stickyspeckledlight - Tumblr blog

[stickyspeckledlight]

[stickyspeckledlight]

people have been asking to get merventurine out of the bathtub so he's not as bored

i got the keep reading line this time not because there's blood but it's just damn long

I've been drawing them being gay as hell and it's still not as gayer than canon

[stickyspeckledlight]

im sorry but this popped into my head while listening. sure its asmr. but. you can't tell me this isn't "let's take ibuprofen together" coded

i beg all of you to listen to dottore’s CN voice to experience this heavenly asmr at least once in your life

[stickyspeckledlight]

[stickyspeckledlight]

3:23 - 3:34

god i love the entire short but those few seconds specifically loop in my mind continuously

[stickyspeckledlight]

Adding on:

LOOK AT THAT EVIL LIL SMIRK

Real “we’re here to talk about your car’s extended warranty vibes”

He flips his hair not once BUT TWICE

Like “hehehe look at the war I caused ;3” so girlboss of him

And nothing life matters anymore EVEN ON A EXISTENTIAL CRISIS TEMPER TANTRUM HE IS ✨ ENCHANTING ✨

In conclusion:

Yeah I like kuja. Didn’t help me as much as viví did with my existential dread but I do think he contributed to awakening something in me

wait. Kuja?????? I mean he’s pretty but he got no pants

When I first saw him, I was like: ergh…

Like chief???? This wasn’t it. He looks cringe and like a generic “if only the world was as beautiful as me.” An asshole but a really generic and boring one. Ten year old me was sad abt it esp since I’d just finished playing FF7, and really liked sephiroth’s design (mostly cuz boy does he look sinister at time) And the fucking cod piece. Even now I still have trouble getting over it. But then I started playing FF9 (for Vivi! He’s the best ❤️ ) and then got…got hit with this:

Instantly got me wanting to beat the shit out of him for acting all arrogant even tho he didn’t do anything. But then as ff9 goes on…he just seemed increasingly more and more desperate. Not to mention he has a literal torture chamber and was hella sadistic.

So. I was intrigued but didn’t quite know why. All I knew was that I wanted to beat the shit out of him, but also kind of wanted to see him get worse…and then I thought a little bit about getting killed by him and stuff, so……….

In any case being back kuja with soft fluffy hair. I am not a big fan of how they made his hair so spikey and stuff in dissidia. I mean, ig they made it so it was more similar to his concept art:

BUT COME ON!!!!

LOOKIT HIM. LOOK AT THAT SINISTER LIL GRIN. HOW DRAMATIC AND BEAUTIFUL HE IS WHILE LITERALLY DESTROYING THE WORLD

Idk. He’s a very sinisterly beautiful theater kid with abandonment issues. Dramatic yes but in like a…graceful way. So yeah. Petition for fluffy and floofy haired kuja to come back.

[stickyspeckledlight]

According to a recent report published by the Aargauer Zeitung (h/t Golem.de), around three million smart toothbrushes have been infected by hackers and enslaved into botnets.

The most cyberpunk thing on your dash today.

[stickyspeckledlight]

[stickyspeckledlight]

wait. Kuja?????? I mean he’s pretty but he got no pants

When I first saw him, I was like: ergh…

Like chief???? This wasn’t it. He looks cringe and like a generic “if only the world was as beautiful as me.” An asshole but a really generic and boring one. Ten year old me was sad abt it esp since I’d just finished playing FF7, and really liked sephiroth’s design (mostly cuz boy does he look sinister at time) And the fucking cod piece. Even now I still have trouble getting over it. But then I started playing FF9 (for Vivi! He’s the best ❤️ ) and then got…got hit with this:

Instantly got me wanting to beat the shit out of him for acting all arrogant even tho he didn’t do anything. But then as ff9 goes on…he just seemed increasingly more and more desperate. Not to mention he has a literal torture chamber and was hella sadistic.

So. I was intrigued but didn’t quite know why. All I knew was that I wanted to beat the shit out of him, but also kind of wanted to see him get worse…and then I thought a little bit about getting killed by him and stuff, so……….

In any case being back kuja with soft fluffy hair. I am not a big fan of how they made his hair so spikey and stuff in dissidia. I mean, ig they made it so it was more similar to his concept art:

BUT COME ON!!!!

LOOKIT HIM. LOOK AT THAT SINISTER LIL GRIN. HOW DRAMATIC AND BEAUTIFUL HE IS WHILE LITERALLY DESTROYING THE WORLD

Idk. He’s a very sinisterly beautiful theater kid with abandonment issues. Dramatic yes but in like a…graceful way. So yeah. Petition for fluffy and floofy haired kuja to come back.

[stickyspeckledlight]

Seems you’ve avoided the fate that awaits all British ppl then:

anons, you are right about your guesses and claims. that is all

[stickyspeckledlight]

Just wondering, have any of y’all played final fantasy 9?

[stickyspeckledlight]

The intimacy of your relationship with Sunday could be represented through the distance he's maintained from you whenever you sat together on the couch.

Like the majority of acquaintances, it started from the respectful distance from where he remained rigidly planted at the other end of the sofa. Nothing more than basic pleasantry and information that any passerby of Penacony would also be able to provide traveled that bridge of cold courtesy.

The Oak Family Head is an excellent actor, albeit you realized this at a latter point in time. Your conversations remained unremarkable — at least in your opinion. But Sunday expertly kept the extent of his burgeoning interest under wraps and the increasing boldness in his inquiries seemingly as normalized as the shrinking distance between you two. You hadn't noticed back then, or was it that you chose not to notice?

By the time the space waned by half, you eliminated any probing suspicions. The contents of your discussions evolved beyond polite tete-a-tete and exciting prospects such as inside jokes soon joined in. You were thrilled at the unravelling of a Sunday unknown to many, perhaps a touch too thrilled. While his ‘accidental’ touches disrupted the quaint rhythm of your heart, his soft smile sowed seeds of appealing scenarios. But even then he had been at a safe margin, it is wholly your fault for giving him the incentive to continue testing your boundaries.

From that point onwards, every decrease in distance came at a sacrifice from yourself. It was faster than before, yet so much more agonizing. Some pieces of you were negotiated, while others greedily stolen and a good portion you surrendered voluntarily at the enticement of trust. After all, it takes two to start a quarrel and you definitely and regrettably, played your role in his schemes.

Because by the time you came to know of the true Sunday, the couch had been replaced by his person entirely.

──⚝ You may also like [ Aventurine and Couches ]

[stickyspeckledlight]

𝐖𝐀𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.

✶ yandere! sunday x gn. reader — wc. 2.8k

summary. his complacency has its limits, and now you’ve strayed too far from your cage, head filled with fanciful dreams, casting aside the world he had built to contain you in blind reach for the skies. but as much as you may dream to fly, you are no more than icarus — he will ensure your fall, to remind you where your heart truly lies, because what are you, without your wings?

notes. i haven’t played the penacony quest yet idk how the dreamscape things work lol

“A gift for you.”

You turn your head from the window to face the owner of the voice standing in the shadow of the doorway. You’re met with a pair of golden eyes — ones you know all too well by now, a placated smile dancing across his lips, as a servant wheels in something on a covered cart.

Your own eyes follow it with a look of narrowed suspicion as it comes to a stop in front of you. “What is it?”

You’ve learnt not to accept gifts from strangers. Especially from someone like him, who parades himself as some charitable saint — you’re not the first in his line of victims to be met with that same disconcerting smile that has charmed thousands equally well with similar acts. 

No matter how much he showers you with generosity and priceless gifts, suffocating you with all he owns — you still have some sense within you to retain your wits, however faint they’ve grown with his overbearing presence slowly chipping away at you. He is no lover of yours, bearing these gifts. 

First and foremost, he is still your captor — and it is still his roof that you’re trapped beneath. 

“May I?” He indicates with his hand. 

You don’t say anything further, hardly acknowledging him. You’re tempted to turn back around and resume your daydreaming, itself the smallest of resistances you can offer amid everything he holds over you. You know it’s futile nonetheless — he doesn’t need your permission anyways, stepping into the room and striding over to you. 

Sunday approaches you slowly, footsteps silent against the carpeted floor, eyes darting between you and your unmoving position by the window. Each footfall, each breath is marked with the same wariness that flashes across your own irises. Unease roils in your gut, itself one of the few things he cannot eradicate completely, when you know of what he’s done, and what he’s capable of. 

The halo that rests atop his head gleams with an almost blinding luminescence as he steps into the light, reflected from the rays of the afternoon sun filtering through the windows. He looks almost ethereal, divine even, as if he could truly move the world with nothing but a thought — despite being the furthest from any angelic being of good. 

The notion he can, remains nonetheless. Everything that surrounds you is of his craft, his own thoughts and dreams made into this delicate cage. But he cannot move you as easily — you are not a nameless jewel among his dreamscape able to be carved and shaped to his will, yourself a figurine of glass he so desperately wants to preserve flawlessly, refusing to expose you to the elements. 

He wants to appease you, in his own strange way. And who are you to deny him in anything he does, when the world you stand upon is in his hands? 

“You didn’t appear to be very fond of the jewellery I got you last time.” Sunday starts. You flinch, as he rests his gloved hand on your shoulder, reaching around you to tug at the cloth. “I thought maybe something more familiar to you would be better received.” 

“Familiar?” You echo hoarsely, as you turn your head, forcing yourself to spare a glance at what lay beneath the now uncovered cloth. 

It’s just a cage, you realise a second later, shoulders slumping forward as you heave a sigh. It seems to be holding nothing more than what appears to be some sort of feathered bird that takes you a brief moment to recognise. 

“I remember you were telling me about them long ago.” He continues on unperturbed, gesturing to the bird that sits idly in the cage, inviting you to take a closer look. “Their melodies were quite nice.” 

“Right...” You wince at the memory. 

It’s like a distant dream to you now, one that you had wanted to forget, despite having clung to you for all your life, itself a hell comparable to this one. They had circled in the skies overhead, up and and away from it all, freer than any other within that world.

Yet now like you, it too appears to have strayed a long way from such, to be trapped in the confines of this cage. 

But they’ve had a taste of freedom. To you, it has been nothing more than a wishful dream, eyes having been set upon those same skies. Perhaps to be made of human flesh was a curse, chained down by a nightmarish world who denies such dreams. 

He had found you then. 

As to you, who hadn’t seen a world beyond these skies, trapped in a cold hellhole that housed nothing but the vain and cruel beings you cannot bring yourself to embrace — he had appeared as your saving grace. A guardian angel almost, wings of purest white flaring out behind him, and eyes of the brightest living gold that had left you transfixed as he spun such sweet promises from his lips.

It’s what he intends, to leave you clinging to his words, enraptured by his being, to take you someplace safe forever. 

Somewhere where no other hands can ever be laid upon you, nor any eyes cast upon you except his own. Because when you look at him so hopefully, as if he is truly some divine being — one that had descended from these far reaching heavens you had once looked up towards amid a starless sky, he ensures he is the only god you believe in. 

Alas, gods too could be selfish. You crave freedom amid the skies, yet he wants nothing but to cling to you, to treasure as his own, first and foremost. Insincerity frames such promises, faltering momentarily in its partial truth — yet you had taken his hand willingly that day, believing him to be your saviour from this cruel world.  

But not for the next, the one you now stand upon with him as your captor. Too late, do you realise you've merely traded one cage for another — and now you’re alone in this world. 

“I can’t accept this.” You force yourself to say, pushing his arm off you. He watches you stride back to the window, peering outside where birds of similar colour had gathered, making their way across the skies. 

You don’t spare a glance back at Sunday. A frown crosses his face at your abrupt reaction. You’re doing it again — pushing him away. He doesn’t understand why you always turn away from him, always looking upwards at something else instead, as if nothing beside you impresses you. Isn’t everything he’s done for you? 

He tries again. “Is it not to your liking? I chose the finest one out of all those ones out there. Would you prefer one of those, if that’s what it is?” 

“There’s no guarantee those ones will sing though. Of the ones caught, most didn’t make a noise.” He adds. 

You scoff then, as stating an obvious fact. “You cannot expect a caged bird to sing.” 

Perhaps he’s brought this pet in as a mockery of your own predicament, but you intend to tell him likewise. For are you too not trapped within a cage of your own? He cannot expect you to be complacent when you sit so restlessly, knowing freedom lies in sight, itself a reflection in your eyes, whilst the rest of your body is chained, tethered by his sole fixation.

“But a caged bird is at the mercy of its master is it not?” He hums, yet it’s devoid of the previous pleasantry in his voice as he steps up next to you.  

Your eyes slide to the side. You don’t say anything, carefully weighing your words as he rests his hand atop your own.

“If it does not wish to sing, there are other ways to make it do so. Perhaps it will respond kindly to some encouragement and reward, it is the most favourable way after all.” 

He pauses, and you feel his grip tighten ever so slightly. 

“Yet if all else fails, I suppose more ah, drastic measures can be taken. Don’t you agree Y/N?” He tilts his head innocently in your direction, as you stare back at him blankly. 

“I-” You swallow thickly. “There’s no need to resort to such means.” 

“Hm. I hope not either.” He flashes you a knowing look. “It would be a real shame to see.” 

Sure it would, you think dejectedly in your head. It proves nothing more than the fact he is willing to harm anything that threatens to break from his control, to challenge his absolute authority over this place. You’ve seen through his subterfuges of pretending to be some divine being one owes their reverence to. 

He’s making little effort to hide it now after all. 

“Anyways,” he sighs, before you can form a coherent response to his chilling words, the grip on your hand loosening. “I shall bother you no longer. I have other important things to attend to. I bid you a good day.”

“Enjoy your gift.” Sunday smiles, bending down to brush his lips against the back of your hand, before sauntering out of the room. 

---

You wait for the door to click shut before you loose a breath, wiping the back of your hand with a handkerchief with palpable disgust. It’s slimy, almost comparable to a snake even. You throw it aside without a second thought, slowly walking over to the cage that had been sitting here the entire time, careful not to startle the bird inside. 

It truly is a magnificent bird, one of the most beautiful you’ve ever seen — and truly, it doesn’t deserve to languish in such a cage forever, while the rest of its kind soar freely in the skies outside. Unlike your own circumstances, their master is merciful. 

You throw open the window, closing your eyes in a contented sigh as you feel a soft breeze rush in for a brief moment. It’s the most you can ever enjoy, as you look down at the levels below you, and then the objects in the room before you. He’s been careful with his gifts, there’s no rope, nor anything that can aid an escape, having filled it with nothing but pointless vanity. 

Turning your attention back to the matter at hand, you find the key lying on a folded cloth next to the cage, carved of pure gold, but the detail is dismissed in your eyes, jamming it into the lock and twisting it open. 

It opens with a click, swinging out, and before you even have time to think about it, much less regret the consequences of your decision — it bursts from the cage in a flurry of golden feathers and a derisive chirp, darting straight for the window, into the open air, towards its freedom. 

You watch as it flies off in a streak of gold into the sunset with a sad smile — unaware of a pair of similarly coloured eyes also intently watching its path across the skies from elsewhere. 

---

For you dreamt you were the one flying, soaring against the endless expanse of the sky, as the world below seemed to shrink into infinitesimal nothingness. And how you marvelled at that feeling, of freedom and joyous harmony, as you rose in this long reminisced ascent, following the paths of the same birds whom you had once watched from afar.

As these wings you flew upon, they were truly magnificent. Beneath the light of day, they reflected silvery hues and the outline of the stars itself, as if it had captured the essence of the universe within a singular canvas of white. 

You could almost laugh, rising past the clouds, away from the one who had attempted to keep you trapped in the world below. The heavens were in your sights, and the desire to go further almost as blinding as its highest point, of planetary bodies suspended amidst the stars, its beauty drawing you ever so closer.  

But in a world of dreams, he wishes you would dream otherwise, standing in witness to your thoughts that have never lingered upon him, brushing past in reach for a distant wish he has denied you time and time again. He’ll endeavour to stop you each time — for you’ll leave him otherwise. 

As one had reached towards that beyond, they had forgotten all that was once behind them, having paid no mind to the angered retribution flying their way — only having sought to look forward, to bask in the light of ephemeral glory and blissful freedom. 

Pray, has one heard the story of dear Icarus?

Laughter that was not yours echoed within your mind, as if whoever knew something you didn’t — the only warning you had gotten as the world turned dark, and fire had arced through you, eliciting a pained scream from your lips. 

Because you had indeed forgotten, blinded by the stars in your eyes, that you truly held no freedom when all that surrounds you is nothing more than a dream. Just as quickly, do such wings of feathered gold suspended by a thousand winds, turn to the failings of wax, when met with the hand of the one who had weaved such dreams. 

He stands there, the mocking voice in your head, molten wax dripping from his hands to announce how one’s sojourn would inevitably come to an end, whilst the wings upon his own back remain ones of arcing magnificence, his existence blinding in the rays of the sun, worthy of a being whom guards the gates of this heavenly realm. 

Yet there’s nothing but the cruel smile that paints his lips, aureate eyes gleaming viciously in light of his true nature. 

“No.” You breathe, eyes widening. 

You reach a hand out to grab onto him, but he eludes your grasp. He’s the last thing you see, amid the tangle of limbs against wings that are now burning, melting and riddled with deformities as you had then plummeted, a spiralling descent — the heavens you had reached for, in plea of a saviour, growing further and further out of your reach. 

Even the birds have scattered, leaving you in fear. For there was nothing else to feel but the rushing of wind in your ears, and the strange heaviness within your limbs, as if they too had been reduced to resignation, dragging you down, the clouds, the sky blurring around you. 

Another bout of laughter rings through the air, before fading to a strange quietness — away from dreams of eternal flight across the skies, and back to the cage in which you had first witnessed the world. 

---

You jerk awake, gasping for air. 

“Oh gods… no… it was just a dream.” You mutter to yourself as you push aside the strands of hair that stick to your forehead, blinking the spots out of your eyes as the morning light pours into the room. 

It’s strangely stuffy, someone had come in to wrap you in extra blankets, leaving behind a smell of sweat and some heavy metallic scent you can almost taste on your tongue. A shudder runs through you at the thought of who that could be, immediately throwing the covers off yourself. 

It’s just a dream.

Yet you can still feel the ghost of his grip on your arm as you cross the room, past where the cage had sat several hours earlier — it seems to grow tighter with each step closer, reaching up, tightening around your chest as you force yourself to exhale. There’s no birds outside to your surprise, staring through the glass at the orange streaked skies of the morning. 

You reach to open the window anyways, hand half suspended in the air — that’s when you notice something golden in the corner of your vision. 

You immediately regret looking down at the windowsill in the next second. 

You scream. 

You slap your hand over your mouth immediately, head snapping around — turning away. A strangled retching sound escapes you, your stomach sinking as you force yourself to look up once more.  

It’s just a dream.

Trembling, you turn your head back slowly around, gulping in a deep breath, as if to push down the rising bile in your throat at the sight before you, and the tears that have begun to prick at the corner of your eyes, as you bring yourself to take a proper look. 

It’s just a dream.

This is no dream.

There’s no mistaking that golden plumage, whose feathers are splayed before you, its ends blackened and smoking, severed from the main body in crude disfigurement, crimson blood trickling from flesh wounds that expose pearly white bone. 

It had flown only yesterday, yet now it will never fly again, as your eyes travel over the remains of its body, twisted and broken — and irrevocably dead. 

There’s nothing else but a crinkled note pinned to its side. 

A carefully worded threat: 

It should’ve sung when it still could. 

[stickyspeckledlight]

This war has to stop. Israel is stopping aid from getting into Gaza and people are starving.

[stickyspeckledlight]

[stickyspeckledlight]

[stickyspeckledlight]

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Fem!Reader

SFW

Word Count: 1'882

Warnings: Yandere, Abuse, Abusive relationship, Choking, Degradation, Manhandling, Threats, Possessiveness, Alastor is a massive asshole and mean as shit. Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Hindsight was always 20/20.

A bit of an understatement, really. Looking back it was hard to believe just how much one decision could impact your entire afterlife, and you wanted to kick yourself.

Desperation was the excuse you gave yourself whenever you thought about why you made a deal with Alastor.

What he proposed wasn’t something you thought too much of at the time. In exchange for your soul, he offered you security - solidarity in a realm where most were keen on focusing on the weakest among them and tearing them to shreds. Not only would you be protected on a daily basis, but you had, essentially, a guarantee that you would survive extermination day whenever it inevitably rolled around.

Seemed almost too good to be true, but knowing the risks involved in refusing, you had accepted.

He never asked much of you in return, much to your surprise. Nothing that ever seemed too unreasonable, at least. If anything, the things he asked of you felt more like exchanges that would occur between friends - taking on small tasks he’d otherwise find too boring to entertain.

Sometimes you’d even go as far as to call them domestic.

Oh, but you knew better than to assume your relationship fell anywhere close to friendship. Amicable was a better word, not good nor bad, but certainly nothing to be overtly confident about - which made what you intended to ask so much worse.

The very thought of it made a shiver go through your body as you walked through the Hotel hallway. A voice in the back of your mind, your conscience perhaps, whispered that it wasn’t too late to turn back. To do a complete 180 and march right back the way you came.

You didn’t listen.

By the time you came to a stop, the hairs on your arms stood completely on end. The door in front of you looked exactly like the others that lined the hallway, deceptive in its mundane simplicity. It only made the feeling of foreboding that much worse as you held your breath and raised your hand to knock, knuckles barely grazing the polished wood at first but connecting more solidly the second time around.

A part of you prayed there wouldn’t be an answer, nails digging further into your palms as the silence extended onwards.

Please don’t answer, please don’t answer-

All hopes were dashed by the dark wood swinging open to reveal a wall of red.

Alastor bent slightly at the waist when greeting you, bringing his eye level slightly down to yours, “My, my, what a pleasant surprise this is!~”

The smile you could muster in response didn’t even come close to matching his own, and your greeting not nearly as jovial.

“Hi.” You said, pausing briefly between words. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes?”

The signature clicking of his vertebrae accompanied the tilt of his head as he stared down at you intrigued. “Whatever for?~”

You began to pick at your nail beds. “Just to talk.”

Alastor hummed, amusement dancing behind his eyes before he opened the door to his suite a little bit wider.

“Oh, I suppose I could spare a moment or two for somebody like you.~”

The way he said it made you unsure whether such a statement was a compliment or an insult, but regardless you followed him inside.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you…” You began to say, looking around the space. No matter how many times you’d been inside, you’d never get used to it.

“Not at all, sweetheart!~” His arm came around your shoulders, leading you further into his suite and towards the table he had set up in the swampland that seamlessly blended in with the decor.

With a flash of green another chair appeared beside his own, and he gestured towards it with the end of his microphone staff.

“Have a seat.~”

You complied, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you did so. Foolishly, you had hoped to stay standing for this conversation in order to keep it as brief as possible. The cool metal of the chair dug into the skin of your thighs despite your clothing and you found yourself staring at the tabletop rather than at Alastor himself.

“Now,” There was some rustling of paper as Alastor picked a newspaper back up off the table, half paying attention to you when he spoke. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

This was it. No going back, no cutting corners, better to rip the bandaid off than to beat around the bush.

You bit your cheek harder and you could already taste the blood on your tongue before you opened your mouth.

“I want out.”

Alastor barely looked in your direction, but the subtle twitch of his ear was hard to miss once you spoke.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow but never took his eyes off the paper in his lap as he turned the page. “Care to elaborate?”

“Our deal.” The words felt thick when you spoke them. Heavy. “I want my soul back.”

Alastor’s pause made the atmosphere feel nothing short of dreadful as he turned his head to look at you directly. His ever-present smile widened while his eyes narrowed.

“Now what makes you think you deserve that, sweetheart?~”

“It isn’t about deserving anything.” You stated, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “It’s… renegotiating.”

Alastor snickered, the sound accompanied by a pre-recorded laugh track.

“Well, aren’t you simply adorable?” He placed the newspaper off to the side and rapped his claws against the table. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not how deals work.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as he continued speaking.

“While the deal we made was a fairly simple one, the end result is the same.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. “I own your soul. There aren’t any take-backsies on the matter.”

Nails bit into your palm at the syrupy condescension in his voice. It made anger brim in your chest, but acting on emotion was not a smart move here.

You took a deep breath. “Our deal has run its course, though.” You did your best to ignore how his eyes narrowed further at that. “Now that I’m at the Hotel… it offers what you originally did, so your part of the bargain is no longer necessary.”

His eyes flashed, glowing a brighter red and illuminating the space between the two of you for a moment.

“Ah, I see. You think our deal is now void because I’ve been replaced in a sense.” His smile was anything but reassuring or kind. “And therefore you shouldn’t be expected to uphold your end of the bargain, am I correct?~”

You swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Alastor tutted. “My dear, who are you to get to decide when our deal is void in any way, shape, or form?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but you answered anyway.

“Because it’s my soul.” The firmness in your voice did little to cover how weak of an answer that truly was. “I should be able to get a say in when we’ve reached the end of our contract-”

A green flash and the cold snap of metal around your neck cut off any further words you had to say. You barely had any time to register your air getting cut off as you were yanked forward harshly into the dirt - leaving you coughing when the chain slackened enough for you to breathe once more.

“It seems to me that you are forgetting a few things, darling,” Alastor said, pulling sharply on the chain once more to force your face back up to his.

Green stitches lined the seams of his clothes and wove at the edges of his smile - antlers growing with each word he spoke, and it took every bit of courage you had to bite back a whimper.

He was pissed.

“Firstly, the Hotel,” He cooed sweetly,” is the sanctuary you rave it to be because I keep it that way.”

Alastor stood from his chair and stalked towards you, wrapping the end of the chain around his microphone as he went.

“Secondly, might I remind you that it was you who approached me.” He hissed, faux kindness mixing with the barely contained anger you could see in his eyes.

“You,” He nudged your chin with the end of his microphone, “ came to me with the proposal of offering yourself in exchange for my services, not the other way around.” His eyes scanned over your form - lingering on the way your chest moved rapidly to accommodate your breaths before returning to your face.

“I've grown... accustomed to you, my dear, and our deal stands until I say so. Since you are seemingly incapable of understanding the subtleties of that, I’ll put it in simple terms so you can understand.”

The cool metal of your collar was soon replaced with the warm, smooth texture of his glove as he kneeled in the dirt and wrapped his hand around your neck. The gesture made you gasp, reflexively drawing in as much air as possible before he could choke you, but Alastor didn’t squeeze. Instead, he let the weight of his hand do the work.

“I own you. Every breath you take, every little thought in that empty head of yours belongs completely and solely to me.”

The black of his gums peeked out as his smile - which felt more akin to a snarl - widened. “Besides, what would you even do if I gave your soul back?”

Another rhetorical question, but the humiliation and inequity of the situation caused you to answer once more despite everything inside screaming at you not to.

“That’s my business.”

The sheer volume of emotion that passed through Alastor’s eyes told you that was the wrong fucking answer to give.

He snickered and leaned closer to the point you could smell the rot of his breath. “See, you might think that, darling, but since you’re mine, it’s my business too. So here’s how this is going to go.”

The hand around your throat began to squeeze.

“My business is to keep you. You’ll keep doing each and every little thing I ask of you, and you certainly won’t voice complaint when doing so.”

You choked and sputtered again when he hauled you to your feet by your throat and pushed you back into your seat - the armrests catching you directly in the funny bone, causing you to yelp. He placed his hands on either side of you and leered over you. It was the smallest you’d ever felt in your life.

“I’m more than willing to speak to you about anything you wish, darling, I truly am.” He said, inhaling deeply before continuing, and you swore his smile dropped the most you’d ever seen it.

“But if you ever try to speak to me about this again, you’ll learn just how easy you have it with me, is that clear?”

You felt yourself nodding before your mind could even register it. “C-crystal.”

A mixture of relief and dread sunk in your stomach when his smile returned to its normal state and he reached his hand up to pat you twice on the head.

“That’s my girl.~”

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