward, the sparkling was deep in recharge, nuzzling against the Matrix’s core.

This was acceptable.

Gently, so as to not cause too much distress, the Matrix shifted a limb to hold the sparkling in place, and with its other three, it began the long journey to the Archives. Everything else could wait. For now, it would go to one it trusted and lean on Alpha Trion’s guidance.

The Matrix was a Prime forger, a warrior maker and observer. It did not directly interact. 

But as it felt the sparkling venting softly against it, the Matrix found itself willing to make an exception.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Taste of Sugar (Part 1 of 2)

Alastor x reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Part 1 rated M, Part 2 rated E 18+ for adult content

TW part 1: Light jealousy, trauma related to past food insecurity, trauma recovery.

TW Part 2: Explicate smut, see part 2 for details.

Almost 4k words for part one. Ps- Fuck you Nonny, this is what you get for trying to tell me what I'll write

~<3 Love, Kit.

As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

A Taste of Sugar

You found yourself in Hell after a rather uneventful death that made of for its lack of excitement with lasting trauma. Now, sitting in a circle in a hotel that functioned more like a rehabilitation center and refuge than actual hotel, you were expected to recount it to the fellow residents that had become more like friends. 

It was Charlie’s latest grand idea of how to build trust and bonds between the group and process negative feelings that could hold each of you back from redemption. You didn’t think that was how redemption worked but whatever, it wasn’t your reputation on the line and it got you a safe room to sleep in and three meals a day. 

The others had grand stories of murders, crimes and addictions that all landed them in the grave, one way or another, often taking others with them. They had spoken of dark indulgences. 

Now they teased you, your crimes amounting to nothing compared to theirs. Damned for the simple crime of being born poor and attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to survive. 

You had died fairly young, having lived most of your life on the streets only to starve to death, alone, cold and in the dark. The shelters were full and the food banks near useless without somewhere to cook the food. Stealing food could only get you so far when you had little to choose from. You died dreaming of a warm meal, cooked at home. You died begging to world for a simple snack cake to quiet the pain in your stomach. You died alone, cold and hungry. 

The divine didn’t seem to care that you only stole what you thought you needed to survive. Really, not even that considering you starved to death. Maybe you didn’t pray enough. Maybe you didn’t go to the right church. Maybe you didn’t give away what little food you had often enough. 

Explaining that felt like shining a spotlight on every way you failed. You failed in life and you failed in death. Not good enough to get into heaven and yet you were also not bad enough to have a respected place in hell. Weak, unless and fueled by fear of once again going without. 

“So, that’s why you’ve always got snacks?” Angel pointed out, making you blush hard in shame. The trauma of your life hand a lasting grip around your actions even in death. 

“I’m trying to be better about it,” You felt shame in how you tended to hoard snacks in your room, rarely actually doing more than a little nibbling at them. Charlie did a great job of ensuring all residents had access to three meals a day, though someone was almost always missing from one meal or another. “I know I don’t have to worry about starving here, it’s just hard.” 

In the shadows of the hall, red eyes watched the group. A smile stretched in the distance as they discussed how the traumas of life leaked into the afterlife and the ways you could move past your traumas. 

He couldn’t say why he was drawn to you. You were little more than a lost doe and yet you plagued his mind. He wanted to cast you out so you’ll leave his thoughts as much as he wanted to keep you as a little pet for his own amusements. There was time enough to figure out what to do about the conflicting urges. For now, he can simply watch from a distance, from the shadows.

Rosie had told him that in her expert opinion he was ‘catching feelings’ when he had lamented his inability to settle on a course of action. That aggravated him more than anything else, well almost. The utter glee at the concept was more annoying by just a touch. 

He was above romantic sentiments just as he was above the carnal desires of the flesh. Rosie was mistaken, Alastor decided as he also made the decision that he would do nothing about you. There was no reason to let you plague him any longer. Simply look away, move on with his days and it would pass. 

Without the desire to do anything about this strange draw to you, Alastor settled on watching you from across the room. He watched as you ate, as you threw out the occasional small package of snacks.Turns out, he wasn’t very good at looking away from you. 

It didn’t escape him how you would frown, discussing your decision with Angel. You had decided you would no longer hoard snacks and oh, how proud of you the group was. 

You were growing. Healing. Blooming. 

If you’d talk to him, he’d tell you that very thing. Yes, he decided as you gave away snacks that he would tell you just how proud he was of you when you presented him with a part of your stash. 

He watched and he waited as you gave out cakes, crackers and cookies to everyone else. 

But never to him. No, it was always Angel and the other residents you shared your spoils with. Not once had you sought him out to offer him a cracker, cake or cookie. Not that he indulged in processed snacks or sweets on anything but the rarest occasion but that didn’t stop his shadow from bristling in annoyance behind him. 

He wanted to be offered. To be recognized. To be thought of. To be noticed. 

But he didn’t have feelings for you, he told himself. And that’s what he kept telling himself as the purging of your stash came to an end, drawer empty and flow of snacks becoming a trickle, an occasional treat purchased with the intention of sharing.

Oh, how you’d healed. 

~~~~~<3

The first time it happened, you nearly stepped on it. Someone had left a simple plain cardboard box in front of your room door without so much as a note attached to it. Inside were two equally simple cookies. Nothing large, nothing fancy. 

Setting them on your desk, you debated eating them or not. They looked good but when you had asked around, no one knew where they had come from. 

“Guess you’ve got a secret admirer,” Angel had teased you. “If the cookies are good, you should date them.” 

You didn’t know how you’d pull that off without knowing who left them though. Surely they were safe to eat, it’s not like random people came and left the hotel.

What’s the worst that could happen, if they were drugged? You were safe in your room. If they made you sick you had a private bathroom. You were already dead so what’s the harm?

The cookies were good, it turned out. You had nibbled on them over a few days, spreading out the treat. It seemed as soon as they were gone though, a new box appeared at the door. This time with a handful of crackers, some sliced cheese, fruit and sliced cured meat.

This continued for months, treats that were simple, modest and only enough to last for a few days. No matter how quickly or slowly you had consumed the gift, the night you discarded the empty box always brought a new box in the morning. 

~~~~~<3 

You leaned against the counter watching Alastor work. It was late and though you were not hungry, you often found yourself in the kitchen. Just being able to go down and look at the food you had access to had been helping you resist the urge to hoard food in your room when ever you felt that anxiety claw at you. 

It helped too, that you had been able to look forward to the small snack boxes that showed up. 

“Something on your mind, Dear?” Alastor didn’t look to you as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on ingredients he was measuring out. 

You hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen. It was late and those who didn’t leave to party were asleep. Husk was even passed out at the bar. 

“Not really,” You said after a moment. 

“The food is all here,” Alastor said with a hum, “If that’s what you’re here to check.” 

“Oh, No! I-”

“We’ve all got our quirks.” Alastor cut you off, pouring water into a bowl and adding yeast. 

“What are you making?” You asked rather than face admitting that he was right about what you were there to do.

“Beignets,” Alastor said, mildly annoyed.

“Those are like donuts, right?” You asked, hoping that you had imagined the sound. 

“Indeed, they’re similar.” Alastor kept his words curt. 

“For breakfast tomorrow?” 

“At this hour, it’s today.” Alastor swallowed his annoyance at the endless questions and lied, “Yes, for breakfast.”

“I’ll go, sorry for bothering you.” You stepped backward as you took the hint, smile falling from your face. 

“No,” He answered too fast, bitter sigh huffing through his always present smile, “I’ll need someone to try the test one.” 

“Oh.” 

You sat, watching Alastor work. He mixed flour into the liquid. This was a way you had never seen Alastor before. It crossed your mind that he probably didn’t let many see him with his coat and gloves off, smile turned soft and flour dusting his dark hands. 

But he was letting you. 

His coat was draped over the back of the chair you sat in, brushing against your skin as you shifted positions. His gloves were folded neatly and discarded on the table. He worked with his sleeves rolled up and a tune filling the air as he alternated between humming and softly singing to himself. 

It was beautiful. You were engrossed watching him work. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around you, caressing you with warmth. 

You’d never spent much time with Alastor. You knew he was a deer, like yourself but until now, you’d thought his only deer trait had been the antlers and ears atop his head. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would have a little fluffy tail to match your own. 

It should have, you had fluffy ears to match his though with your longer hair, it was more obvious that they were indeed ears. You watched as his red and black tail moved with him as he put the dough in the icebox to chill.

“What now?” You asked, leaning back from him. 

“We wait, my little doe,” Alastor sat front of you across the table, leaning into your space across the small table.

“For how long?” You ask, not sure what to make of spending so much time with him. 

“A while,” Alastor said, “But I assure you the wait is well worth it.” 

“But you don’t like sweets.”

“You know what I like?” Alastor’s dark hand, stained by blood that could never be washed away dramatically rose to rest over his heart with a flourish as he leaned forward even more. “I’m ever so flattered.” 

You stuttered, not sure how to backtrack. Alastor laughed at your flustered stuttering before taking pity on you, pointing a long claw tipped finger so close to you that you swore he was going to stab you with his nail. 

“You, my dear, do enjoy sweets however.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, face warm. He knew that you cared for sweets. You were tired but seeing this relaxed side of him was thrilling. That chased away most of the fatigue, driving you to stay and find someway to push the conversation along. 

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” You struggled to decide how to fill the silence.

“I’ve always found it rather enjoyable.” Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched you. “My mother taught me.” 

“That must have been nice.” You weren’t sure what to say, having never really gotten to experience the love of a mother yourself. 

“It was.” Alastor watched as you leaned forward, resting your head on your arms. There was something about you that he couldn’t put down. “Did your mother not teach you to cook?” 

Your ears sagged atop your head at the question, earning a raised eyebrow from the man across from you. “She didn’t teach me much of anything. I was on my own since I was fourteen.” 

“Oh, Dear,” Alastor said as if he didn’t know that already, “How dreadful.” 

“I never really had enough food for learning to cook to be a thing.” You shrugged your shoulders, not lifting your head as you stretched out your arm to use it as a pillow. You shifted, allowing you to face him even as you used the side of the table to lounge on. 

“But you do now.” Alastor pointed out as he sat with you in a kitchen full of food.

“Full of Charlie’s and the hotel’s food.” You said, “I couldn’t risk wasting it. It’s enough that everyone shares with me what they make and,” You shake your head awkwardly against your arm, cutting off the thought.

“And?” Alastor pressed. 

“Someone’s been leaving little boxes of treats at my door. I wish I knew who it was.” 

“Why?” Alastor leaned back now, putting distance between the two of you, “Does the origin of a gift matter?” 

“I-” Your eyes teared up as your voice strangled in your throat. You sat up, not sure why you were being so open with him. 

“You~?” Alastor asked in a sing song tone as a tear slipped from your eye and ran down. His eyes followed it as it cut a path down your cheek. It was maddening to him, what you made him feel. How watching that tear captured his attention, yet he raged at the fact that it was born from pain in your heart.

“I’ve never had anyone give me treats like that.” You said, wiping the tear away much to his disappointment. 

“Never? Surely a suiter gifted you treats while courting for your attention.” Oh, why did saying that raise bile in his throat? 

“I’ve never-” You laugh, not sure why the idea of discussing this with Alastor made you feel uneasy. “There was never any suiters. No boys. No one.” 

“I struggle to believe that.” Alastor laughed as he stood from his chair, “Come my dear, wash your hands and join me.” 

You didn’t know what he wanted but Alastor was a man to be obeyed. While you were both deer, he had far more power than you could ever dream to possess. If he wanted to demand your help, you had little choice but to comply. 

Sure, the hotel offered a sense of safety but if Alastor wanted to squash you like a bug, shared demonic traits or not, there was nothing that could stop him. Well, Charlie would but she was asleep. 

Alastor had the counter floured and a small portion of dough out as you joined him, drying your hands. “Where’s the rest?” 

“That’ll be fried up in the morning, if it passes our test.”

He pulled you in front of the counter before stepping close behind you. It was hard to ignore the overwhelming presence of him looming over your shoulder as he reached around to grab the rolling pin only to pass it to you.

“Roll it out until I say,” He directed as he covered the pin in flour only to place it in your hands. 

As you worked, his hands rested on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in from behind while not touching you at all. It was hard for you to ignore how close he was. 

It was like the man was taking over your mind, something you hadn’t expected considering you hadn’t given him much thought in the months before. The smell of his cologne seemed to surround, making your head light. You weren’t sure why you were reacting to him like this but it left your nerves buzzing. 

Now all you could think of was the way his breath caressed over your ears, the way his hands looked without the gloves, dusted with flour, the sound of his voice as he hummed and the smell of his cologne. 

“There.” Alastor said, taking the pin from you and replacing it with a dough cutter. “Squares, about the size of your fist.” 

Cool air swept around you as Alastor moved away, checking the pot of oil heating on the stove. You’d only just begun to relax under his looming presence and now he was gone and damnit, you missed it. 

There was just enough dough to form two squares with some left over. Alastor scooped them up before dropping them in the oil. You stood next to him, watching as the oil came to life around the dough. 

“How long do we cook them?” You asked over the sound of the violently bubbling oil.

“Not long.” Alastor said from too close behind you once again as inky black shadow imps swept up the flour and crumbs, wiping down the counters.

On the counter, he set a plate with a rack over it and next to that was a sifter atop a container of powdered sugar. You were boxed in by Alastor as he rested his hands on either side of the fryer, looking over your shoulder as he once again boxed you in. 

“Now.” He said softly, “Scoop them out and put them on the rack.” 

You were timid, scared of being burned as you fished for the squares with the spoon made of wire. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Alastor cried, voice carrying a musical note as he only made your nerves worse, “You don’t want them to burn!” 

Finally, you got them out. Oil dripped off the puffed up pastries as they quickly drained the excess oil off. Alastor grabbed the sifter only to put it in your hands. He moved you as if you were a puppet, placing the sifter in your hands over the rack, steam wafting up to caress your hand. You stood still as he poured a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar into the basket. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He teased. “You can manage to turn the handle, can’t you?” 

“Yeah,” You stammered over the word, mind buzzing with the anxiety of having Alastor, the powerful, blood thirsty Radio Demon spending so much time in your immediate space. Your hands shook as you turned the small metal handle, causing the wire bar inside the sifter to spin, agitating the powdered sugar and helping it fall in a smooth, clump free shower over a square. 

Alastor used his hand on your forearm to move the sifter over the other pastry when he had decided there was enough dusting on the first. You didn’t know if there was any science to how much sugar each got or if he was simply measuring with his long dead heart. 

Once both were covered enough for his taste, he plucked the sifter from your fingers and set it aside. 

“What now?” You asked, unsure still of what was going on. 

“Now you try one.” Alastor said, plucking a square up. When you went to grab the other, he roughly shoved the rack out of your reach. 

“What? Why did you do that?!” Your brow furrowed as you looked at the rack, now well out of reach before looking back at the man standing too close to you. “How can I try it if you won’t let me grab it?”

“Open.” Alastor commanded as he ripped the corner off the beignet in his hand. 

“Wha-” Your question was cut off by the soft, warm, sweet taste that invaded your mouth somewhat forcefully. 

It was delicious. 

“Well?” Alastor asked as you swallowed the bite. 

You hadn’t noticed Alastor rip off another chunk of beignet but found it pushed between your lips the moment you attempted to praise the taste. This time, instead of retreating, his thumb rested against your lower lip as you took in the bite. 

His nails were long and pointed claws, not the thick claws that encased the fingertips of his gloves, but still dangerous. The sharp point of his thumbnail poked between your lips as he watched you chew for a few moments. 

You were spellbound by the way he looked down at you. What exactly was happening, you had no fucking clue but the air between you and Alastor was thick with something you couldn’t begin to understand. 

His touch left your lip to rip another chunk off the beignet slowly as you watched him. His dark bloodstained hands were covered in the white powdered sugar and flour, softening their appearance.

“It’s good,” You whispered as he slowly brought another bite to your lips. 

This time he offered it, waiting for you to open your mouth and take what he was offering on your own, knowing full well who was offering it. Somehow, it felt like something far more than a midnight snack was being offered to you but what?

“It’s been you,” You said, not asked as Alastor presented another bite that you took willingly as soon as you spoke. 

His thumb again lingered on your lips, sugar damp with oil and sticky on his skin smearing. 

“Yes,” Alastor said after a pause to toss the remaining portion of the beignet on the counter and wiping the hand that had been holding it on a hand towel on the counter, cleaning it of some of the sugar. Yet his other hand didn’t leave you. His thumb remained on your lower lip, feeling every twitch and breath. 

“Why?” You whispered, his thumb slipping against your lip and coming dangerously close to falling into your mouth. 

“You never offered me anything of your stash,” Alastor spoke softly.

“You don’t like sweets,” You hadn’t wanted to waste his time when you had made the decision to dismantle your stash. It had been a emotionally difficult choice, one that you had made before and never stuck to for long until now. “Or junk food.”

“You ignored me.” Alastor’s thumb slipped, running along her lower lip but never leaving it. “I thought if you had better options…”

“I’d share them with you?” Your voice was coming out so soft now, Alastor’s tall ears cocked forward to better pick up your words. 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t share them with anyone.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to share them with anyone.”

“Why?” 

“I wanted to keep them all to myself. They were too good to share. I-” 

Alastor’s thumb slipped into your mouth, cutting off whatever you had been about to say. Sticky sweetness exploded across your tongue as his thumb caressed it. You could feel the point of his nail against your tongue, a hint of danger coated in sweet sugar. 

Your mind was numb as you caressed the pad of his thumb, rolling the tip of your tongue under his nail softly. You were not sure what he wanted from you. The idea of overstepping Alastor’s unspoken boundaries was terrifying. This was uncharted waters. A side of Alastor you had never seen or even dared to dream of seeing. 

Alastor watched you as you stood near frozen. “Under some circumstances, I enjoy a sweet.” 

~~~~~<3

See part 2 for the smut.

[raining-anonymously]

sure is convenient for the deetzes that code 699 - trespassing souls in the afterlife is on the same exact page as code 804 - soul suckers. who organized this book? also, the next page canonizes the grim reaper. okay.

i know this text is completely unreadable but i have painstakingly figured out what it says. my eyes hurt. check the alt text.

i’ve also got another screencap of the sandworm page but that’s over here.

implications under the cut:

contrary to several complains i’ve seen, astrid absolutely had time to find the relevant information in the book. it was never a mystery as to when she had time to read it; we SEE her reading the pages she references.

the reason the contract stopped working was not because it was made on illegal terms, but rather because a specific consequence for what betelgeuse did is voiding all marriages, apparently including engagements. *looks at delores* …this is probably good news for him in the long run.

betelgeuse is quite likely facing consequences for bringing lydia to the netherworld. this potentially includes community service clerical work. he’s gonna hate that.

the afterlife apparently functions on a system where each soul has a set amount of years before they’re allowed to take the train out of there, and more years can be added as punishment. we know thanks to delia and charles that this isn’t true for every ghost, and we know thanks to the maitlands that there’s a loophole (possibly completing unfinished business) that gets you out faster. i think it’s very likely that dying by suicide extends your sentence.

ghosts are usually allowed to haunt their prior residences.

delores can cross between worlds whenever she wants. this fills the “plot hole” of how she got to the church despite not having an official reason like wolf & co, a contract like betelgeuse, or a free ride like delia.

assuming her powers don’t diminish when she reforms, she could totally go to the living world to get revenge on lydia and astrid…

delores got stronger with every soul she consumed.

sandworms are soul suckers’ weakness? girl sandworms are EVERY ghost’s weakness.

soul suckers like causing havoc. this is probably why delores and betelgeuse got along so “well.”

delores. girl. you were not wronged. you murdered him so he murdered you back. you are not a righteous avenger here, i’m afraid.

adam was not joking about this book being poorly constructed. (kudos to the production team for keeping that detail!)

THE GRIM REAPER STROLLS AROUND THE NETHERWORLD AND OCCASIONALLY CUTS GHOSTS IN HALF.

[eviestardust]

I’ve been seeing a couple posts going around talking about how, in the latest episode, Arthur states he “doesn’t believe in anything after death” and how that doesn’t really make sense seeing as he’s been to the waylay. As an atheist, I’d like to put my two cents in if that’s alright!

Firstly, I’d like to talk about how important being an atheist is to Arthur’s character. After thinking about his past for just a bit, it becomes obvious that any sort of religious ideals Arthur vaguely followed was just to fit in (ie. marrying Bella). People like Daniel shoved religious values into to Arthur’s face for the longest time, and he clearly became resentful towards religion because of that.

Arthur’s lack in a religion, or even a belief in an afterlife, doesn’t necessarily come from a place of lack of proof. It comes from his own stance against a higher being. This is something I find quite relatable myself, as even if there was a form of irrefutable proof in a god, it wouldn’t change that I’m an atheist.

On the other side of things, even if Arthur needed to stop being an atheist after having irrefutable evidence, the waylay isn’t that evidence. He couldn’t remember it upon initial return, and when he eventually did, it’s not like the waylay couldn’t have been a temporary place after death or a circumstantial thing for Arthur himself. We as the audience may know that it’s not those things for the sake of plot, but Arthur wouldn’t.

As a sort of follow up, Arthur having proof that Faroe didn’t fully disappear also does not mean that he has to believe in an afterlife. Just because Faroe became a flame, does that mean everyone has somewhere to go after they die? To Arthur, probably not!

Again, while I think it can be argued that all of this can be evidence for Arthur to personally believe in the existence of an afterlife, I don’t think that’s the important thing here. Arthur’s atheism is a fundamental part of his character. For him to turn around, after repeatability finding his own meaning in his life by it lacking any meaning at all, and say “well hey there might be an afterlife there was that one time” would just be completely ill-fitting narratively. It’s the solidarity between Antoine and Arthur in this moment by not believing in an afterlife that makes the scene function.

I hope these points don’t come off as aggressive or patronizing, I simply want to put in my perspective as someone who finds Arthur’s form of atheism especially relatable and realistic ✨❤️

[miyamiwu]

Rewatching the E-Soul PV, and I noticed this shadow guy whose helmet and weapon is similar to Yang Cheng’s:

the only difference is the color scheme and the blade being on YC’s left. But I’m sure his right hand also has the blade function; he just didn’t use it during the fight.

Anyways, seeing Yang Cheng in the PV made me think that he must be related to Zero somehow. And isn’t it interesting how “zero” is so tied to his character, having zero trust points for most of his life?

This might seem like a reach, but what if Yang Cheng’s soul is actually one of Zero’s souls that old E-Soul wasn’t able to fully kill?

In Chinese mythology, humans have more than one soul. From Wikipedia:

Hun and po are types of souls in Chinese philosophy and traditional religion. Within this ancient soul dualism tradition, every living human has both a hun spiritual, ethereal, yang soul which leaves the body after death, and also a po corporeal, substantive, yin soul which remains with the corpse of the deceased. Some controversy exists over the number of souls in a person; for instance, one of the traditions within Daoism proposes a soul structure of sanhunqipo (三魂七魄), i.e., “three hun and seven po”. The historian Yü Ying-shih describes hun and po as “two pivotal concepts that have been, and remain today, the key to understanding Chinese views of the human soul and the afterlife”.

E-Soul’s name in Chinese is Hun Dian (魂电), and the hun there is exactly the immortal hun soul that can be detached from the body.

Or, to make it less complicated,,, Yang Cheng is mayhaps Zero’s reincarnation? Because Yang Cheng did bad things in his previous life as Zero, he is punished in his current life.

Edit: Some people are taking this seriously, so let me just clarify that this is all just random speculation!!! All of the stuff I said actually won’t apply because it’s the wrong genre. I just thought it was interesting nonetheless, okay??

[jazjelspen]

scarlet and silver lining (part 1)

(alastor w/ daughter reader)

(fem reader/notproofread!/apologies for anything ooc qwq/apologies for the pacing as well!!!! It’s 1AM LMAO—)

[chapter 1]

Sure, you didn’t actually want to redeem yourself.

Personally, you knew you were in the right place and were meant to be in this spot in the afterlife. You weren’t bloodthirsty and power hungry like the rest of the monsters down here but your sins were from your reckless decisions and you knew you couldn’t take it back.

So in turn, you didn’t truly trust the princess’s claims and theories.

But here you were, in her hotel through her doorstep. Dragging you along by your wrist being gentle but also filled with such excitement that she might’ve tugged a bit too hard for your preference.

As she led you to introduce yourself to the other residents and staff, you couldn’t help but wonder why exactly you let yourself get into this predicament.

Then again, you didn’t really have a choice.

_______________________________

Your hands stopped from fixing your hair, you had been stunned from preparing yourself for the next twenty minutes you’d be on air. Your face contorting while your eyes stared dead at your reflection at the mirror decorated with bright little light bulbs all around it’s frame as they shined their lights on you. Your hands shaking slightly and barley starting to sweat.

Why exactly were you shocked? Your boss.

“See here ____, what I need you to do is to simply get in through inside the princess’s little hotel and spy for me for a few weeks here and there! Document everything for me, whichever way you can. “

Vox, your boss, was ordering you on a new mission for you to do. He wouldn’t have you do these kinds of things regularly unless he needed some kind of spy or a pretty face for a segment of his show to get more ratings or as a distraction of sorts. Although lately he’s been sounding more aggravated, annoyed—dying to get what he wants. He was facing the set his crew were preparing as they fixed a few lights, checked if the cameras were functioning, etc.

It was good that he was facing that way and you the other, for if he saw your look of shock and slight fear spreading across your face like a disease he would probably question you like some kind of unruly detective for it.

But why wouldn’t you react this way? After all, he was asking you to spy and be around your father. The man you were ashamed of being connected to. He didn’t know this— he didn’t have to know this. For you knew Vox would simply use and wear you out as a pawn, overwork you, maybe torture you and hurt you to get specific answers.

He wasn’t afraid of doing anything to get what he wants anyway.

“Tape recorder, journal, write it on some fucking menstrual pad I don’t fucking care. I simply need to know what that fucker is thinking of doing next with Lucifer’s daughter now on his fucking shoulder.”

He snapped, static overtaking his voice at the end of his sentences. Clearly absolutely finished with this entire situation especially since for all you knew the last time someone tried to sneak in for him they were caught in the matter of a day, and if you didn’t have a direct connection to Vox he would’ve sent you first.. but now you were one of his only options until he really got frustrated.

“Oh but do this for me and you’ll get your own little studio! Your own show! Be your own boss, have your own crew.. you get the idea. All financially supported by me! Oh and you even get to live by yourself.. although—

I still own you. Get that. But you get your little artistic freedom huh sweetheart? What do you say? Do this little favor for me? If you don’t I’ll simply.. kill you.

Or throw you in the streets. Depending on how badly you fuck up you’ll get either one of the two! You’ll die either way.”

You were left a bit shocked, the immense dump of information overwhelming you so. “I—I—“

“Good.” He cut you off.. geez. “You start in two days, two days to get what you need and to at least plan how you’ll keep me updated. And remember, you give me all the information either throughout your stay there or you spit it all out when I need you to still be here on the job.” He fixed his bow tie walking towards the set to start the broadcast, a strong frown decorating his screen before hiding his stress with a cocky smile for the cameras.

You looked at your reflection with a grim look on your face, heart sinking and a shaky sigh escaped.

You didn’t want to see him again. You couldn’t.. you— wouldn’t.

But you needed to do it whether you liked it or not. You knew this.

Survive, get a few more perks and bonuses that would very much make you live your afterlife a bit more comfortably.

It’s just gonna be a month right?— Fuck.. Vox didn’t specify how long simply just… a few weeks. Most likely he just wants you to be there as long as you could.

Keep your life, get a better job, better home home, stay protected. That’s what you’ve been focusing for all these years—

Why stop now.

____________________________________

Dragged by the princess you were stopped in front of a group of sinners, your other hand almost losing its grip on your suitcase but managed to catch it by the tips of your fingers. The sweat from the anxiety that was accumulating while on your way here.

It weirded you out a bit that Charlie didn’t react to your drenched hand. maybe she was too overwhelmed with emotions as well to notice?…

Charlie set you in front of a pink spider, someone you knew all too well from the constant advertisements, short interactions with him, and Valentino’s undying yapping, Angel Dust.

“Angel, meet ____, _____ meet Angel!! She’s going to stay here for a chance at redemptiooon!! How amazing!” Her excitement was pouring out like thunder and lightening, just simply uncontainable.

The pink soul darted its eyes at you with a sense of familiarity. You knew being a known figure would be a bit of a challenge but god— you really wanted that place to yourself.

“Heyy.. Angel..” you waved a little sheepishly, knowing how awkward this feels for you at least.

Angel eyed you a bit intensely, but you knew deep down he sorta understood why you’d be here as well— at least not knowing that Vox himself sent you here—maybe he thinks that your presence is due to the same reason he’s away from Valentino. Needing an escape from your abusers and bosses was something he understood all too well.

“Hiya cutie, didn’t expect to see you here of all places.” He smirked as he waved back at you but in a more confident and laid back way than you did.

Charlie paused at his words, “Oh? You two know eachother?—“

“Oh.. I know this adorable face anywhere!” Angel exclaimed proudly with one of his arms reaching over to squish one of your cheeks playfully, you laughing a bit due to the slight awkwardness of the situation but also because he was one of the very few people you never had issues with despite how much you guys never really talked much.

“She’s a real darling, hard worker and all. Although.. didn’t think your boss was that bad as to make you want to run in here of all places..”

“I was about to say— aren’t you that chick that is on TV for that one overlord’s show or somethin’…” a low and almost growly voice spoke from slightly farther away.

Looking towards that particular direction you are met with a cat-like person, a furry soul with fluffy ears and a seemingly insatiable thirst for alcohol the way he drank down a large bottle of cheap booze like water.

Your shoulders raised up a bit in embarrassment, smiling as a way to cover up your nervousness that was already slipping.

“Didn’t we also literally catch Pentious trying to work for him literally not that long ago?.. At this point they aren’t even trying to hide it by sending her here.” Spoke another, this time a more serious female voice descended from a mature woman with long silver hair and an ‘X’ over her eye that resembled those of the exorcists.. huh.

You shook your hands together a bit as you tried to defend yourself in a way, not wanting to be caught this easily “Oh nonono!.. I’m not here because my boss sent me I— I just..—“

“Yknow what Vagina,” Angel interrupted you to glare at the woman that spoke “If you knew anything about how the V’s treat their employees you wouldn’t blame her and I for wanting to be away from them and anything work related.. got it toots?”

Your heart warmed slightly but also let out a huge sigh of relief. Maybe that wasn’t the real reason why you were here but you were glad to know that Angel was someone you could relate the most due to your very similar situations.

“Yea Vaggie! Let’s give her a chance! If Angel knows her and if we make sure she’s here for reals then she’s a perfect second official resident!!”

The girl, now named Vaggie by Charlie, rolls her eyes as she lets out a sigh. “Can we at least check if she has no electronics on her. If this turns out to be another Pentious I will not hesitate this time.”

A single glare from her one eye piercing you with a sharp and merciless spike. Making you feel even more nervous and unwelcomed but.. you knew you had to just keep going..

“Oh Vaggie no need to be so rude to our new guest! We can do those checks later! Right now it’s introduction time!!” She exclaimed almost jumping up a down, a bit too joyous for your liking.

Angel noticed this and side eyed you while whispering a cheeky comment to you “Ms. Rainbow pants here may be a bit much but you’ll get used to it sweetcheeks.” He said, with a tone more sounding of an older brother of sorts.

You smiled a bit at him but then looked away to try to relax, not excited to be ‘introduced’ to someone you knew was in the far.. far corner of it all.

“Oh and this is Vaggie! My girlfriend and manager of this establishment! If you have any issues or concerns you may check in with her, she’s a-ma-zing!” Despite making her sound helpful and less.. terrifying. You couldn’t help but still feel rather intimidated.

Vaggie continued to glare at you with a clear distrust in you. You just waved at her shyly as well, trying to at least not seem as dangerous as she may think you are.

Until Charlie once again dragged you to four other figures, the fourth one a bit behind the first three. “And this is Husk the bartender, Nifty our housekeeper and cook, and Sir Pentious! Pentious being one of our first official residents!”

She spoke each name by pointing to which name belonged to who, Pentious’s name ringing a bell but it was new seeing his appearance. So this is the guy that forced Vox to drag you here instead..

Husk, the cat that spoke earlier simply looked at you and didn’t give another word, downing yet another bottle. Pentious waved at you with the same energy you gave as well but was more or less focused on his ‘eggs’ that were poking at the flesh around his eyes on his tail and Nifty.. well..

She was on top of you, more specifically— your head.

She was sniffing you, eying you like a fucking hawk, inspecting you as if you could be contaminated with a dying virus— your breath hitched as you hoped she wouldn’t smell the fear growing on you as your skin went cold.

“Fairly.. clean….” She then backed up slightly to inspect your eyes with her own giant one only to then scurry off across your body like a bug, causing you to get disgusting goosebumps.

“Pretty.. smells nice.. no dirt—“ she then stopped by suddenly standing in front of you with a big ol’ smile as if what she just did was incredibly normal.

“Hiya! I’m Nifty! Had to make sure you weren’t bringing any filth in the hotel.. I just cleaned this place…” She took out her little hand for you to shake.. being hesitant but not willing to be rude to someone this peculiar— you shook her hand with just two of your fingers and before you could pull away yourself she then immediately scurried off as fast as she came.

“And then last but not least—“

“Alastor! Quite a pleasure, a real pleasure to get to meet you young lady! Please, feel free to be welcomed into the Hazbin Hotel!” Alastor, the radio demon, dad— approached you with such enthusiasm and enticement. As if he couldn’t wait to talk to you.

Your blood ran cold, eyes widened with fear, your free hand clutched tightly at the handle of your luggage as Alastor took the other to then put it up to where his smile was, not kissing it or having your hand too near his lips but still keeping courtesy of when meeting a woman as he usually would.

Even in death, he stays a gentleman as per usual.

“My my.. you poor soul. To have to run away from your employer down to this place.. why he must be a terrible person, isn’t he?”

Ah right.. Vox and Alastor hated eachother. You knew this very well.. you honestly didn’t know much about why they hated eachother other than the running joke that Vox most definitely lost a fight with him.

You died years later after Alastor did so you don’t exactly have the full scoop. Him dying in your late teens and you dying in your mid to almost late 20s. You lived life yet— some would say not enough.

“Poor thing, not to worry! Let this be your safe house! Your haven, your asylum, your refuge!” He exclaimed each two sets of words by twirling you around in an exaggerated manner, in a style reminiscent of the way dancers would spin their dance partners in the 30s. You recognized this move all too well— feeling almost nostalgic.

Although you were slightly grateful for one thing he was doing right.. not being overly revealing or announcing the one big fact you two had between the both of you.

You didn’t need that fact to be running around the place like some kind of daily gossip.

Before your anxiety would make you burst in crying or throwing up right in his face you immediately tugged your hand away, his own keeping your wrist in his palm.

“Thank.. you—“ your hand holding the luggage let go to try to tug his hand from holding you any longer until you then finally managed to pull his grip away from off of your other wrist in order to create more space between him and you from the immense anxiety you were having, your lungs threatening not to quicken and burst like balloons. You immediately went back to hold onto your luggage once more.

“How.. welcoming..” you pretended as if you were dusting off your clothes and your arms as if trying to tidy yourself up instead it really meant to give you a few more seconds to collect your thoughts properly.

‘God.. everyone knowing I’m with Vox is only going to make this real fucking hard— I didn’t think this entirely fucking through..’ ah yes.. you totallyyy weren’t panicking about this now active interaction the past two days huh—

‘just act calm and cool _____, you need that money, you need that place, you need that show, you need protection.. stick to the plan..’

“Uh— how humble!.. of your Hotel staff to be so.. welcoming— your highness.” You spoke to Charlie, smiling brightly as if all of this was just casual conversation.

“A real treat seeing dear ol’ Angel Dust here, good to see a familiar face ain’t it Angie?” You turned slightly towards the pornstar, with him returning your comment by exclaiming with a “Damn right!”

Charlie smiled intensely with a nod, face full of joy and innocence. “I’m so sososo glad you like it here so far!! Your experience here won’t be disappointing! You’ll have an absolute blast!—

oh oh!! Can’t forget! We have to get you to your room! If you’d like you can stay there and rest or come down here and join us! Whichever you feel comfortable with.”

“Why thank you very much your highness, your hospitality sure is a darn nice breath of fresh air compared to the rest of hell. Bunch of cats and dogs fighting like wild animals out there.. need a real break once in awhile..” you spoke as you followed Charlie as she lead the way to your room, giving you a minor tour of the hotel before letting you rest in your new humble abode.

Your act, although part sincere and true, was full of holes. Holes not enough for the normal gaze to see but they are clear enough for him to see.

Alastor would eye you as you followed the princess, his fingers uncurling and curling around his staff slowly and menacingly. His sharp pupils narrowing while aligning with his grin as it expanded with a sense of mischief holding it up by its ends.

He saw right through you, of course he would, he knows when you lie, know when you’re honest, when you’re afraid and happy.

Why lie to him my dear? If you know that he knows you like the back of his hand.

Either way he knows he’s going to have to catch you alone at some point, he must catch up to what he’s missed throughout the years he’s been gone from the living world and even in hell.. although you made it clear the last time you met in hell that you don’t want to see him again he finds it curious how you’re even here at all.

Oh but.. gosh.. how much his little girl has grown.

_________________________________

You were a two months from turning 7 years old now, being adopted almost a year ago was the most prolific moment in your young life. Your grandmother, her real name being Adelaide but you preferred to call her Nana or Grandmama… Nana was better for your little voice to stretch out more easily and faster.

She was always such a darling to you, treating you as if you were one of her own. She told you true most amazing and beautiful stories, shared and sang the most wonderful lullabies and songs that sometimes Alastor would join in on, would make delicious food that you adored throughout your childhood, love you unconditionally the way a grandmother would.

And technically you were hers through papers but sometimes it felt as if it was inconsistent in certain areas.. mostly with Alastor.

Alastor was a peculiar man, as famous and passionate as he was he certainly didn’t have a heart of gold, only open to those he truly cares for like his mother and his radio show. It was as if his heart was surrounded from the sky to the depth of the ground with rusty fences and sharped barbed wire that only allowed very few people and things being let into his life.

You tried to get close to him around this time, bringing him little gifts you made and trinkets you’d find that reminded you of him as a way to get closer.

But he always just smiled at you, gave you a pat, and either said ‘good job’, ‘oh how cute, leave it at my study now won’t you?’ ‘I’m sure your Nana would love it.’ And go right back to what he was doing..

You didn’t understand why that happened— but it seems as if he didn’t bother to get close to you simply because you were a gift to his mother, a granddaughter she wanted to have but he couldn’t give unless through legal assistance,

you were for her to love— not for him to raise.

At least that was the case at this point in time.

It was weird.. you never truly has any terrible or bad interactions but— yet it made you disappointed each time, made you crave for his attention. After all— he’s supposed to be your father. Why wasn’t he paying attention?..

You were currently in your room sitting at your desk, papers scattered with different colored wax and pencils messily thrown around on the surface.

You were drawing something, a gift as a last chance to get him to notice you properly. You even had a special gift that your Nana helped you pick out for him! Surely, your dear dad would notice you now right?

Scribbling the last few finishing touches you then dropped the pen on the table as you exclaimed a little “Aha!” And raising the drawing up high, feeling proud of your masterpiece!

You quickly set the drawing down as you then hopped off your chair to a cower through a little playbox full of toys you had, only to search for one single thing. Once your tiny finally felt the touch of wood and slight metal, you grabbed it and pulled it out with yet again another delightful glee.

It was a small radio shaped wooden charm, the metal being the small little ‘hand’ that moved whenever the radio was operating and transmitting audio frequencies. The perfect gift for papa!

You then quickly grabbed the drawing off your desk, both your gifts in hand your little feet went pitter patter as you ran to the dining room where Alastor was having lunch freshly made by his mother.

Your Nana having recently left the home to get a few emergency groceries, made this a good time for just him and you to connect.

“Papa! papa!” You squealed, Alastor’s brows furrowing at several elements in his surroundings annoying him slightly..

“_____, no running in the house remember? Cant have too much noise disturbing our home.” Despite his scolding you couldn’t help but to just giggle and almost jump in excitement in what you’re planning to give him. He continued “Besides as I have mentioned many times before, call me Al—“

“But papa! Papa!— look!—“ you interrupted him, your voice projecting a bit more into a yell as to have him look at what you have.

“_____, no yelling please dear. I can hear you quite well. I’m not a mile away..”

“Yes papa— b—but!.. look..! I made you something..” you then gently set the drawing up at the table first beside his food. Alastor’s attention finally set on the paper and even stopped eating to look at it. He picked it up.. his eyes inspecting it.

It was a drawing of you and him in a sunny flower meadow in a forest both you and his mother had a picnic in recently, except it was just the both of you here.

The drawing was definitely not the most perfect but it was definitely the cutest. Your scribbles somehow managing to immediately the shape of his hair perfectly, his glasses were visible and his red suit was very on parr with what he would wear on the daily, then there was you— your hair a bit more messily drawn than his and seemed more rushed.. as if you couldn’t yet wait to finish the piece. To top it all off it even had small scribbled words in pencil that said ‘papa’ and ‘me’ and an arrow pointing at each individual figure that fit that description.

Oh how cute.

You stared up at him closely, even for a young kid as yourself you were able to notice the way his usually dark and cold eyes had a twinkle in them, a sort of softness diluting his everyday smile ever so slightly.

It took him a second before you then set the trinket on the table where he picked up the paper from “And this is also for you papa.. nana helped me pick it out for you since I said I wanted to give you a present…”

His eyes darted towards the trinket and even picked it up, inspecting the work and its shapes along with the design of it as a whole. Admiring it almost.

His eyes darted back to the drawing, both hands with both gifts.

“Darling…”

Your little heart ran faster, your hopes were rising up to the heavens. Is he gonna say he was proud?.. he loves it? Adores it?.. hates it?—

“This is cute and all, but don’t forget to draw Nana in next time! She was at that picnic with us too remember!” He exclaimed as he smiled at you in an almost bittersweet way, his softness almost being wiped off entirely.

You frowned, “but.. I made it for you papa.. I’m always with nana so.. I wanted to make something for you!” You smiled fondly at him, trying to still hope for a ‘I’m proud’ from him.

“Aww is that so dear?” He spoke as he then set the gifts on the table on the opposite side of where you were, all while hiding behind a smile.

“Well just don’t forget to add Nana in next time, thank you darling for the lovely gifts.” And just like that he began eating.

Ah.. still the same— reaction. It was a bit better.. it wasn’t just a short and quick sentence at least so that made you smile a bit but.. you expected much more.. a hug, a proud smile.

“Yes, papa…” you then slowly walked off back into your room. A bit down but you weren’t going to let that ruin your smile, Nana always told you and papa to always smile no matter what. So that’s what you’ll keep doing. Even if— your expectations were dearly hurt today.

What you didn’t see was Alastor yet again inspecting the gifts you gave him after you left, a hand tilting it a bit to see it clearly and to have the trinket closer to the figures of the both of you.

His permanent smile’s ends stretched a bit, a ‘hm’ escaping his throat as he took another sip from his black coffee.

He never truly saw himself as your father, never fully taking care of you unless his mother asked him to.

Ah but, it was nice to think that way huh?

(HAIIII THABK YOU FOR READING THISSSS I had lots of fun writing this and omfg I have so many idea for Vox and reader interactions, especially when the plot thickens. But thank you so much for the wait on chapter 1 of this story!! I know the prologue has been awhile but I reallyyyy want to continue this since this is my very first original alastor and daughter fanfic that I’ve written years ago and want to revamp into this!!)