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safination · 7 months

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Partners in Death... and Life

Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted

| Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Part 4: The Radio Star’s Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes||Masterlist| ao3| Tag-list| Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Please take note of the following warnings: Body horror. Graphic descriptions of injuries, glass piercing skin, cutting of skin, cutting of chest. Dissection of Human muscles. Misogyny Just…be careful out there

Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.

Hello. I usually aim to post on Wednesdays, and I knoooow it's not a Wednesday. But, in my defense, this chapter is longer than chapters 1 and 2 combined. Also, I tried to keep the body horror to a medium level. I tried to find a perfect balance of horrifying but also still readable. Would you guys want more body horror, or less, or is this a good amount? Updated: 5/01/2024 *just realized that I forgot to add the part I was supposed to add*

The heart monitor beeps with a steady rhythm. The model’s ECG reading dip, but that’s normal for her species. You study the model asleep on your table, and take your place.

Turning to your interns, you adjust the fit of your gloves as say, “Are you ready?

From the other side of the table, Lys nods her head with such vigor that you’re afraid it would fall off. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!”

Heme takes their place next to you, wheeling the cart within your reach. “Aren’t there supposed to be more people here?” they ask, adjusting the fit of their mask with their shoulder. “We don’t even have an anesthesiologist present, and the technician dumped the tools and left without a word!”

Sighing, you take another look at the screen, and monitor the patient’s ECG readings. Just a couple of decades ago, you wouldn’t even be allowed to take five steps into a surgical suite, but in your death, you stare at the state-of-the-art Vox technology heart monitor.

“This was dumped at the last minute. And the Vees paid a hefty amount for the best,” you say, smiling to yourself. “I guess it doesn’t help that most of the staff have clocked-off for the night already.”

“It really doesn’t,” Heme says. You think they frown, you’re not actually sure. It’s hard to tell with masks on, but Heme sounds like they’re frowning.

“On the bright side, this is a special case, and special cases require special means,” you say. “Stick around, and I’ll make sure to show you something amazing.”

Lys squeals, jumping a bit, “I can’t wait to see your work.”

You turn to Heme. “Tell how you were guided into stopping the bleeding by Doctor Neisseria.”

Heme straightens, round their shoulders. “Hemostatic dressing for the capillaries,” they recite. “Then Lys clipped the bigger vessels, and Doctor Neisseria used an electrocautery for any that we missed.”

“Good,” you say. “Lys, is this your first time using a clip?”

“…Yes,” Lys tells you. Even with a mask on, you could tell she was sulking.

You eye the cart between you and Heme, double checking that the technician brought everything you requested for. “It shows,” you say. “Practice every chance you get. Make a deal with some poor and down on their luck Sinner who wouldn’t mind making a deal for permission to poke around whenever you want. They’ll heal on their own if it’s not too severe…or don’t—I mean, that’s how I did mine.”

Lys blinks at you. “I’ll…keep that in mind.”

Your shoulder slumps. “…Shall we just begin?”

Heme hands you a needle driver, the needle already clipped to it. A bunch of suture forms around your palm. It’s study, and made of pure Sinner Magical Energy, or just magic or whatever. It comes out of your and you have full control, that’s all you need to know.

Heme and Lys lean closer to observe the threads you make.

I don’t get to do this often.” You turn your head, motioning to the detached arm placed on the side. The skin has been stretched and the jagged and stringy muscle fibers sticking out tell you it’s been ripped off rather than slice. The radius protrudes out into the air, jagged and sharp. It would have hurt this model quite a lot. “Steady her arm please.”

Lys snatches the arm, holding it with confidence as she steadies it. “This is so cool.”

Heme hums. “Cool in a gross way.”

“Whether your patient is awake or not, a steady hand is key,” you say. “When you pierce your needle, be sure to do it right at the epidermis when dealing with the skin. Too deep and you’ll puncture the arteries or nerves.”

Lys brings the arm closer, and you do the first suture that will connect the limb of Velvette’s model. Valen-something apparently tore her up, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. So, they rushed her into the Emergency Room three days before this poor girl’s debut, and dropped her into your care with her arm and leg in an ice box.

You sew the model’s arm. The threads around your fingers are light, but sturdy. You entwine some around your fingers like some puppet master for better grip. Blood vessels, bones, nerves, and muscles. Not a single cell escapes your control.

You quiz your interns from time to time or tell them to take a closer look at where the vessels stick out the muscles, making sure they’re able to observe how a proper reattachment is conducted.

You study the threads connecting the arm to its body There are thousands of loose sutures. One single pull, and it will be completely reattached.

You shift your shoulders and crack your neck, giving it a slight stretch. “How long has it been?”

Lys glances at the clock behind you. “Five hours. I think it’s almost sunrise.”

“Be ready to be here for a while,” you say, rolling your shoulders. “The leg will be more complicated.”

Heme groans and their shoulder slump. “I guess I should just be thankful the model is mostly humanistic.”

You pull on the singular thread, and the stitches shorten until the arm is fully connected to its base. A thing line is the only indication that any limbs have been detached.

The door swings open and you snap your head at the sound.

“Hey doc!” The little Egg Boi saunters into the room, an envelope in his tiny hands. “I got something for you.”

Your feathers crack and sharpen. “If you wish to keep your shell,” you hiss at him, “you will leave this room before you contaminate it further.”

Egg Boi #04 wobbles a bit. “I was told to give you a message.”

A headache forms on your temples. You want to massage it, but that would contaminate your gloves. “Lys, show the egg to the observation room. Show him the microphone.”

Lys pouts a bit but exits the surgical suite.

Heme grabs the leg, and you begin again. You pause to take a deep breath. The threads don’t just appear out of thin air—they’re created because you will them to take shape. It gives as much as it needs to take from you.

Egg Boi# 04’s voice echoes on the speaker. “I have a note for you.”

“Read it then leave.” You pierce the tibia bone with your needle (special hell needle, you guess. Normal needles definitely cannot pierce bones) and connect it to the model’s leg.

Your concentration does not waver, even as Lys enters back into the room.

“My dearest good doctor,” Egg Boi #04 reads. “What a helltastic day for –"

“Stop!” you exclaim, and the threads you’re producing fizzle a bit, “Is that from Alastor?”

“Uhhh…yes?”

“Give me 10 minutes.” You sew the model’s leg just like before, starting from bones, then vessels, the muscles, and finally skin, but this time at a much faster pace.

Thousands of strings connect the detached leg to its place.

Heme gawks at you. “I thought the leg was more complicated?”

“It is.”

“It took you five minutes to sew everything,” they say. “Why did it take the arm until sunrise?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to learn anything if I went too fast.” You hand the needle driver to Heme, who takes it with eager hands “I trust you will be able to close for me?”

“Yes!”

“Go around the skin—remember not too deep,” you say. “Once it’s all connected, just one strong pull and the threads should work their magic. Lys, once she closes, you can practice your knots.”

The door closes with a swing. You discard your gloves then peel off your protective layers, but you keep the scrub cap on your head.

The Egg Boi waddles into the room, threatening to tip any moment. He holds up Alastor’s note and you’re forced to bend when you reach for it.

You open the envelope and sigh. “This is a letter, and definitely not a note,” you say counting all the pages jammed into the envelope. “Notes are small pieces of paper, and not fifteen pages of paper scribbled back-to-back.”

You take one deep breath, flaring your nostrils as you contemplate your marriage choices, and begin reading.

Heme enters the holding room as you’re reading through the last page.

They take a look at the pages you’ve read. “Ohhhhh a letter?” they say, discarding their mask into the trash. Their gloves are next. “Who is it from?”

“My husband.”

“Why a letter?” Heme asks you “Why not just shoot you a text or a phone call?”

“He mumbles to himself when he writes, and he just loves hearing his own voice.” You turn to the Egg Boi once you’ve read the last word. “Tell Alastor I’m busy—I can’t leave work to go to the hotel on such short notice!”

“Right….” Heme leans against the sink. “Management will be dropping by this afternoon.”

Your eyes squint. “This afternoon? I was told there'd be visiting tomorrow!”

“Yes, they informed you last night,” Heme says. “It’s tomorrow now—morning, actually.”

Your eyes twitch as your turn to Egg Boi #4. “Tell him I will be early. Now go, run along now, least you get scrambled.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Bustling sounds from the other side of the circus themed doors. You knock then take a step backwards, least Vaggie greets you with a fist to the face.

A crash sounds from the inside. The door slams open, and Charlie pops out, hair disheveled and sticking out in odd places. You see the relief oozing into her. Charlie’s smile relaxes and her eyes stop bulging at the sight of you.

She says your name with enthusiasm. “It’s just you! I am so glad to see you.”

You wave at her. “Hello, Charlie. It’s good to see you as well.”

“Would you like to come inside?” she says at the same time another crash sounds. Charlie’s smile turns sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.”

“It’s quite alright,” you say with a polite smile. “Who am I to judge another person’s mess? It can be quite entertaining sometimes.”

Charlies smoothens the stray hairs sticking out. It does little to actually fix it. “Sooooo what brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome here! Everyone is welcome here! We don’t discriminate at –”

The door swings wider and Alastor pops out with that permanent smile of his. “I called her here.”

Alastor helps you out of your coat as you enter through the doors, and drapes it over his arm. “I came early. I hope you don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the crudely attached banners. Strobe lights are being taped to the railings. Its brightness makes you blink. “Are you throwing a party? Is that why you called me here?”

Alastor hangs your coat on the rack. “We’re preparing for a sudden guest,” he says. “It seems we’ll have to delay our plans, only if you’re happy with waiting for me.”

Charlie shrinks and her eyes water a bit. “Alastor…,” she says with a frown. “If you have plans, that’s alright—go. We can manage without you here!”

“Not at all, this is where he needs to be right now,” you tell Charlie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her smile brightens immediately. “Who will be the special guest today?”

Charlie fiddles with her fingers. “We…invite my…dad.”

Alastor twirls his microphone. “The King of Hell himself.”

“Oh,” you start, “the demon is coming here?”

“That’s actually Satan,” Charlie says with a smile. “Dad often gents confused with Satan but they’re not the same

“Oh…So, Lucifer is coming here.”

“Pretty much.”

You laugh a bit—you’re not even sure why. Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed. It sounded so awkward, even to you. “Well, how can I help? If it’s alright with you, of course.”

Charlie’s eyes brighten, and she shakes your shoulders. “Are you sure?”

Alastor grabs Charlie’s fingers with the tip of his own and pry them off you. “I’ve already come all this way,” you say, and turn to your husband. “I’m sure we can make the most out of this situation.”

Charlie leaves to change her clothes, and hopefully brush her hair while she’s at it.

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his, even when you know it’s unnecessary to escort you to a living area that’s five-feet away.

He leaves you, walking to the kitchen with a wave of his microphone.

The hotel looks the same, just more diverse colors hanging around. Niffty stalks past you without a word, engrossed in her task of sweeping the floor. Angel Dust or Vaggie don’t seem to be around, nor is Husk at his usual post. Only a one-eyed cat keeps you company.

On the table, deflated balloons are left forgotten with two pumps resting next to it. You take your seat, and complete the unfinished task.

You’re on the third balloon when Alastor presents a mug to you.

He leans over the chair, reaching his arms to place that ‘Oh Deer’ mug on the table. It’s difficult to meet his eyes when he leans so far in front that his whole face is upside down.

His hair hangs in the air, and your husband looks goofy in such an awkward position that you can’t help but laugh. “You look awful this hellish morning!” he says, and his grin widens until his teeth show. “I thought you could use a bit of brightening up. You’re practically dozing off in the chair.”

“Thank you,” you say, a small smile on your face. “The coffee smells good.”

Alastor swings back, and lands next to you. “I know we agreed to leave such tasks to you,” he says and he waves his arms as he talks. “But you look ready to drop dead any second. Poor Niffty had swept about a hundred feathers on your short walk from the door to this chair—Long day?”

“Longer day, actually. Yesterday’s long day turned into a late night that bleeds into today’s early morning.” You take a sip, and revel in its taste. Even after all these years…his coffee still tastes like acidic bean water. (If you smile, then that’s your business.) “The coffee tastes good.”

Alastor crosses his leg, cracking a laugh hard enough for his eyes to bulge. “You didn’t even try to check if it’s been tampered,” he says with that same wild smile. “Are you that tired, my love?”

You smile at him, lips curving bright and wide. “My deerest, did you place something into my coffee?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s disappointing,” you say, taking another sip. “That suit of yours could use some brightening up! A splash of this bean water would add such an interesting texture to it.”

“We’ll it good to see you’re not tired enough to lose your way with words,” Alastor says, smiling at you. “But if you’ve had a ‘longer’ day, you could have sent the Egg Boy—"

“It’s Egg Boi, my deerest.”

Alastor squints, his brow furrowing as he does. “That’s what I said.”

“You said Egg Boy, deerest,” you tell him, taking a longer sip than usual to drown your laughter. “Those eggs are called Egg Bois. They have different numbers—except Frank.”

On the corner of his cheek—just where it’s always been—Alastor’s smile strains. “You said the same thing as I did.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

“Egg Bois.”

“Egg Boys.”

You chuckle a bit, and take another long slip. “If you say so.”

Alastor rolls his eyes and he makes it a point to show you he’s doing so. “You could have mentioned to that egg creature that you’d had a long day.”

“Management was dropping by my floor today.” You grab another balloon to pump it.

Alastor’s head tilts, and you hear the small crack of his neck. Static fills the air. “Well, I’m always glad to be used in such a way.”

You roll your eyes, making it a point to show Alastor that you’re doing so. The sharpened feathers and the glow of your eyes were just for the fun of it. “There is another reason why I dropped by the hotel.”

“Do tell!”

You knot the end of the balloon and throw it to the side. “Who am I to refuse the summon of the Radio Demon?”

“His wife.”

You snort, and toss a balloon at him. One balloon becomes two and now you’re just tossing whatever balloon you could get your hands on.

Alastor pops a balloon and static emits from his microphone.

You cross your arms, staring down at him. “I was going to use that.”

Alastor grabs the second pump.

An hour passes too soon. They always seem to do around your husband. The balloons are stringed and weighted. Razzle and Dazzle—the two lambs Charlie made a point to introduce you too—put up a…er… interesting banner on the railings.

Sir Pentious slithers out the kitchen, a tray of cookies in his hold. The Hazbin Hotel looks lively. The space looks decent—live in — as if Sinners actually gathered and used the space. (Those are your favorite kind.)

Sir Pentious offers a cookie to you, and you munch on it. You give him a compliment for its taste.

By the entrance, with Vaggie to her side and Alastor at the other, Charlie takes a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as she does.

Vaggie gives her a smile, and Charlie opens the door.

The bringer of sin rushes to his daughter, drowning her in a hug.“Chaaaaarlie!”

Charlie squirms in his hold. “Heeeyy, Dad!”

Egg Boi #13 and Egg Boi #08 twist their poppers and confetti pops into the air. Niffty grabs her broom, sweeping the floor.

You watch Lucifer, and try to hide your smile. The King of Hell looks different from any paintings or drawings humans make. They can’t seem to capture how shy he looks. How awkward. No painting has been able to capture his search for a place to belong.

This Fallen Angel has blond hair. He’s not the brunette you thought he’d be, which was a shame for you rather liked brunets. It makes sense he’d be blond. Afterall, Charlie has blonde hair as well, and she is the spitting image of her father.

If someone told you it was Lucifer who birthed her, you wouldn’t be able to deny it.

“It’s finally nice to put a name to the face.” Alastor shakes Lucifer’s hand with his microphone, wiping his own right after. “You are much shorter in real life.”

You turn aways, coughing to hide your laughter as Alastor banters with Lucifer.

Husk rolls his eyes at you and grumbles. “Of course, you’d find that hilarious,” he says. “Everyone knows it's smart to insult Lucifer.”

You place a hand on your cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

Charlie brings Lucifer to meet your group. He calls Vaggie, Maggie. Smiles awkwardly when Angel Dust calls him a ‘short king’. Lucifer waves back when Husk waves at him, and shrinks when Niffty jumps and pulls him by the collar. One by one, you’re introduced.

You extend your arm for a handshake.

Lucifer smiles awkwardly, shrinking a bit, but reaches out to shake your ha—

The chandelier crashes to the floor.

And oh God…

Lucifer begins to sing.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Your hair sticks to your face.

Water droplets splash on your clothes. You accept your fate, and trudge through the rain, even as your fingers freeze. The breeze blows your hair, making you nuzzle into your damp coat. You should have brought an umbrella, or taken a cab. Just your luck, a sunny day turns into a drizzle that turns your shoes into a lake. You hate damp socks.

An umbrella blocks the rain from your soaked clothes.

You spring out of its coverage, spinning to look behind. Your arms jerk out, causing you to wobble because of the wet pavement. (That’s totally not embarrassing.)

“The point of an umbrella is to stay underneath it when it’s raining.” Alastor smiles, giving you a small wave.

You wave back.

“Oh…hello,” you say, adjusting the straps of your bag. Alastor takes a step forward, and you jump backwards. “I’m alright—I can manage by myself.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about your very capable self from underneath the umbrella,” he says, twirling the umbrella. “Come on, now.”

You dip your head inside. Alastor inches closer, but there’s still a respectable gap between your shoulders. “I’m really alright,” you say. “I quite love the rain.”

“Yes, the rain is a beautiful thing to frolic underneath when you’re in a meadow,” Alastor says. You can’t help but feel that Alastor is scolding you, “not when it splashes off buildings and drips off power lines and other items that have not been cleaned. We are in the city, my dear.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“My mother would roll in her grave and haunt me when she finds out I left a lady in the rain.”

“But—”

“Constant refusal is quite rude, you know,” he tells you. “And I still owe you one favor.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Alastor says with a smile that makes you smile back. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m happy to leave my umbrella in your umbrella-less but capable hands, and be on my way.”

You shake your head, inching closer. “We can share if you don’t mind walking.”

“I love walks. It keeps me stimulated.”

Alastor follows your every step, covering you with an umbrella that was meant for one. You glance at his shoulder, and turn away to hide your frown. Half of his shoulder sticks out into the rain, gathering droplets, while not a single speck of water slides on you.

Alastor is giving you the bigger half of the umbrella.

“Would you mind holding this?” he asks.

“Not at all,” you say, and take a hold of his umbrella. Alastor is taller, and you have to quirk your arms higher to avoid hitting his head.

Alastor slips out of his coat. You watch him slide it off his shoulders and pull his arm out the slits. He’s wearing a vest—a fine vest as well. Alastor flicks out stray waterdrops. He leans close enough for you to smell his cologne. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, grabbing the lapels to adjust its fit. His body heat lingers. It’s warm…he’s warm.

Alastor pries the umbrella from your grip with a wide smile. “Before you say anything, the only response that I will be accepting is, ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome.” He adjusts the angle of the umbrella, careful to keep every drop of rain from touching you, even at the cost of his own clothes. “Whatever made you decide to walk? There are cabs and busses for a reason.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I started,” you say. “Plus, I was eager to get home.”

He keeps his eyes ahead. “It’s still quite dangerous.”

You step over a puddle, narrowly missing it. “Dangerous?”

“Yes!”

“The sun is—well, was still up when I began walking.”

Alastor hums, shaking his head. “Murders and thieves do not magically dissolve in the sun.”

You smile to yourself. “I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on that subject.”

Alastor turns to you, and his hair shifts as he tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“I heard your voice on the radio this morning,” you tell him, adjusting his coat around your shoulders. “I caught the news segment.”

“Well,” he starts, his smile widening. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “you must have been busy when I mentioned the forecast then.”

You inch closer as much as he’ll allow you, trying to keep a respectable distance, but still close enough that Alastor doesn’t need to sacrifice his clothes to keep yours dry. “Speaking of radio, what brings you to this area?” you say. “Isn’t the radio station all the way across town?”

Alastor laughs in a way that makes you wish you’ve kept your mouth shut. “Have you been tracking my movements?”

“Not at all,” you say and try to mimic his laugh. It comes out strained instead. “I just know how to read a map.”

Alastor steps over a puddle. He places a hand on your back, guiding you away from it. “I just had some business in the area,” he says and drops his hand. “I turned the corner and I found you walking all alone in the rain!”

You smile, careful to keep your eyes forward. “I’m thankful to whatever beings that fated our paths to cross.”

Alastor leans closer, eyeing your hands. “Been gardening recently?”

You glance at your nails, at where stubborn soil sticks underneath the cuticle. “No…not at all,” you say slowly. “I guess you could say…light treasure hunting…?”

“The more I get to know you, the more I find myself dumbfounded at your wide range of hobbies.”

“I hate seeing things go to waste.” You try to ignore the squish of your socks. You are definitely never forgetting your umbrella again. “For example, your garbage is my treasure.”

“What a wonderful philosophy to live by.” Alastor meets your eyes and smiles.

You smile back. “Indeed, isn’t it?”

Alastor’s hold on the umbrella stays firm, even as he follows you around the corner and across the street. Not a single drop of water lands on you. “What treasure were you able to find?”

“You have a lot of questions for me today,” you say and ignore the thumping of your heart. “I feel as if you know me more than I know you—I think that’s rather unfair.”

“Well, what would you like to know?”

You move your foot to avoid puddles of trash. The city could really use a good cleaning. “You know so much about my hobbies. So, I’d like to know some of yours.”

“There isn’t really much to tell,” he says. “The radio is my life.”

A strong breeze has you sinking deeper into Alastor’s coat. “You have your hunts.”

You glance at Alastor, and oh…his hair is as brown as his eyes. Wisps of hair stick to his face because of the rain.

Alastor’s brows furrow a bit, but you swear his smile turns sweet. “Those are more of… a necessity than a hobby.”

“In what way?”

“The woods around my area have a lot of… let’s say… mammals that don’t necessarily belong there, it is as if someone just leaves them from time to time. I hunt a few here and there to thin the population a bit.”

You smile to yourself. “Well, tell me about the radio—What is that like?”

He places his free hand on his chest. “Why, it is the proper medium of expressing oneself, of course.”

“It must be nice having such a creative outlet,” you say. “Sometimes, I wonder how you’re able to come up with the most exciting segments.”

“Sadly, you would think after all these years of bringing success and money into the company, I would be allowed to have more control over my content.”

You step over another puddle. A small tug on Alastor’s arm, and he steps over it as well. “That is quite sad to hear.”

“For example,” he starts, adjusting his hold on the umbrella. “I wanted to have this whole portion just on crimes that have been committed.”

“Like… the news?”

“No, not at all,” he says. “I was thinking more on the lines of old cases like robberies and murders—some solved, some not. Unfortunately, the director said it would be too gruesome.”

“It really depends on how you choose to present it,” you say. “I think audiences would love a good mystery with a satisfying conclusion.”

“That is exactly what I thought so as well!” Alastor’s smile widens. “I came across this story…Oh, well I wouldn’t want to bother you with the details.”

“I’d love to hear this,” you say, chuckling. “Show me how you would present it.”

“One winter night,” he starts off with that never ending smile on his lips, “a child—no ordinary child—disappears in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break in and nothing other than the child was taken from the home. Not a single dust was out of place.”

“Wait, what was so special about the child?”

“I will tell you,” he says. “That child was the two-year old son of aviator Charles Lindenberg! Some newspapers called the child the ‘Eaglet’ because his father had become the first man to fly across the Atlantic Oce—Oh, why are we stopping?”

He angles the umbrella, careful to keep you dry. You smile at him and point at the small apartment complex behind you. “This is where I live.”

Alastor doesn’t frown, but his smile droops a bit. “Oh…” he says. “I was getting to the most interesting portion of the story—what a shame.”

“A shame, indeed,” you echo. “You have such a captivating way of conveying your words.”

“Thank you.”

The rain splatters on the umbrella. It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Your socks are damp and it’s starting to get colder. “Would you like to finish what you were saying?”

Alastor’s smile widens, just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. “On the month of May, after continuous searching, a tiny little corpse was found abandoned on the side of the road. Forensics determined that the baby was bludgeoned to death.”

“It’s quite funny,” you tell him. “You talk of such gruesome murders but I find myself captivated.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for going out of your way for me, Alastor.” You slip out of his coat, returning it to him. It’s cold—has it always been this cold. “Will I see you around?”

“Of course,” he says. “We always meet in such unconventional places.”

You duck out of the umbrella, giving him one last smile and head up the steps. A twist of a doorknob, a few flights of stairs, and you would be home. You were tired, your socks are soaking, and the back of your clothes stick to your skin. So, why…why do you find yourself running back into the rain?

“Wait!” you find yourself exclaiming.

Alastor covers you with his umbrella. “What’s wrong?”

‘I… I may have a problem.” The words are slipping out of your lips. “Are you busy by any chance?”

“Not at all.”

“What about your business in the area?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I can always come back.”

“Would you help me?” You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Of course.” Alastor brings the umbrella closer to you. “What can I do for you?”

“I think…” you begin to say. Stop. Stop! You should turn back; head inside where warm clothes and a bath awaits you. “I think I’m in the wrong area.”

Alastor laughs, and it’s that same breathy and light laugh as before. He drapes his coat over your shoulder once more, and adjusts its fit to secure it around you. It’s the warmest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I left a lady stranded in the rain.”

“Not at all,” you say with a smile that you do not remember smiling. “Lots of scary thieves and murders out there—apparently they don’t disappear during the day.”

Alastor nudges you along, down the path, to a destination either of you have the faintest idea where it will end.

Your feet stay locked in its place, and you hold Alastor in your gaze. (His bowtie is crooked, and even with his coat around you, he looks presentable. His vest matches his shoes. You note how his smile is asymmetrical, and how his eyes are still as brown as his hair. Alastor’s glasses are frosted, but he doesn’t seem to mind.)

“Are you alright?” Alastor asks you.

“I’m fine. It’s just….” You shake your head and smile. “It would be a waste to forget this.”

“Come on,” Alastor says in a voice that is oh so soft. He offers his arm, and you hook your own around his.

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“Motherfucker!” Husk curses into the air, his ears quirking as he does. “Would it fucking kill you to be gentle with that shit?”

“I am being gentle.” You stare him down, keeping the towel pressed firm against his foot. “Would you want to know what it’s like when I’m not? I’d be very happy to comply.”

“………No.”

“Then settle down, Husker,” you say and use your free hand to grab the forceps from the hotel’s medical kit. “This will be much easier if you stay still…or don’t and give yourself a harder time. I’m not the one with glass sticking out of my foot.”

Husk sinks into the clinic bed, sulking as he crosses his arms. He picks on the pillow, fidgeting with its seams. “Bitch.”

You raise your eyebrows and huff. “Virgin.”

Husk’s fangs show when he growls. “I am not…grandma.”

Your feathers bristle. It’s smart to keep Husk talking, even if hurling insults is the way to do so. If it keeps him distracted, you won’t complain. “I died in my late twenties…or was it my early thirties — I honestly forget.”

The blood on his foot begins to clot, and you toss the towel to the waste basket. You walk to the sink, rinsing stray droplets of Husk’s blood with soap.

“Settle down then, grandma,” he says with a triumphant smile, and you roll your eyes. “Today, it’s your memories. Tomorrow, it could be anything.”

You plop on the clinic chair, waiting for your hands to dry. “Yes, it would make sense you’re familiar with the signs,” you shoot back, “considering you lived long enough to be called Pawpaw — Is that why you’re a cat?”

Husk barks a laugh, his wings flaring. He grabs the pillow and tosses it to you. It hits the side of the chair and langs on your lap. You pick it up and toss it back at him. “At least my husband didn’t walk out on me for several years without so much as a word.”

You chuckle, and settle his foot on your leg for better access. Taking your forceps, you brush away slivers of glass from Husk’s foot …or would this be his paw?

You clip a shard of glass, and glance at him. When Husk doesn’t whine like a little bitch, you pull a shard and drop it to the metal pan across you. “At least my marriage lasted even through death, Arachnid Simp.”

Husk rolls his eyes. You smile when his whiskers twitch. “Where did you even learn that word?”

“I see you’re not going to deny it.”

Husk sinks deeper into the bed.

“This wouldn’t be happening if you—I don’t know—wore these things called shoes?” You pluck another shard of glass. Husk tries to jerk his foot away, but your hold stays firm. “They were invented a long, long, time ago, and were created to keep your feet protected.”

“Stop talking as if I’m a child.” Husk frowns and his teeth stick out. “Wearing them feels weird.”

“I guess they kind of are weird.” You grab a fresh towel when blood squirts out of Husk’s foot. “You die and then suddenly waking up to see you don’t have toes

A beat passes between you. “Do you…do you not have toes?”

You toss the towel, and pick out the last shard. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.”

“What does that even mean?” Husk growls, running his palms over his face.

“I…have absolutely no idea.”

You reach into the medical kit, grabbing some dressing. You peel the plastic and toss it to the trash, and press it against his foot.

Egg Boi #03 waddles up to you, a gauze roll in his tiny hands — you weren’t aware the little egg creature was in the room. You thank him with a smile, and wrap the gauze roll around Husk’s paw then his ankle. Satisfied, you clip it in its place.

“You’re all done,” you say. “It might be weird to step on it for a few hours, but it’s not impossible. The glass didn’t puncture you too deep.”

“Good to know.”

“Oh…and just in case, the amount of blood you saw isn’t anything to be scared of. There’s just a lot of tiny vessels on the foot. That’s why it took a while for it to stop,” you say and toss him a new set of gauze rolls and pads.

Husk stares at the items. “I don’t know how to use this.”

You stare at him, leaning into the chair. “Just slap the square on the skin and roll the gauze around your foot.”

Husk hops out of the clinic, keeping pressure off his injury.

It takes a while to clean up after yourself, but Egg Boi #03 keeps you company. The little egg speaks a lot of nonsense, but it’s entertaining nonetheless. You flick the lights, and Egg Boi #03 follows behind you.

The chandeliers had been dragged away, and the glass and debris cleared off the carpet.

Mimzy’s hug makes you take a step back.

You squirm in her hold, placing a placating hand on her shoulders.

“I am sooooo glad you are here!” Mimzy exclaims, shaking your shoulders. “This is like one big reunion, ay. Just between you and me, that Lucifer is a real looker—shame on Alastor for not warning a gal. I would have dressed better, and who knows? Maybe I could be the Queen of Hell. Ha!”

Mimzy grabs your arm and drags you to the bar. Husk pours you a drink with a nod, and stalks away. Seeing him hop up the stairs makes you laugh.

You swirl your drink. “It’s always good to see you, old friend.”

“Not that old!” Mimzy swats your arm, a huge grin on her lips. “And there’s no need to lie to me, darling. I doubt you actually feel that way.”

“Well, I still have those burn marks on my wall from the time you decided to play bartender with matches.”

Mimzy barks a laugh, and her legs kick. “C’mon you can’t still be blaming me! If I remember correctly, it was Alastor who brought out the matches.”

Angel Dust walks up to you with Sir Pentious trailing behind him. You wave.Sir Pentious waves back, his hood flapping open.

“Mind if we join ya?” Angel Dust asks.

“Not at all,” Mimzy says. “I’m always weak to such lookers.”

Angel Dust takes the seat next to you and pushes back his hair. Sir Pentious takes the one behind him. “Sooooo, you two and Alastor run in the same circles.” He takes a drink. “And you guys are friends with him?”

You take a sip of your own drink. “You could describe it that way.”

“Well, those are your words, not mind, but I think it fits.” Mimzy glances at you, a knowing smile on her lips. “But our good doctor here is more than just—Hey! Why do you look so surprised?”

“Well, I just didn't know he had any of those. He's been here a while and is still a big, creepy mystery,” Angel Dust says. Sir Pentious nods, his head squeaking as he does “What's his deal?”

Mimzy is happy to explain tall, dark, and creepy’s ‘deal’.

“But before that, he was the prime bachelor of my day,” Mimzy says. “Not a single lady wouldn’t want a taste of that twink. But eh… I wouldn’t wish marriage with Alastor on even my worst enemies. It would be a real shock when you die and find out your hubby’s got a real screw loose.”

“Well, it wasn’t a shock to me,” you say, rolling your eyes. You swirl your drink—hmmm, it’s good to know Husk still knows what you like.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Mimzy chuckles nervously. She scoots closer, elbowing you lightly. “You happy he’s back? I still remember the few months you’d visit my place to look for your deerest, most darling Alastor, Mimzy at the bottom of a bottle.”

Your eyes twitch. “Quite pleased actually,” you say and force a smile. “It’s great to finally see my husband again.”

“Husband?” Angel Dust chokes on his drink.

Sir Pentious tilts his head and his hat slides off a bit. “Oh you’re married?”

You show them your ring, wiggling your finger. “Indeed.”

Sir Pentious puffs out his chest. “I would love to meet thisss husband of yours,” he says. “If you cannot be my rival, he can fight in your stead.”

“That wouldn’t be a smart idea

Mimzy stares at him. “He’s not the brightest is he?”

Angel Dust drops his drink with a clink. “Pause,” he splutters. “Shut u—” He coughs, still reeling from his drink going down the wrong pipe. “Shut up. Plause. Pause!”

Sir Pentious frowns, and his tongue sticks out. “No one elssseee is talking.”

“There is no way,” Angel Dust says. He turns to you, eyes bulging. “I refuse to believe that Freaky got hitched.”

Sir Pentious gapes, and his hoop opens. “Alastor is married as well?”

Mimzy slaps her forehead and points to you. “He’s married to her!”

“You are mess’in with me,” Angel Dust says. “Well, you can’t trick me. I refuse to believe it, toots.”

Mimzy takes a swig of her drink. “No one’s mes’in with ya,” she says with bright eyes. “They had a big white wedding and everything. I even got to bless them with my singing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mimzy glares at Angel Dust, a hand on her hips and her noise in the air. “You calling me a liar?”

You place a hand on Mimzy’s shoulder. “It was a good day, wasn’t it?” you say.

“Could’ve been better without the rain,” she says shrugging.

The lights flicker. Static fills the air, making your skin buzz. The bar glows a faint green. “The rain made it sentimental actually,” you say and glance up the stairs. “We quite like the rain.”

Angel Dust crosses both sets of arms. “I thought you said you were friends.”

“I said partners,” you tell him. “Alastor said friends.”

Angel Dust blinks at you and sighs. “So, you married him? Like you’re his wife.”

“I am, indeed!”

“Are you sure?”

“I sure hope so,” you say, crossing your legs. “It would be weird not to be sure considering I was there in a white dress, walking down the aisle.” Mimzy barks a laugh, and the feathers on her head sway. A part of you hopes she topples off the chair.

“Uh…Is this something we should know?” Angel Dust asks. “He’s not going to try to kill me because I learned about this right?”

“We’re not trying to hide it, but we don’t broadcast it either,” you say. “And well…no wife likes to be introduced as a ‘friend’.”

Sir Pentious’ tongue sticks out. “Does Alasssstor own your soul or something?”

You empty your drink and revel in the taste. “We got married back when we were alive.”

Angel Dust reaches across the bar, grabbing a whole bottle off the shelf with his long arms. He pops open the cork and takes a swig straight from the bottom. “I still have trouble belive you,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I just…I can’t!”

“Your belief, or lack of, won’t change the fact that I have a ring,” you say. “And it’s not really for you to believe, now is it?”

“Why…?” Angel Dust’s mouth quirks into the cutest frown. “Why…ya’know?”

You sigh and place a hand on your cheek with a smile. “He makes me laugh.”

Angel Dust makes a face, and coils back like he’s been shot.

“Oh he’s a total kitten,” Mimzy says with a bright smile. She inches her glass closer to Angel Dust, and he fills it up for her. “Catch him in a good mood or pour him a drink and play some jazz and he’s totally harmless.”

“You still shouldn’t toss caution into the air, Mimzy” you say. “If I were you, I’d be wary about trusting Alastor just because he likes cleaning up your mess.”

Angel Dust crosses his arm, and his eyebrows quirk. “Ain’t he your hubby?” he says. “Isn’t there this whole spiel about trust and love and faith and all that other boring vanilla shit.”

“He wouldn’t be the Radio Demon if he could be trusted by just anyone, now would he?” you say. “It still crosses me when I remember how he lied to me.”

Angel Dust’s eyes shine. “You said no wife likes being introduced as a ‘friend’.”

“Yes?”

“It must have crossed you quite a lot, huh?”

You shrug, a bit confused. “I mean… I wasn’t really a big deal at the end of the day.”

Angel Dust’s smile widens and that golden tooth of his shimmer. “I want to know everything.”

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Despite the rain, clear skies show the moon, not a cloud in sight.

The flashlight clipped on your collar shines on your path. Your boots sink deep into the mud, but that’s alright. A few inches of goo won’t stop you from your destination. You adjust your leather medical bag—double checked that there are gloves inside.

Between those two trees, your treasure lies buried.

You lay your kit on some nearby stones and reach in for your gloves. You dig until bits of the cadaver’s skin stick out. You brush the soil of his chest and peel open the flaps of his skin. The underside of his skin has blood vessels attached to it. It was worth cutting out the fat to have a glimpse.

Superficial fascia connects his muscles to his dermis. You take your probe and disconnect the thin filament. It reminds you of spider-webs.

You discard your probe and exchange it for the bottle of formaldehyde. You can’t study the whole body, not when it’s exposed to the elements. His fingers are starting to rot, but that’s alright. The chest is all you need, for now. So, the chest is all you’ll preserve.

The cheesecloth you placed on him last night is still damp. Good, that means it’s been sanitized this whole time. You take the cheesecloth and wife it against his open cavity, sanitizing every surface you can reach.

The formalin stings your nose and burns your eyes. It makes you cough, but you push through the pungent chemical.

You peel off the cheesecloth and use it to spread formalin into the deeper crevices between his skin and muscle.

Good. There are no maggots yet. It means you still have time.

You discard your gloves for a fresh pair and prepare your tools. You take your forceps and clip the scalpel blade onto the handle. You lay all your tools on a clean cloth for easy reach.

A human’s adipose tissue buildup is thicker than animals. This man’s fat is soft, easily squishable. Sadly, you’re not here to study his fat.

The scalpel blade is balanced perfectly. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You slice through his adipose tissue, discarding it behind you, carving the cadaver until a nice rectangle opening forms. Muscles are grey, not like the red color printed on textbooks. You run your fingers along the smooth fibers of his pectorals. It’s slimy. That’s probably moisture mixing with the formaldehyde.

You quirk your shoulder to adjust the angle of your flashlight, still running your hand on his pectoral.

There, on the side of the chest where a muscle resembles a fan, do you find what you’re looking for.

Taking your probe, you define the muscle. You don’t use your scapple—never a scapple, because it could slice the fibers. You’ll scrape off the muscles later when it’s time to move on to the systems.

You take a pen and write your notes.

Muscle name: Serratus Ventralis. Description: The Serratus Ventralis appears to be a fan-shaped muscle, just like Hyman writes it to be. Although he’s not describing humans, I think it looks the same. Will double check to see if such similarities are indeed correct. Just like the book says, I can see the muscle extending anteriorly and posteriorly from the scapula and to the walls of the thorax. The Serratus Ventralis appears to be divisible into anterior and posterior portions, with the anterior originating deeper into the body. (Will cut open if there is still time.) The posterior border seems to be where it originates from, and while it is buried by other muscles, I think it originates from somewhere between the ribs. Origin, Insertion, Action: Origin: Textbook says it originates from the outer surfaces of the upper eight or nine ribs. (Will double check once I’ve moved on.) Insertion: The muscle fibers appear to move upward to the side. Inserts along the anterior surface of the medial border of the scapula Action: If it indeed is inserted from the scapula, this could mean that it could draw the scapula, forward, backward or against the body.

You flip to the previous page, and cross out Serratus ventralis. You move on to the muscle on your list: Xiphihumeralis. Based on the name, the muscle should pass through the xiphoid process to the sternu—

“Is this what you meant about my trash being your treasure?”

You startle, jumping back until a tree hits you and there’s nowhere else to escape. Run. Run. Run! Your heart screams at you, hammering in your chest. No one is supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be alone. You were careful—not careful enough, apparently.

Alastor emerges from the trees.

He waves at you when your gazes meet, but you don’t wave back. He’s smiling. “Hello,” he greets you with a gentle voice that strikes your core. It would be foolish to mistake his gentleness for kindness. “And yet again, I’m forced to comment on how you have such interesting hobbies.”

You press deeper into the tree, even if a knot digs into your back. “This….” You pause, trying to find your voice. Do you run? “This isn’t a hobby. I’m merely studying.”

Alastor drops a bag on the ground. It looks heavy. “A man?”

“A cadaver,” you say, careful to keep your voice steady. You cannot let this man see any cracks. “They’re already dead, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it be a waste to let them rot like this? At least now, their sorry lives will be making a meaningful contribution.”

The admission of your crime was easy to say. You don’t want to know what that means about you.

Alastor laughs. It’s not that breathy and light laugh he had earlier. This one is lighter, more elated. “Please, tell me more.”

You harden your heart, searching for any speck of bravery. “Why would I?”

Alastor smiles until his teeth show. The moon makes his brown eyes glow—you did not think it would be such an attractive color. “I’m the one holding the large knife.”

You glance at his hand, and oh…that indeed is quite a large knife. It’s not even a kitchen knife, but a proper hunting blade meant to kill. “I see you’re resorting to threats,” you say and you don’t know why you do. It’s not really a smart idea. “I did not think you, a man, would feel the need to say such things to a woman.”

“That was barely a threat,” he says. “I’m just curious to know your motivation to dig up trash.”

“I’m studying—that’s my reason.”

Alastor waves the knife as he talks. “Are there no other dead bodies for you to prey on?” he says. “Don’t hospitals have an area specifically to keep the dead?”

“Only morticians or medical students are allowed access,” you say. “I am neither.”

“Why not become one then?”

“Women as doctors are still a relatively new phenomena,” you say. “There is not a single medical school in this area that will allow me to study, nor are there any that won’t bring me into debt.” Your blood boils and it replaces your thumping heart. It still beats in your chest, but it’s not because of fear. “I needed to find a way to learn, to study, and textbooks could only describe it in words. I want to see for myself.”

Alastor plays with the tip of the knife. “Sounds like a classic case of lusting for knowledge.”

“If lust is to be my sin,” you start and a wonky smile appears on your face, “pride would be yours. A classic case of judge, jury and executioner.”

“I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Well, you are holding the larger knife,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Anything more you’d like to know?”

Alastor hums at you. “How did you figure it out?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” you say, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. “You should buy suspicious items at different times and places. Your turn—How did you know I was here?”

“A little bit of a suggestion?” he echoes laughing like he’s told the funniest joke. “You shouldn’t have told me where you lived so easily. I thought I would have to hang around your clinic for a few days before I got your address.”

“I made sure to be careful.”

“You weren’t in the slightest,” he tells you. “Even an animal is harder to track. It was quite a surprise to see you heading in this direction.”

“Wait…,” you say slowly. “Hang around the clinic? You…you were stalking me?”

“I wouldn’t say stalking,” he says, putting his arms up. “And if we’re pointing fingers, you would have had to follow me around for a few days to learn where I buried my trash.”

Your eyes drift to his bag, and then to his knife. Realization hits you like a cruel bus. You face heat. “You!”

“Me?”

“You lied to me!” you say, venom lacing your words as you puff. “You had no business in the area, nor did you randomly spot me! You followed to kill me, didn't you?”

Alastor smiles at you.

“Oh my God!” you scream at him, throwing your arms into the air. You point at him, glaring “You’re still going to kill me?”

“I can’t exactly let you leave, my dear,” he says, rolling his eyes. “What did you think?”

You stare down at him from your nose. “Don’t be so brainless,” you spit, crossing your arms. “If you would use this thing on your head called a, ‘brain’, and use it to think, you would be able to deduce that you’re currently not in cuffs.”

Alastor glares back at you, tightening his grip on the knife. You don’t give a single flying fuck.

“Since you are adamant on not using your brain, I shall do so for you,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I wanted to rat you out to the coppers, wouldn’t I have done so already? Hmmmm?”

“Don’t speak to me as if I am a child.”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you aren’t thinking like one,” you say. “Why would I tattle on someone for giving me what I want.”

Alastor gives you a dry smile. “So much sarcasm to the person who does so.”

You cross your arms and lean against the tree. “I suppose I should be thanking you.”

“Will you?”

“No,” you say. “I don’t thank liars.”

You smile to yourself when Alastor rolls his eyes and furrows his brow. That strained smile of his is an extra bonus.

“If you’re going to kill me, be quick with it,” you say. “I’d like to die with my dignity as a lady.”

“How curious,” he says. “You’re not going to try and run? Fight me off in some clever way? Those are always the best kinds of hunts.”

You roll your eyes, making a point to show him that you are doing so. “That would be a waste of our time, wouldn’t it? And I think you’ll forgive me if I am not exactly keen on giving my murderer the satisfaction of experiencing ‘the best kinds of hunt’.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light this time. He tosses the knife into the trees and puts his arms up as if surrendering. “It seems you have made me change my mind,” he says. “Not many are able to do so—especially not when I’ve settled on a hunt.”

“What an honor then,” you say, smiling dryly.

“Indeed, it is.” He takes a step forward, and when you don’t run, he walks to you and brushes stray dirt off your shoulders.

“Why change your mind?”

He smiles, inching closer to you. That is for me to know,” he says. “But, what I will say is I know potential when I see it.”

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“Someone, please, kill me again!” Angel Dust massages his forehead with one arm, using the other to empty the bottle. His third arm reaches into the bar shelves for a new one. You stare at his arms and wonder just how it got to be so long. “You’ve got to be shiting me right now. That’s your example? That’s your final answer?”

You pick at the wooden table, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes “Yes…?”

Angel Dust chugs his bottle at your answer. Mimzy avoids direct eye contact, choosing to study her empty glass. Even Sir Pentious keeps his gaze locked to the floor.. You bite on your cheek, letting out a soft huff.

If they didn’t want to know, they should not have asked.

“Out of all the misery he’s caused and will be causing,” Angel Dust says, “you think that Freaky ly’in to you about his reason for walking you home was the best possible example.”

“Yes?”

Angel Dust takes a deep breath. “Let’s be clear, okay? I’ll rephrase what I said, so listen closely,” he says. “Alastor lied about – and let me get this right—he lied to you about why he was in the area, and that’s why – hold on, bear with me – and that is why you were angry.”

You cross your arms, huffing a bit. “You make it sound stupid.”

Mimzy sighs, shaking her head with amusement. “That’s because it is, darling.”

“It is not!” you say, pouting. “It’s a very valid reason to be cross.”

Angel Dust takes another swig of his bottle. “It’s the fact that you weren’t angry that he was going to murder you in cold blood for me.”

You throw your arms into the air. “Okay, so it might not have been the best example,” you say, tapping your legs. “But that isn’t exactly my fault. Alastor is strangely honest.”

Angel Dust gapes at you. “No, he is not!”

“I don’t know, hun,” Mimzy says, leaning against the bar table. “Alastor kina is.”

“You won’t get the truth if you don’t ask,” you say, nodding your head. “And when you do ask, Alastor will either say the full horrifying truth, say it in a way that’s vague but still considered to be true, or dodge and not answer your question.”

Sir Pentious tilts his head, and he keeps a hand on his hat to keep it from falling. “And that is why we should not trust him?”

“There is no we, my dear,” you say. “That’s why you shouldn’t trust him.”

The hotel trembles.

You startle in your seat, gripping the table for stability. Mimzy clutches your arm, and you grab hers. It’s a small reassuring gesture that would make you smile at any other moment. Someone pounds on the door. You snap your head towards the entrance, nearly giving yourself whiplash. The hinges creak with every bang, and you watch with horror as the wooden frame begins to crack. Whatever wants to go in is determined to do so.

“MIMZY! We know you’re in there, you lousy bitch!”

You lock eyes with Mimzy, glaring at her with bristled feathers. “Really?”

“Whooops…?” she says with the most innocent smile. You grab your glass and throw it at her head. Mimzy snarls at you, searching for a stray bottle. She never finds it.

Glass rains down to the floor. Dust fills the space, and you cough when it irritates your throat. The whole hotel is in disarray. With a yelp, you jump away from the bar when one of the bone heads detaches and crushes your seat.

Mimzy scurries behind the bar.

A portal rips open in the middle of the room…Huh, that’s pretty cool. Vaggie steps out, Lucifer and Charlie behind her. “What is going on?”

Mimzy explains what she did. You roll your eyes when she does.

Fireballs shoot out the broken windows.

Motherfucker! You are going to kill Mimzy. You press against the wall to avoid Sir Pentious’ long tail from smacking into you as he slithers about. Angel Dust scurried away at the first sign of trouble. Of-fucking-course this happens today. Niffty scurries about, cleaning every debris in sight, You grab her by the collar, pulling her away from a stray fire. Niffty squirms out of your hold, and hops away. Another fireball keeps you from pursuing her.

“We’re under siege!” Sir Pentious exclaims, slithering about. “Take cover!”

Alastor pops out of your shadow, jerking your arm to pull you away.

You flap your arms to regain your balance.

Alastor keeps a steady hand on your shoulder, his hold on you firm. His touch keeps you grounded. Your eyes flutter to where you pressed against the wall, but Alastor pokes your cheek with the tips of your fingers, nudging your face to keep your eyes on him. The hotel burns in chaos, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat.

Alastor holds your gaze. He smiles at you softly, but you see the hardness in his eyes and the tension is his jaw.

You try to give him your best smile. “Much better?”

“No, not in the slightest” he says, eyes squinting into a harsh glare. Alastor doesn’t frown, but his teeth bare into a snarl. “Are you hurt?”

The hotel trembles, and more fire crashes through the windows.

You try to turn to the chaos around you, but Alastor leans to the side, blocking the surroundings with his face. “I’d like an answer.”

He smoothes the feathers on your hair, and you lean into his hold, shaking your head. “Not a single feather out of place,” you say. “Thank you, my deerest.”

The hotel trembles once more, but you keep your gaze locked into Alastor’s.

“All of you get a safe distance,” Vaggie says, spear raised.” I’ll take care of this.”

Satisfied, Alastor drops his hand from your head and turns to the door. “No, my dear. Leave it to me.” Radio static warps the air around you. His eyes morph into radio dials. “It’s time I remind everyone why I am here.” He has the smile on his face—that same smile that tell you he’s on the hunt. It makes you buzz.

Mimzy pops her head out. “Ugh, finally!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Tendrils shoot out of Alastor’s back and it waves around the air as if owning a mind of its own. His bones break with audible cracks to adjust to his expanding size. “A reminder to all, not to mess with the radio demon!” His teeth stick out when he smiles, and the little ‘x’ on his forehead appears.

Alastor laughs and begins his kill.

You rush out when your husband crawls out the broken doors, bolting from the bar and out the entrance. You watch Alastor. He grabs a shark with the tips of his fingers and uses the others to pull him apart, slowly, painfully, with a grin.

“Mimzy…” you say, slowly.

Mimzy shrinks next to you. “…Yeah?”

Alastor’s nails elongate and he pierces the shark, letting his blood trail down, reveling in his screams. “I really appreciate everything you do for me.”

A leg sails across the air, it’s bone sticking out. You smile to yourself as Alastor hunts down his prey. Blood paints the flowers red when his tendrils wag like a happy tail.

You’re faintly aware of Lucifer and Charlie arguing behind you.

The show is over too soon.

Alastor shrinks, twirls his microphone and stretches.

Mimzy runs, the first to approach Alastor. You don’t hear a word they’re saying, but Mimzy jabs her fingers into his coat. She leaves with a frown and a middle finger pointed at him.

You walk closer to your husband, a smile on your face. Alastor inches to you, bending close enough for you to reach his bowtie. The fabric is smooth against your fingers as your straighten it for him. “Much better?” you ask.

“Indeed.”

“You put up quite the show,” you tell him. “You looked absolutely riveting, my deer.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and he offers his arm, guiding you back into the hotel. “Did I?”

“You always do, my love.”

And oh…

Another song.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Lucifer leaves, taking his singing with him.

As quietly as possible, you grab your belongings and check that nothing is missing: wallet, flip-phone, bus card, pieces of mint, various essential items, and lastly, your umbrella. You step out of what is left of the Hazbin Hotel’s front doors and stifle a yawn. Today’s excitement has gone on for too long. It was time to go home.

Drops of acid fall from the sky, a light drizzle forming. It was a good idea to stash that umbrella in your bag.

Alastor slithers out of your shadow, and covers your heads with an umbrella. “Did you happen to forget your umbrella?”

You force a sheepish smile on your lips. “I did, actually,” you lie to him. “But a walk seems rather lovely today.”

Alastor twirls the umbrella, his smile widening. “May I join you for your walk?”

“Are you not still working?” You glance behind you, observing the hotel.

Angel Dust sweeps glass off the carpet. He steals glances from time to time, trying his hardest to avoid looking in your direction—he doesn’t try hard enough. Your eyes meet, and you brush your stray feathers from your hair. A not so subtle way of showing off your ring. You stick out your tongue.

Angel Dust laughs, shaking his head with amusement.

Alastor adjusts the umbrella, angling it to block the prying eyes from inside the hotel. He raises his eyebrows, looking at you with a questionable glance.

You offer your most innocent smile. “I think they’re going to need a new door.”

“I think it’s time I clocked out,” he sys, inching the umbrella closer. “I shouldn’t have them getting too dependent on me.”

“Are those not grounds for prime picking?”

“I wouldn’t exactly be a doting husband if I left my wife to walk alone in the rain,” Alastor tells you.

“Doting husband?”

He nods, leaning closer to you. “Yes. Was that not your condition for our marriage?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Did I say that?”

“You did.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, humming a bit. “I do not remember saying that at all.”

“Well, it wasn’t for you to remember,” he says. “And in any case, I did not call you to the hotel to prepare for some party.”

“Then why did you call me here?”

Alastor meets your eyes and his smile widens. “Allow me to join you, and you shall find out.”

“You’ve piqued my interest, deerest,” you say. “The best walks are usually the ones that are shared. It doesn’t hurt that you have an umbrella.”

“What would you do without me?”

You roll your eyes, and take a step closer. “You always seem to remember for me.”

Alastor fiddles with the umbrella. “What did you do for several years—get pelted by acid?”

“You would know the answer to that had you been present for those years,” you say and you don’t fight the coy smile that forms on your lips.

Alastor hums in displeasure. “Well, in any case, I only have this one umbrella.”

“I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Yes, it seems we will.”

Alastor offers his arm, and you loop your own around his. He doesn’t need to take precautions to ensure your clothes stay dry nor do you have to for his own attire, not when you press closely against each other. The umbrella covers the both of you just right.

You rest your head on his arm. It’s nice. Warm. Even if it was as thick as a stick. His bones press into your cheek. Your eyes flutter into a close… just… one… second…

Your knees buckle causing you to trip.

A frim grab of your waist keeps you from the ground. Your nose crinkles when you collide with Alastor’s chest. Finding strength in your legs, you dig your foot into the ground and stand.

Alastor keeps his hold on your waist steady, and you don’t move from his hold.

“Before you say anything—you are not fine,” he says. “I don’t want to hear anything else but an agreement.”

You peel your face from his chest, meeting his eyes to give him the brightest smile you can muster. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “It seems…It seems it will be my turn to postpone our outing today,” you say. “The excitement of the day seems to be catching up to me.”

You fell asleep while walking,” he says. “If it was not for me, you would be on the pavement.”

“Then it is a good thing I am no longer alone.”

A single tendril emerges from his back. It wraps around the umbrella’s handle, keeping it secured over your heads.

Alastor’s hand shifts from your waist to your back. You feel his other arm snaking down your legs, trailing your skin until he reaches the back of your knees.

Alastor lifts you like a bride.

Well, you actually are a bride…his bride, specifically.

Alastor continues the walk, holding you in his arms. You lean into him, and he places a chin on your head. “Your pointy chin is poking me, my deerest,” you say but you don’t move to push him off. “It’s digging into my scalp.

His chest rise and fall as he laughs, and you feel every bit of it against your cheek. “I could always drop you right over this puddle.”

“That wouldn’t really be part of the doting husband image, would it?” you say chuckling into his suit.

“No, I guess it would not.”

Smiling to yourself, you nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. “Hey, Al,” you mumble softly, “tell me a story.”

At the corner of your eyes, you see Alastor glance at you. His gaze lasts a second before he turns back ahead. “It was 1929,” he says. “The beginning of the glorious Great Depression.”

You roll your eyes even if he doesn’t see it. “You are the only one I know who calls the Great Depression ‘glorious’. People were starving, and we almost got fired from our jobs.”

“That’s because it was a great year.”

“Because you got to see the sufferings of the masses?” You laugh softly. “That’s definitely something you would do. I can practically hear you laughing at the way they try to claw their way out of misery, only to fail spectacularly.”

“Because we got married that year,” he says. Even if you’re wearing a coat, and Alastor wears his gloves. Even with layers of cloth between your skin, you still feel the way Alastor caress your with his thumb. “Can I continue my story now or would you like to bicker about your failing memory?”

“Continue.”

“So, the start of the glorious Great Depression,” he says. “That day, I saw an ad for the local zoo. I wasn’t doing anything important, so I decided to support my local animals.”

“How kind of you,” you say, stifling a yawn.

“Indeed it was,” he says. “I stalk through the animals. Looking at every malnourished species they kept locked up—”

“You get to the alligator enclosure and to this day, swear that you saw it do a backflip,” you mumble softly, eyes dropping. “That’s pretty good for someone you claim to possess failing memories.”

“Alright then. I shall find another.” Alastor hums as he thinks, and his chest vibrates as he does. “Summer of 1916–long before I met you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” you say, huffing. “I’m well aware of the year we met, my deer. So, Summer of 1916?”

“It was a dark and stormy night. Weird for the summer seasons. Usually, the house becomes a furnace, but it was terribly cold,” Alastor tells you. “During that second night of the hurricane, a knock sounds from the door.”

“Oh… I’ve heard this as well.” You pick on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, tracing the white lines.

“You have?” Alastor raises his eyebrows

“Yes, it was your neighbor. His tree fell into the window and you and your mother ended up sheltering him for the night,” you say. “Then, you’ll tell me that he gifted you three pounts of cheese the next week.”

“I guess there’s nothing left to tell.”

You lean back to meet his eyes. They’re no longer brown. Once, a long time ago, you thought it was your favorite color. Now, you don’t think you’ve ever had a favorite color. You just liked his color. “Nonsense,” you says. “We are definitely not that old. I’m sure there should be be at least a few.”

“Alright, this one began fifteen years ago,” he says, tightening his grip on you. “I was waiting outside St. An’s, and a Sinner came out. It was my first time seeing a cow. It was quite a conundrum because — Oh, I think you’ve heard this already. Have you?”

Your eyelids are heavy. “I have.”

“And you choose not to inform me?”

“Can you tell it to me again?” You sink deeper into his hold.

“Of course, my love.”

Alastor’s steps lag until he comes to a full stop. He holds you in his gaze as the acid rain splatters grow stronger. It’s just you and him in this tiny bubble of an umbrella.

His eyes flicker, touching every inch of this scene. You do not know what he is thinking.

“Are you alright, my love?” you find yourself asking.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m just…trying not to waste, that’s all.”

“Come on,” you say in a voice that is oh so soft.

Alastor continues his story. You don’t hear the end of it.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: | Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| I am excited to know what you guys think about this chapter. My replies and inbox are always open for any questions. I always get so happy to see my notifications. It's a bit addicting actually. Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this story. Every like, reblog, and reply means so much to me. Part 4 will be poasted as soon as possible

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alastor-simp · 8 months

Text

Antidote☠️💉 - Angel Dust x Powerful Reader Part 1

⚠️Warning- This story contains mentions of abuse/sexual themes, so be warned if this makes you uncomfortable. This story is gonna contain some spoilers from Episode 4 of the series⚠️

Twirling the martini in your hand, you let out a sigh. You were sitting at the bar in the Hazbin Hotel, completely bored out of your mind. Your name was Y/N, or Morana, the frost demoness overlord that resided in Pride. Having arrived in Hell a few years ago, the power you wielded toppled over numerous overlords, causing you to be truly feared by those who attempted to threaten you. While you did possess unyielding power, you never used it for sadistic satisfaction, only in means to defend yourself. The true side of you was a compassionate demon, wanting to help those under dire circumstances, and also defend those you loved dearly. How you arrived at the hotel, was during one of your walks down Pride ring, and listened in to the 666 news. The broadcast was focused on Lucifers own daughter, Charlie Morningstar. She was going on about her hotel project that wanted to help rehabilitate demons, making them able to be forgiven to ascend to heaven. The sentiment touched you greatly, while the other demons around you, found it completely ridiculous and went on about their day. In fairness, redemption was not an easy thing to accomplish, and you had committed many sins in hell, that left you with no shot to go up to the golden gates. However, there were demons that either landed in hell for unknown reasons that didn't qualify as sin or wanted to make a change in their current life. Feeling for the kindhearted princess, you decided to head to the hotel, wanting to offer any services you could provide.

Charlie and Vaggie were shocked having seen you at the door, not expecting, not one but TWO overlords coming to the hotel. Charlie had heard the stories about you, but she saw purity in your eyes, and was ecstatic when you offered to help. Vagatha, immediately, pointed the spear to your throat, expected honesty, since you were almost on the same scale as Alastor. She saw no deception when you further explained yourself to her, resulting in her trusting you, but barely. Charlie then introduced you to everyone else that was residing in the lobby.

Laying on one of the couches appeared to be an 8 ft spider-like demon, sporting a semi-revealing outfit with pink gloves and black heels. Based on how he presented himself, he was very confident in his looks. His response to seeing you was a toothy smirk, along with a wink. It caused a bit of pink tinge to your cheeks. You responded back with a smile and wave, as Charlie kept dragging you by the hand. Simply adorable was your thoughts when you saw the little bundle of excitement, speed towards you, smiling wide and hopping with enthusiasm. She commented how pretty you were, before darting to catch the bugs with a needle. Catching a flash of red in the corner, your irises spotted Alastor the radio demon. You had come across him during your time in Hell. The both of you had no beef thankfully. You knew the power he wielded and treated him with respect, despite not enjoying his methods, but he was a gentleman, and that earned points in your book. Alastor assumed you were a power hungry overlord when he saw you near his turf, and couldn't wait to broadcast your screams in Hell. That idea diminished quickly, after learning how charming of a demon you were, and showed no fear when meeting him, acting very cordial with him. "Highly unusual" he thought since many demons feared him on sight, fleeing like cockroaches. He now considered you a very good companion, which wasn't easy to accomplish, so consider yourself VERY LUCKY being in Alastors good books. The last demon, was a anthropomorphic cat demon, standing near the hotel bar. He was guzzling cheep booze, before stopping when you introduced yourself. A head nod was his response to you, as he went back to drinking. Vaggie was able to tell you his name was Husk, and he was a bit of a grump.

Your arrival occurred a few months ago, and you had managed well in the Hotel. True, it was a bit difficult to get new demons to come, but like Charlie, you had many inspiring ideas to help, which Charlie greatly appreciated. Sir Pentious was the new addition to the group. He was very fearful of you since you had roughed him up a bit in the past when he was going around blowing up everything with his blimp. You appeased him, saying that you were here to help and that you would not fight him again. Well, he was very grateful for that. He was a bit of a dork, but he had a soft heart underneath that "wannabe overlord" persona. The relationships you built with everyone only grew over time, and you considered them all family, despite being very dysfunctional. Back to the present at the hotel bar, you were observing Charlie and the others, minus Alastor, watching one of Angels most popular films. It was obvious it was highly inappropriate so you decided to skip seeing it, but you felt rude to just leave the room, so you stayed around.

"Haha! What do you think you f✪✪✪✪? Starting to appreciate how good my skills are yet? I told ya let me do the next advertisement for this place, and there will be a line out the door!" Angel dust exclaimed this, laughing while laying on the couch. Charlie was flushed to her ears, but she was able to clear her throat and said that while she appreciated Angel wanting to help, she didn't want to exploit him like that. Rolling his eyes, Angel just said "whatever toots" and crossed his arms. A loud ringing penetrated the room, causing everyone to jump. It was Angel Dusts phone, giving how quick he got up to answer it. He was quick to walk away from the group, but you knew something was off, as you tried to listen to the conversation. "B-boss, You need me right now?! But I- No no, I'm not- Sigh, okay Valentino." That did not sound good. Your eyes gazed at Angel's face, and you saw the fear plastered all over it. That face was quick to disappear, and Angel put on a wide smile. "Welp. Time to head to work. Sayonara Bit✪✪✪✪" Flashing everyone four middle fingers, he bolted out the door. "Wait Angel" Charlie extended her hand out to stop Angel, but it was too late. Getting up from the bar, you placed your hand on Charlie's back, asking what was wrong. Charlie went on to explain that she wanted to finish the exercise with Angel, but now he got called away from his boss." Charlie insisted that she wanted Angel to spend more time at the hotel, but she knew he had a job to do with his current boss. Thinking of a way to help, your thoughts dissipated when Charlie came up with an idea. She would go to his workplace and talk to Angel's boss. "Charlie, I understand you want to do this, but it might not be so easy to reason with Valentino." Warning Charlie, you tried to make her change her mind but she was determined to do it. Heaving a sigh, you let Charlie go through with the plan, but you were coming along, since you figured she might need some help dealing with the moth man.

"Ah! Angel-cakes~! You made it right on time." Valentino swayed his way over to Angel, who was wearing a large fake smile, as he didn't want to upset him. "Of course, boss!" Angel winked at Val, as his body was getting dragged by him. "Wanted to do a spicy session today~. Couldn't decide on BDSM or doing 20 guys, but I figured why not both. You can handle it right, baby~!" Valentino leaned down towards Angel, exposing his golden tooth, as red saliva dripped from his mouth. Chills rain down Angels back, and he wanted to pull away, but he stopped himself. "Of course Val. You know me. I can go on forever without stopping" Angel smiled through the pain. "Excellent Angel-cakes. Now run along and get ready, and be quick about it" His sweet laced words then turned venomous, as he smacked Angels behind causing him to yelp, as he went into his dressing room. Angel was standing in the center of the shooting room, getting touched up by the makeup crew. Cameras were scattered around the room and stage lights were aiming at Angel. Valentino was sitting in the directors chair, gazing at Angel with glowing red eyes. "Now ACTION!!" The clapperboard snapped, signaling Angel to start. Heaving a deep sigh, Angel put on a smile and started doing what he does best.

youtube

(This song is such a bop and extremely heartbreaking. Credit to Blake Roman and Vivziepop for making this amazing song)

🎶I'm not above a love to cash in Another lover underneath those flashin' lights Another one of those ruthless nights Yeah, yeah, yeah I shoulda' guessed that this would happen I shoulda' known it when I looked in your red-hot eyes Spewin' all your red-hot lies Yeah, yeah, yeah What's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself 'Cause I know you're poison You're feedin' me poison Addicted to this feelin', I can't help but swallow Up your poison I made my choice, and Every night I'm livin' like there's no tomorrow Oh-oh, oh-oh Any way you want me, baby That's the way you got me, I'll be yours My story's gonna end with me dead from your poison I got so good at bein' untrue I got so good at tellin' you what you wanna hear I disassociate, disappear Yeah, yeah, yeah So far beyond difficult to resist another gulp Yeah, I know it's poison You're feedin' me poison I'm chokin' from the taste and I can't help but swallow Up your poison I made my choice, and Every night I'm wasted like there's no tomorrow Oh-oh, oh-oh Any way you want me, baby That's the way you got me, I'll be yours My story's gonna end with me dead from your poison Poison, I'm drownin' in poison I'm fillin' up my glass but it's always hollow Full of poison, I'm sick of the poison Wish I had something to live for tomorrow…🎶

Laying on the floor in his dressing room, Angel was curled up into a ball. Tears were raining down his cheeks, staining it with black mascara. He was in pain, it was clear, but he had to pull through with it, unless he wanted to suffer Valentino's wrath. A knocking was heard from the other side of the door. It was one of the crew members telling Angel it was time for the next session. Collecting himself off of the ground, he walked over to his mirror. Wiping off the stains of ruined makeup, he applied it back on. Staring at himself in the mirror, it took everything in him not to punch his reflection. Taking a deep breath, Angel put on his mask, and headed to the next session. As he made his way over to the shooting spot again, Angel heard voices from the right side of the room. Looking towards them, he gasped in shock, seeing both you and Charlie entering inside the room. "WTH were they doing here?!" he thought as he rushed over towards them. "Oh excuse me, sorry, sorry." Charlie was bumping into everyone, despite blushing as she still wasn't use to this stuff. Following behind her, you tried to look for Angel, until your eyes spotted him walking towards the both of you. "Charlie!! Y/N!! What the f✪✪✪ are you doing here?!" Charlie smiled up at Angel, saying they wanted to see him and if they could talk with his boss. "Now is not a good time! Come on, get out of here before he sees you!" Warning them to leave, Angel tried to push the both of you back outside.

"Well Well, Angel-cakes! You didn't tell me you brought guests to my fine establishment~." A seductive voice came from behind the three of you. Valentino was making his way over, swaying his hips as he walked. "Why if it isn't the Princess of Hell? Such a pleasure to meet you." Valentino bent down, while grabbing her arm, giving it a lick. "Umm hello (no thank you)" Charlie gave an uncomfortable smile, not enjoying what Valentino did. Feelings of disgust began to build up inside you at his actions. His red piercing eyes then locked on you. "Oh what a beauty! Who might you be, darling~?" Valentino had leaned closer to your face, placing his hands around areas that were a major red flag. "My name is Y/N and I prefer if you would remove your hands from me." Your eyes glowed a neon blue, as you had grabbed his arms and push them back towards himself. His eyes widen at that, and a glare flashed towards you before his signature smirk came back. "Oh feisty~. I like that in a lady." Standing back to his regular height, he moved back a little bit and gazed at the both of you. "Now what are you fine specimens doing in a place like this~?" His crimson eyes were piercing the both of you. Angel had moved to the side, gazing down at the ground. He was petrified in fear, you could see it. "Yes, sorry. I was wondering if we could talk to you about Angel." Charlie chirped up, not reading the mood clearly. Valentino placed his hands on his hips, wondering what they wanted with his number one star. "Angel is staying at the Hazbin Hotel, and we had some rehabilitation activities we wanted to do with him. We understand he works for you, but we wanted to know if it was possible if he was able to get a break for today." Charlie's smile was so angelic. You knew she was being very sincere with what she was saying. Gazing at Valentino, you saw the slight twitch in his smirk as Charlie continued to talk.

"Oh I see~ Let me discuss this with Angel-cakes privately~." Angel grimaced at that statement, as he felt an arm loop around his neck, and moving him towards his dressing room. Charlie looked at the both of them with a frown, sensing something wrong. Your emotions were rising as you knew something was very wrong given how Angel was acting when his boss was near. Pushed into the room, Angel turned back towards Valentino. "Wait Val! I didn't know they were gonna show up her-" Angels words were cut off with a backhand to his face. "You pequeña mierda! What gives you the right to bring those sluts to my club?!" Valentino kicked Angel, sending him flying across the room. "AGH" Angel exclaimed in pain, as he hugged himself, shaking in fear. Valentino marched towards him, glaring down at him. Picking him up off the ground, he slammed Angel against the wall. "Do you not remember who owns you?! I'm the one that controls you. I have your soul, or did you forget that?" Choking him, Angel gasped for breath, as the life was squeezed out of him. Valentino smirked down, extending his head next to Angel's ear. "Those little putas can't save you Angel. Besides that hotel is not your home, this is, here with me~. Now, you are going to tell those little c✪✪✪✪ to leave. Understand~" Angel was trying to pull Val's hands off, crying tremendously.

"ENOUGH!!"

TO BE CONTINUED

Tagging:

@forbidden-sunlight

@pinkcrystal44

@veethewriter

@danveration

@sarahwasbeforeee

@cookiekyo

@iiotic

@delectableworm

@91062854-ka

@lovesomemha

@luujjvi

Part 2 Here

Epilogue Here - Warning Smut

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chaifootsteps · 12 days

Note

I originally heard this in a Hazbin Critique video, but the idea of The Heaven Trial showing off all of Charlie’s FAILINGS when it comes to her rehabilitation methods would’ve been an amazing idea, Because showing that her tactics weren’t working would finally give her something to actually grow from as a character, that she can’t expect Trust Falls and Camp Games to adequately rehabilitate drug addicts and murderers, and if she actually wants to achieve her goal of getting people into heaven, she has to actually dig deeper and address the guests’ serious problems seriously instead of handling everything with kid gloves.

But NAHHHHHH we just HAD to get to that Heavenly war in SEASON 1, so for plot convenience, Charlie’s Daycare Center way of handling things works perfectly fine

Can't have any real, hard earned growth or indications that her mandatory "let's clap hands" rehabilitation methods are misguided.

#Anonymous #hazbin hotel critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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desultory-novice · 7 months

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White-Haired Noir (Older)

I wasn't kidding when I said Noir has become more of "my OC" than before. Anyway, they tell me cringe is dead, so let's get on with it!

BE HAPPY TEENAGE BOY ...Uh... ADULT MALE??!

(Pictured: Would you believe this guy was once my Dark Matter Swordsman???)

No longer a teary-eyed apprentice, White-Haired Noir in ~the future~ (circa Star Allies??) has become a knight in his own right, swearing his service to Dedede as thanks for helping house the bruised, battered, emotionally unstable teen boy so many years ago.

Dedede Stop Adopting People Challenge (impossible)

Over the years (and with plenty of hard hitting, gloves-off training from Meta Knight) Noir has both grown up and grown accustomed to life on Popstar. He's regained some semblance of a life (gasp!) and inner peace. (...When Popstar's not being invaded, that is.)

He has friends (and rivals), is able to stomach food and drink a bit better, and has accepted Gooey, finally. He can even speak positively of his lost childhood with his little sister, on occasion.

Despite Popstar's generally warm weather, the Shiver Star native continues to dress in highly concealing fashion, as his upper body still bears the scars of his interrupted Dark Matter transformation; one reason he grew his hair out long was to help conceal the ones on his neck better, so as not to frighten the younger Waddle Dees.

[Assorted Text Wall Below]

Age Range: Mid 20s and up (Tbh, his specific age'll probably fluctuate depending upon the kind of story I want to tell. This is, quite simply, an adult Noir who's got his life more together.)

Abilities: Mild regenerative abilities, magic reflection, healing/purification, light projection [Rainbow Sword]

Protective magic and various physical ability-boosting magic [These come courtesy of the crystals adorning his jacket, a gift from the Queen of the Fairies. Noir is still a squishy human, after all. His fine swordplay aside, he needs magical enhancements to not get accidentally steamrolled by Kirby's other friends.]

Hobbies: swordplay, stargazing, crochet (Taranza taught him the last one, both as a mental grounding exercise and to help rehabilitate Noir's Dark Matter corrupted hands for performing delicate tasks. Half of Dream Land has one of Noir's early crochet octopi sitting in their storage. Nowadays, he makes toys for the younger Dees.)

Etc: Because of his closeness with King Dedede (and in large part due to their matching scarves/sashes), his general protectiveness of the Waddle Dees, as well as his fairy-tale outfit (which Ribbon helped with) Noir has picked up nickname of the "Prince of Dream Land"

A highly unfitting one, Noir has been heard to privately complain. In what world could an unwashed, damaged, sharp-tongued orphan with hands near-literally dyed in blood become a prince...?

Height-wise, if we consider King Dedede to be one of a breed of extinct "mega penguins" then Noir, fully grown, is of comparable height. (Dedede insists he's taller because of this crown puff. Huzzah! His title as king is safe!) In human terms, this does make Noir a short king :cough: prince, which in his case is due to malnourishment, physical abuse during puberty, and just plain genetics. ^^;

Anyway, despite how shockingly decent he looks cleaned up, Noir is still a feral cat at heart, and he hasn't lost his sass either, even if the edges have been somewhat filed off with time.

(Even the most angsty and tragic of emo boys can only go so many years with sparkly, shimmering, pastel rainbow hair (1) before they give up the act and start smiling ju~st a little more! ^_-)

(1) It is completely impossible for Noir to return his hair to its original dark maroon/black, btw. Even the strongest dye refuses to stick.

...And yes, he has attempted.

(Q: When is this...? Cause he still looked 16 in that FL comic you did.) (A: That's because I hadn't thought ahead when I wrote it! This form is basically meant as something to pull out for the later games with some extra padding for any future games/events. >w< )

(Q: So... is that FL comic still Apologies canon?) (A: ~ish! He would definitely be his older self now. That said, this Noir did still encounter Elfilin by chance, immediately recognized him as ID-F86, and had a PTSD episode over it, dredging up old memories he'd believed he had come to peace with. It was the closest the Dark Matter in Noir had come to re-awakening in years. Elfilin's sincere apology to the innocent victims of Forgo's rage helped Noir keep from losing himself completely and he was able to recover.

Also, following Crystal Shards, Noir DID resume having daily nightmares about Adeleine and her fate. That was why MK encouraged him to stay with the fairies of Ripple Star for a time and recuperate; that Noir could resume his training with Meta Knight later on. The grateful fairies all turned out to completely ADORE him - particularly, his shining rainbow hair. This period away from Popstar meant that he totally missed out on Amazing Mirror though.)

(Q: If he missed Amazing Mirror, what games DIDN'T he miss?) (A: He was actually there for a somewhat altered version of Meta Knightmare Ultra in Planet Robobot! It was his first "mission" with his teacher. (And I have a fanfic brewing about that, thanks to the anon who asked what if Noir got within wishing distance of Star Dream...)

Unlike Meta's relationship with Kirby, where Meta trusts Kirby to bounce back from everything and is excited :wipes drool off face: to see how much Kirby will grow, Meta Knight tries (somewhat) to keep his very human disciple out of danger, if he can. He's not soft on him by any means, with hard blows and even harder life lessons, but he knows that Noir came to them hanging onto life by a very frayed thread and he only pushes as far as he believes Noir can take.

Nowadays, he's much more trusting of him to handle himself.

(Q: Assuming he was in SA, where was he during TDX, RtDL, and FL? (A: In both Triple Deluxe and Forgotten Land, he was away from Popstar. Record of Stopping Dedede Abductions: 0/2. He rolled his eyes at a giant beanstalk erupting from Dream Land leading to a kingdom in the clouds "...You're kidding?" and Dedede was stomping mad when Noir laughed outloud about the story of the abduction - which concealed the fact that Meta Knight WAS LAUGHING TOO.

In Return to Dream Land, Noir was still on Popstar but didn't participate in the adventure in any capacity. When everyone returned and told the tale of Magolor's betrayal, his response was a deadpan, "Okay but you all saw that coming a mile away though, right? .........Tell me you saw that coming." He was a little less sassy when he heard Magolor's downfall came at the hands of a corrupting artifact.)

(Q: Wasn't Noir taller than Dedede in that one random sketch?) (A: As an Earth human. Noir eventually became Popstarian size.)

(Q: It's nice that he's okay but... but Adeleine... ; _ ; ) (A: Yeah... However, similar to Blade and Gooey in the main verse, in the AU AU, it was Painter who took care of and sheltered the Dark Matter outcast. Noir initially hated Gooey, because he despised Dark Matter for destroying his family and he hated it every time Gooey tried to approach him - like a sign that he would never escape his mistakes. Only later was he forced to confront Gooey and realize that Gooey was always seeking Noir out because of Adeleine's memories Gooey had taken in. They eventually had a painful heart to heart, where Noir was able to experience his sister's last memories through Gooey. Noir now lets him wear Painter's beret in memory of her.)

Anyway, that's now two (and a half (?) if you count "Snowflakes") Noirs who have escaped the cycle of misery! Hooray!

Don't worry, Main Timeline Noir, your salvation comes next............Probably???? >w<

#Kirby #Kirby OC #Apologies AU #Apologies AU AU #Noir (human form dms)#I've got more sketches of him cooking but this post was already getting long with just the text alone #Has Dess said how much Dess hates costume design??#(He takes a LOT of elements from MK due to his training)#The hair ribbon was gift from... Ribbon #I wonder if White-Haired Noir needs a new tag now #Seeing as how the DMS elements of him are running low #cw: character death #...for Adeleine ^^;#King Dedede #Adeleine #I may let him play in the OC Reindeer Games now maybe???#I am not sure who WANTS to yet ^^; ... plus I feel like not drawing humans is why a good chunk of us are here but! XD #(Stop being nervous Dess and indulge in the cringe!!!!)

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codenamesazanka · 4 months

Text

Here's the intro snippet of my AU where Spinner wasn't able to wake Shigaraki up, the League got captured at Jaku, and Shigaraki stayed comatose for like half a year before the HPSC was able to separate AFO (quirk) from him, which would hopefully get rid of his regeneration and they can execute him.

Unexpectedly, the procedure triggered amnesia in Shigaraki, so when he woke up, he only has his memories of Tenko, pre-AFO, though mentally and physically he's still 21-years-old. (he knows things, he just as no memories or experiences attached to knowing) All Might pleaded for stay of execution, and instead give Tenko rehabilitation. It was granted.

Basically Amnesic!Shigaraki/Tenko AU.

•

On Thursdays, the man who calls himself All Might comes to visit him. He matches nothing in Tenko’s memories of the Hero Tenko once admired, skeletally skinny where All Might was wide and huge, quiet and serious contrasting boisterous brightness, and in place of the welcoming smile the Hero always had was instead a nearly permanent frown, as if the tips of his mouth were tugged down by invisible weights he carried with him everywhere.

One of those weights is Tenko himself. Yagi won’t admit it, even though it looked like a hundred more kilograms got added to the dreary pull when Tenko had said this. If it weren’t for the fact that his statement is true, Tenko would almost feel like an evil Villain (ha) for dealing such a blow to All Might.

(Honesty isn’t wrong, Tenko had argued to Dr. Neri.

But insensitivity is, the therapist replied.)

“You don’t have to visit me every week,” Tenko says to Yagi, now knowing to roll his words into smooth round balls like the clay he was allowed to play with once. “It’s boring here, and you’ve got other stuff to do, don’t you?”

Meetings to attend. Students to teach. His life to get back to.

“I want to be here,” Yagi says. “I enjoy these visits, Young Tenko.” Then he smiles, but softly.

(Smile back, the therapy voice inside Tenko’s head advises.)

“…Suit yourself,” Tenko says, shrugging, then, remembering himself, stopped his hand from rising to rub at his neck. He places his hands back flat on the table, the cuffs of his gloves clanking against the surface, metal against metal. Turning the sound into taps, he begins recounting all he had done since he saw Yagi last. “Then, this week… I read that book Midoriya recommended, the one about UFOs. I finished the forest puzzle. Dr. Neri brought in macarons, but I didn’t like them much…”

“Too sweet?”

“All strawberry flavored. I guess I’m not a fan of strawberries…”

They chat like that for an hour, Tenko grasping for details to share. His memory is at the point where he can recount every meal he had last week, if out of order. Compared to when he first started rehab, unable to pick out the words he wanted to use, or recall his own age after being told just minutes before, it’s a huge improvement.

Past that, though…

When time’s up, Yagi walks him to his cell, before leaving back into the broken world that Tenko came from but cannot recall.

•

In this AU post-Jaku, Hero Society has captured Shigaraki and most of the League/PLF; Tartarus is still locked up; now it’s promising the masses that things will ‘go back to normal’. everyone kinda wants to swept away the whole mess and move on learning not a single thing.

Most of the public thinks Shigaraki is locked up deep in Tartarus, shackled 24/7; instead of at a very guarded private villain hospital undergoing rehab. All Might really wants Tenko to be rehabilitated. He also really hopes Tenko will never regain his memories of being Shigaraki. No one does. They hope to iron out all his edges (both amnesia-induced and seemingly innate) too. Clean slate.

The story told to Tenko is that he has been kidnapped and held prisoner by a Villain for the past 15 years. He was only recently rescued, but thanks to a psychic quirk attack, he lost his memories. He unfortunately was forced to participate in criminal acts, so he's in prison/rehab. Tenko is generally agreeable, tho feeling stifled. He is very aware of this giant void of information no one is telling him, but reluctantly trusts his doctors that it's just temporary as he makes his recovery. He is also very aware of the way people treat him - so careful, so aloof, so wary - but given how he's a criminal, that's probably to be expected. Still hurts, though.

Trouble starts when Tenko slowly starts regaining his Shigaraki memories. The HPSC wants to execute him. The doctors think it's possible to have him regain his memories while 'keeping' non-dangerous, non-villainous Tenko. They just have to help him regain his memories in a controlled manner.

Enter Iguchi Shuuichi. Weakest member of the League, but still have been locked in Tartarus for the past year. He's not doing well. But the doctors think he's the safest option to introduce to Tenko to help nudge memories out, so he's now allowed weekly supervised visits to Shigaraki Tenko. Before the visits started, psychologists drilled into him what he can or cannot do, what he can or cannot bring up. They also went and mindfucked him by convincing him that his relationship with Shigaraki was fake and toxic, he was essentially accessory to AFO's long-term grooming and Stockholm Syndrome, and if he cared about his friend at all, he'll help them rehabilitate Tenko. Yeah, Shuuichi was not doing well, but he'll endure it to be able to see his friend again.

They're fast friends, Tenko and Shuuichi, despite Shuuichi's depression and nervousness. They play games together, they watch TV together, but often they can just talk and talk for the entire hour. There's a deep sadness to Shuuichi, though, that Tenko wished he could help unravel and dissipate. When he tried, once, asking about Shuuichi's hometown, about Shuuichi's school days, Shuuichi got bodily taken out of the meeting room by guards and the following week's session was canceled.

(Prohibited Topic: Bullying. Risk of triggering aggression in Tenko.)

Tenko didn't like that.

Eventually, he finds that there are many things he actually doesn't like. He doesn't like that all the books and media allowed into his cell must be pre-approved. He doesn't like the way he gets interrogated for each recovered memory. He doesn't like the way Toshinori looked so grim when Tenko decided to switch from 'boku' to 'ore'. And most of all, he doesn't like the way Shuuichi looks so empty and haunted, so quiet and passive. It's because of this place, Tenko feels. They might be criminals, they might be Villains, but they shouldn't be made to feel so small and cornered.

This is the way things work here, the doctors tell Tenko.

Then I hate it, Tenko thinks, and feels a strange intense burst of energy in his chest.

Lots of stuff happen. More bad than good. For the end of the fic, though, this is what I think:

Toga, who escaped Heroes, and has been regrouping with other escaped PLF members, shows up on Gigantomachia at the hospital to rescue Tenko. Tenko has a choice: Go with Toga, or retreat with the staff to wait for Heroes. This is where everyone waits to see if the months of rehabilitation had worked…

To everyone’s disappointment and some surprise, Tenko decides to go with Toga.

Someone yells. "Tenko. Don’t leave. You were doing so well."

"...Was I?"

"Don’t you remember? Wanting to be a Hero? You told us that yourself."

"…I remember wanting to help people. I remember wanting to be kind."

"Yes, exactly! That’s still you—"

"—That’s why. I want to save people... even if they are the ones Heroes don’t. Even if no one else does. If I want to be a hero… then it’s to all the ones that get ignored."

Then Tenko joins Toga and they goes to get Shuuichi Spinner. Let's throw in Tenko rescuing Spinner in bridal carry too, somehow.

#nalslastworkingbraincell #AU #AU Idea #fanfic #nalwrites #Shimura Tenko #Iguchi Shuuichi #Spinner #Shigaraki Tomura #My take on the 'revert Tenko idea'

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takami-takami · 1 year

Text

Father.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. angst. hurt/comfort.

warnings— past abuse. substance use. trauma.

The parchment held in his gloved hands is yellowed, he notices. To the unfamiliar eye, the brown of the stain smudging black inked letters could be coffee, or perhaps tea.

To Keigo, the imprint of a splatter from cheap booze is unmistakable.

Beer, he assesses, flipping the letter once, twice. He watches the paper like a specimen under a microscope, with what— to the unfamiliar eye— looks like cold indifference. To the familiar, his face is drenched in what he could only describe as pity.

He holds it away from his face, the stink of cologne burning his senses.

Words spring off the page, clawing at his eyes. They were illegible long before the black ink began to run down the page with liquor. Words like "rehabilitate" and "did my time" and "still your father" and "hero" and "start over."

Words like "again".

And again, and again, and again.

Keigo sighs as he places it down onto the coffee table with care. He wouldn't want to wrinkle it any further than it already is.

He'll have to have a strict talking to with one of his handlers about yet another privacy leak. He shrugs off his coat as he stalks down his living room, reluctant to remove the barrier between his body and world outside him. Like a child, he chastises himself, walking toward the most stable part of his apartment.

Keigo doesn't understand why he pushes his bed against the wall that night, nor does he grasp exactly why he feels the need to pull his comforter over his ears and neck.

Everyone deserves a second chance, he thinks.

He shuts his eyes. He watches his values dance behind his eyelids, a picturesque show of gentler men in suits, of new beginnings. He thinks of Endeavor almost on instinct, as he does most times his father appears like a mirage in his memory.

There's a cognitive dissonance there that eludes him, between his firm belief in people's ability to change, and the arm's length he keeps between himself and his parents. He must have abandoned his mother, he believes. Through all the years Keigo spent saving others, a part of his spirit always looked upon her story with regret.

He shouldn't have to be the parent, but he could. He could if he tried harder.

But his father...

A single feather zooms toward the door of his bedroom, shutting and locking it. No one can get in the apartment to begin with, strictly reinforced for the protection of a pro hero by the HPSC; but he'd really feel a lot better with his bedroom door closed.

After tossing for fifty-three minutes and twenty-one seconds exactly, he huffs and pulls out his phone, scrolling down his contacts to the name surrounded with hearts.

C'mon... Pick up. Please.

It rings. He chews his nails.

"Hi, baby!"

Oh thank fucking God.

"H-Hey! Sweetheart, what's up?"

The phone goes silent for a moment. The pause makes Keigo's muscles clench.

"...Something's wrong, isnt it?"

He flops back against the pillow, running a single palm down his face and letting out a stuttered laugh.

"Woah! Took you, like, four seconds. That's a new record, babe. Feeling particularly perceptive, or was it that obvious?"

"It was that obvious," you answer, muffled through the speakers.

He smiles, pulling the covers down a bit while he fidgets with a loose string.

"Mm. Could you, um," he starts, glancing at the door as he sits up. "I know it's late, but could you... Swing by?"

His fidgeting gets worse, he notices. An intense expectation for someone to swat his hand down creeps forward from what appears to be nowhere.

"Baby... Of course," you croon. Your words crawl out from the speaker, cradling him in a swaddle of safety and promise. He lets out a breath.

"You've still got the key, right?"

"Always do, angel."

#sorry i had to write this to be normal #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #bnha imagines #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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steveshairychest · 2 years

Text

Outlaw Eddie who puts on a tough guy act in front of everyone else but then he goes home to his sweet farmer husband that bakes him pies, and the tough guy is immediately left at the front door. The second his hat and boots come off, he's no longer wanted outlaw Edward Munson, he's just Eddie. He loves to dance in the kitchen with Steve, enjoys reading on their front porch and talking to all their chickens while he walks around making a crude pattern with the chicken feed.

When he's home, he tries not to talk about what goes on outside of their small bubble of happiness. Steve knows what he does, he knows Eddie is a horse thief but he also knows that Eddie only steals horses from people that treat them badly. Eddie owns a sanctuary a little under an hours ride away from their cosy ranch, it's secluded and surrounded by trees and it's right next to a river. The horses love to follow Eddie around; they trail behind him while he checks the fence line, they nip at his hair when he's trying to tie it up before cleaning their stalls and they follow him down to the river on hot days. Some of the younger horses like to lay in the cool grass next to the river and listen to Eddie strum his guitar while singing Steve's favourite songs.

Eddie and the rest of his gang rehabilitate the horses and then sell them to good people, people that will love and look after them, but sometimes it's hard to see them go. He loves each and every one of them. He spends months with them, training and teaching them to trust people again, feeding them Steve's homemade snacks and whispering secrets to them while he grooms them.

Steve knows when one of Eddie's favourite horses has found a new home because he'll come home and instead of walking inside to kiss Steve's cheek like usual, he'll plop down in the old rocking chair out front and chain smoke for nearly an hour. "Why don't you take a break? We have plenty of savings, Robin could handle the ranch on her own and I'm sure the sheriff would appreciate not having to chase you around for a while." Steve says one afternoon when Eddie gets home a lot grumpier than usual.

Eddie scratches at his beard, it's unkept and a little patchy in places, but Steve loves it. "I have too much work to do." He stubs his cigarette out against his gloved hand and leans back in the rocking chair to look up at Steve, who is leaning against their porch railing with a glass of rum in hand. "I can't abandon them, Steve."

"Taking a break isn't abandoning them, Eds." He swirls his glass and looks over his shoulder at their own two horses, both stolen from bad men and given a new life. "You've earned a break. I can see how much this is affecting you, you've come home nearly every day this week and sat out here like a sad, old man."

Eddie scowls, but he knows Steve is right. He loves his job but it's also hurting him. Each horse he brings in becomes a part of his heart, and it hurts to watch each little piece be taken away once his job is done.

"I guess.. a holiday would be nice." He sighs. He's nearly 40 now and not once has he had longer than two days off. He's tired, so, so tired.

"I'm glad you agree because a carriage will be here in- " Steve looks down at his watch. "20 minutes. We're going to the city for a week."

Eddie can't stop the smile that breaks out on his face as he jumps out of his chair to chase a cackling Steve inside. "You cheeky little shit!"

#i have no idea where this came from but HERE U GO #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #st4 vol2 #steveddie #stranger things s4

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jacksfandomrandom · 1 month

Text

Meltdowns

Summary: Vaggie has a meltdown during an activity out in the city. she runs away from the group but luckily, a kind overlord and her daughters help her out.

@thefreakyfader

A couple months before the extermination, Charlie came up with a couple more ideas to rehabilitate Pentious and Angel. One of those ideas was picking up trash and garbage from the streets of pentagram city. Vaggie liked the idea until her girlfriend said she wanted everyone to participate. The city was always so loud and had a lot of different smells and scents that were not pleasant at all. Usually, she was able to hide ear plugs in her ears whenever they would go out, but she had just run out of them. Those things seemed to get lost very easily and it would take forever for her to find them again before they would head out.

‘Come on, Vaggie, it’ll just be a little noise and a couple of smells, you can do this. Stop being a baby’ Vaggie internally told herself as they were leaving the hotel.

They walked down the streets, picking up any garbage they could find and throwing it into some trash bags. Every single noise seemed loud as fuck. It was mixed with a bunch of weird smells and texture too. Even with gloves on, the texture of the trash felt unbearable. She whimpered a little as she picked up a really gross and dirty dildo from the street and threw it into her garbage bag.

Suddenly, she heard screaming and then bombs, gunshots, and more screaming coming from around the block. She dropped the bag and tried to cover her ears but the gross residue that was on her gloves made everything worse when they touched her ear skin. Everything felt too much. The noises, textures, and smells made her feel very overwhelmed. Her heart beat uncontrollably fast and it was getting hard to breathe. Every little thing felt painful to her.

Vaggie tried to rip the gloves off her hands but was having a hard time since she was shaking.

“-ggie?” Charlie, worried for her partner, put a hand on her shoulder. This singular touch sent Vaggie into hysterics. She started sobbing and wailing, hating the touch. Charlie immediately recoiled her hand and tried asking her what was wrong. This worry that she displayed caused everyone else except Angel to rush to her side with concern. She could see Angel scoffing and rolling his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone cornering her and bombarding her with questions made everything so much worse. She just needed to get out of there. So she ran. She ran as far as she could before collapsing in an alleyway. She could still hear loud noises but they weren’t as bad as screaming, it sounded like she was near a warehouse.

After a bit of hyperventilating, sobbing, and trying to get her gloves off, she felt someone’s presence enter the alleyway.

“Hey, are you okay?” the figure asked. Vaggie looked up and saw someone with blonde hair, glasses and a lab coat. They reached out to her but she quickly curled away. They didn’t pester on though.

“I’m going to get some help, stay here, okay?” They told her. She desperately wanted to yell no but she couldn’t speak. Her voice was caught in her throat

Before she knew it, the person fled, going to get the help they told her about. Vaggie tried to stand up but her legs shook tremendously and she fell back down on the hard floor. She shut her eye tight and started flapping her hands rapidly, needing to do something to calm herself. Stimming felt like the only way.

When she opened her eye again, there was a really tall woman in front of her. This freaked her out even more so she tried to bang her head against the wall. The person from before put her hands in between the concrete wall and her head. Vaggie continued to cry and scream as the taller woman kneeled down with something in her hands. The object was getting closer and closer to her face. She didn’t want to die yet. What if what they had was angelic steel? However, she did not feel any pain when it made contact with her. It felt like…headphones? There were headphones on her ears. It didn’t feel like the kind that you listen to music with. It was like the ones that construction workers use. All the noises were muffled now and quiet

“Shh, it’s okay Cariño. Take some deep breaths,” The taller woman had told her. Sure, it was a bit muffled, but she could still hear her.

Vaggie looked up and saw her demonstrating some breathing exercises. Realizing that she was trying to help, Vaggie copied her breathing.

After a few minutes of stimming and breathing, she felt a lot calmer. She finally took in her surroundings. She saw that the blonde girl from before and another girl was just outside the alley, trying to calm down a very worried Charlie but making sure to keep far enough from Vaggie as to not overwhelm her again.

“You feeling a bit better?” The woman asked. Vaggie nodded.

“Good. I’m Carmilla Carmine. You gave us quite a scare. I almost never see a meltdown that bad before,” The woman, Carmilla, said.

“V-vaggie,” Vaggie introduced herself, being able to find her voice again, “H-how did you know w-what was h-h-happening?”

“One of my daughters, Odette, has autism too,” Carmilla explained, “She also deals with meltdowns like these,”

Charlie had managed to wiggle past Odette and Clara, and run up to Vaggie.

“Oh my gosh! Vaggie, are you okay?! What happened?! You started crying out of nowhere!”

“Princess, please step back before you overwhelm her again. She’s recovering from an autistic meltdown,” Carmilla said, pushing Charlie back a little, “Please wait outside. I promise you, she will be okay,”

The princess huffed, wanting to fight, but she saw how Vaggie was starting to get worked up again. She calmed herself and went to wait outside of the alleyway.

“Now, I suggest you go back home and rest,” Carmilla suggested.

“Th-thank you for helping me. I-is there anything I- I can do to r-repay you?” Vaggie asked. She felt like she needed to repay her for helping her.

“That is not necessary. But Odette has been getting pretty lonely lately. If you have any free time, give her a call,” Carmilla reached into her pocket and handed Vaggie a business card with a phone number on it.

“Thank you,” Vaggie mumbled, still having a bit of trouble speaking.

“It’s not a problem. Now, please go rest. You can keep the ear defenders too,”

Vaggie smiled and got up with a little bit of help from Carmilla. After explaining the situation, Charlie understood and promised to not overwhelm her again. Of course, that wasn’t true, as she could overwhelm her without even knowing. But Vaggie appreciated the thought.

Once vaggie was okay with touch, Charlie helped her get her gloves off and carried her back to the hotel. After getting her everything she needed to relax, Charlie went back out to finish the activity while her partner stayed inside.

Vaggie then spent the rest of the afternoon cuddling her plushies that Charlie had gotten her and playing calming games on her switch.

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie x vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel charlie #angst #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin fanfic #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla #autistic!vaggie

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vodika-vibes · 4 months

Note

Hey Vod’ika, congratulations on 650 followers!🥳 You’re such a talented and creative writer, and I really enjoy reading your fics!

For your follower event, could I request a Mereel x fem reader in a Mermaid AU? With either Mereel or the reader being a merperson?

Please and thank you🥰

Lucky

Summary: You’ve always been a lucky person, good things just happen to you. Even when things go wrong for you, it almost always twists into working out in your favor. You’re still not sure whether stumbling on an injured merman is good luck or bad, but in the end it doesn’t matter. After all, you’re not about to abandon him.

Pairing: Mereel Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 1711

Prompt: Mermaid AU - set in the same setting as my most recent Tup and Jesse fics, so there's also some soulmate AU added in there

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @kimiheartblade

A/N: Thank you for your request! I had a lot of fun with this one, but I also love writing the Skirata boys, and Mereel is one of my favorites.

“You seem to be healing nicely,” You note as you carefully examine his tail fin, “Though it is going to scar.”

“Oh no, not a scar.” Mereel jokes as he lounges in the recovery pool located in your backyard, “I can’t imagine ever having one of those.”

You dip your fingers into the water of the recovery pool and flick the water at his face, “Honestly, you’re lucky your whole fin wasn’t ripped off. It’s no joking matter!” You plant your hand on your hip and point at him.

“I’m lucky that you found me.” He corrects with a wide grin.

You squint at him suspiciously, but drop your hands, “How’s the pain today?”

He twitches his fin, and sucks in a sharp breath.

You frown, “Still bad, then.”

“It’s better than it was.” Mereel replies, “I couldn’t move it at all right after you found me. Lucky for me that you’re a rehabilitator for marine animals.”

“I’d have brought you to a doctor if I thought they would help.” You grouse, as you hop into the recovery pool and walk around the shallower ledge to get a better look at his tail.

“Yeah, I don’t really want to end up in an aquarium like Echo did.”

“I would never let that happen.” You pat the ledge, “I need your tail up here, Mereel.”

He narrows his dark eyes at you, “You’re going to give me another shot, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes in return, “You big baby. I can numb the injection point if you want.”

He pouts at you, childishly, “Yes please.”

“My normal patients don’t complain.”

“Your normal patients don’t have vocal chords.” Mereel points out as he watches you clamber out of the pool and walk over to where you keep the pain medicine and the numbing lotion.

“You’re a big baby is the problem.”

“Hey! You can’t talk to me like that. I’m an invalid.” He sniffs.

“Keep it up, and you will be.” You hop back into the recovery pool and sit on the edge, “Tail up here, please. I need a dry spot for the numbing lotion to work.”

“And you’re sure it’ll hurt.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“That answer does not instill confidence in me.” Mereel counters as he pulls his tail out of the water and drapes it over your lap.

“And yet you still trust me to help you.”

He shrugs, “I like to live dangerously.” Though when it looks like you’re about to dry his tail while your hands are bare, his tail twitches, “Gloves.”

You hold up your hands, “Okay, okay.” You pull the gloves to your wetsuit back over your hands, “See, gloves.”

Mereel sighs in relief and relaxes slightly while you grab the towel and start to dry off the spot around his fin. You know that it’s not comfortable for him, based on the way his tail twitches on your lap, and the sharp exhales.

You need to distract him from the pain.

You search your mind for a conversation topic, before grabbing the easiest one with both hands, “So, why were you so close to shore anyway?” You’ve asked him this before, but he was in so much pain, and drugged up on painkillers, that he hadn’t been able to answer you.

Mereel doesn’t answer, and you glance at his face. He looks a little embarrassed, “No reason.”

“Oh, come on. After all this, you don’t think I deserve an answer? I’m feeding you, treating you, had to give you surgery-” You list.

“Okay, okay!” Mereel huffs out, “I was coming to the surface to sing.”

“...you lost me.” You admit as you squint at the dry spot on his tail, and then open the tube of lotion to apply it to his tail.

“How much do you know about the merpeople?” Mereel asks, wincing at the odd feeling of the lotion against his tail.

“Not a lot. I mean, the old lady at the grocery store tried to warn me about the ‘ocean claiming women’ but I thought it was just an old wives tale.” You reply.

“Right, well…she’s not wrong. The Ocean does claim women.” Mereel admits, “But it’s not a bad thing. Merpeople have soul mates, and we sing to find them.”

“Soul mates,” You murmur, “Hm…romantic. And kind of nonconny, but continue.”

“It is not!” Mereel pauses, “Wait, what does that mean?”

“Non-consensual.”

“We don’t do anything without our mates permission!” Mereel sputters.

“Of course not.” You wave your hand, “But, like, if you don’t have a choice-”

Mereel huffs and splashes you with water.

“Hey, hey!” You fold your arms over his tail, “Mind the medicine!”

“The binding is romantic and perfect.”

“Yeah? And what if your soulmate is evil?”

“Impossible.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t be that naive.”

“It is impossible! The magic exists to protect merpeople. Ergo, no evil soul mates.” Mereel sniffs. “Anyway, our mate can break the bond by refusing us.”

“So your mate can break the bond, but you can’t. Pretty sure that makes you fate’s prisoners.” You say dryly, as you check to make sure the lotion is dry, and then press a light finger against his tail, “You feel that?”

Mereel glances at your finger, “I can feel pressure, but nothing else.”

“Good.” You prepare the syringe, and Mereel shifts. “What now?”

“Why’s it so big?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.”

“You have a terrible bedside manner.” Mereel notes.

“I’ve never needed one before,” You reply dryly, you glance at his face, and then sigh, “Look over there.” You say, pointing away from the needle.

Immediately, he does and you press the needle into his tail, he doesn’t even twitch. “There’s a whole ritual to turn our human soulmate into a mer so we can be together.” Mereel says, “Singing to find them is just the first part.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It’s magic.” Mereel counters, “It’s not supposed to be easy.” He pauses, and laughs, “You know, if you touched my tail without wearing gloves the magic would kick in and you’d drown even on dry land.”

You pause from where you’re recapping the needle, and shoot him an odd look that he doesn’t see, “When?”

“Sorry?”

“When is that supposed to happen, because you’ve been here for weeks, and I’m still not drowned.”

Mereel turns and blinks at you, “You touched my tail!?” He sounds affronted.

“Would you have preferred that I left you to bleed to death on the beach?”

“Of course not!”

“Look,” You lower his tail back into the water, “You said that the magic is all about protecting your people, right?” He nods, “So maybe the magic can detect, I dunno, intention or something. My intention was to save you, not…mate with you so nothing happened.”

“...normally people freak out about magic.”

“I’ve had a merman living in my recovery pool for close to three weeks now.” You reply, “Anyway, if you want to sing, or whatever, feel free.” You climb out of the water and start gathering your trash.

You can feel Mereel’s eyes on you, and you know that if you were to turn and look at him, he’d have a wide grin on his face. He’s an annoyingly chipper man, especially for someone who nearly lost a fin.

In fairness to you, you don’t really hear it, at first. The sound is so low, so quiet, that you weren’t able to hear it over the noise of the filters as well as the fridge.

And then it gets louder and louder.

And it’s like electricity down your spine, and a tug at your heart.

You drop your trash into the trash can and turn to look at Mereel, who’s still singing with a wide, shit eating grin on his handsome face. The tug gets stronger, but your legs seem locked into place.

“You have got to be kidding me!” You blurt.

Mereel stops singing as he bursts into laughter. Slowly he swims across the pool and sits on the ledge closest to you, his wide grin growing wider, “Looks like we’re both fate’s prisoners.”

You point at him, “You! You knew!” It’s a question and an accusation.

“I had a pretty good idea.” He agrees.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“Because this was definitely more fun.”

You cross your arms, “See if I ever give you emergency surgery ever again.”

Mereel leans over the side of the pool, and you can move again, scrambling over to him with your hands out.

“Stop!” You yelp, “You’re going to hurt yourself!” You scramble up the outside ledge and press your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back into the pool.

Then Mereel’s hands are on your cheeks, and he leans in to press his lips against yours. You falter, your hands falling from his shoulders to lightly wrap around his wrists, though you aren’t trying to pull him closer or push him away.

Kissing him feels like you’ve found a puzzle piece that’s been missing your whole life. It’s like coming home after being gone for years. It’s like being whole for the first time in your life.

And if you were any less professional than you are, you would have kept kissing him, and allowed yourself to lose yourself in his lips and hands.

But you are a professional, and he’s hurt.

So you break the kiss and back away. He watches you, a small grin on his lips, and you release a soft laugh, before you reach out and lightly press a finger against the tip of his nose, “You, sir, are supposed to be resting.”

“Just one more kiss?” He asks, “Just one more, and then I’ll rest.”

Your finger drops to his lips, “The pain medicine is going to kick in any moment now, so no. No more kisses.”

Mereel accepts your answer, as you thought he would. But he also takes your wrist and presses a kiss to the palm of your hand, his gaze locked with yours.

A quiet sigh falls from your lips. Well, it seems like you’ve gotten your answer on whether or not finding Mereel was lucky or not. You imagine that there aren’t many mermates who can claim that their mate came to them.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #vodika vibes 650 event #mereel skirata x reader #mereel x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks #mermaid au

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riggedtraps · 2 months

Note

——————————————————————————

Lawrence silently paced around his room.. Or.. Office, if you will. It was more of just a place of business, nothing more, nothing less. Lawrence Gordon was not known for being this shady man, well- Up until his divorce. Everything that he did, landed him here.. To this very moment. He stared at the unconscious "patient" on his padded table. He was an oncologist, he was supposed to help people. Not permanently altar their lives for the worst. But this was his life now, and he was going to have to suck it up if he himself wanted to keep what he had going.

Lawrence sighed sharply through his nose. Whether he liked it or not, this had to be done. He walked over to the counter, which happened to be oddly neat for a room filled with malpractice. First, he washed his hands thoroughly with whatever cheap tap water they somehow still had, and some soap Lawrence frequently replaced. Then, he grabbed a box of slick blue gloves— Safety first, of course. Lawrence begrudgingly grabbed a pair and began to slide them on. The stretchable band of the gloves slapped against his wrist with an echoing SLAP! He did the same thing to the glove, and walked right back over to his moveable leather black stool on wheels.

He then slid over, closer to the patient. His hands shook a bit. Usually, he did this during every regular procedure- But of course, this wasn't regular. He knew he had to fulfill his end of the deal. He agreed to working with John anyway, right? He sort of put himself in this 'silly' little mess. Lawrence positioned himself back up, back no longer leaning, hunched over, but now straightened over. He looked at the clock on top of the door. He was waiting for somebody, a helper of his, if you will. She had started helping him with these surgical procedures when he first started. It all started as "Can you hand me this?" Or- "Can you get me more thread?" but now, she was more hands on. He didn't mind it though- If anything preferred it. He liked having someone in there with him. It made him feel at peace in a way, knowing somebody was in the same "Situation" he was in.

The door slid open the slightest bit, a small crack for someone to poke their head through. Messy brown hair, wide eyes, clammy skin.

“Hey,” Amanda spoke, her voice more of a mumble than her usual confident snark. She still wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to any of it. Still, she believed in Jigsaw and his teachings, and if she had to do this to help rehabilitate people, then she would do it.

It wasn’t even forced, really. Amanda had volunteered it. She liked being helpful, it made her feel like she had a purpose in the chaos of life. For the entire time she'd been alive, Amanda had been flailing in a tornado of doubt, pain and fuck-ups, tossed to and fro between whatever awful situation God deemed fit for her to suffer in. However, when she was in Lawrence's office, when she was helping him, the tornado calmed. When she was in that room, doing her duty, Amanda had the resounding, firm thought of: I am doing something good. For once.

Stepping into the room, Mandy cast her gaze to the clock on the wall, then she looked over to Lawrence, fully equipped and ready. For a moment, she looked away, shuffled her feet—they hadn't known each other long, they were merely acquaintances, but Amanda had a deep pit in her stomach at the idea of letting him down. “Sorry I'm late.” She murmured. It seemed the more she said, the quieter her voice got.

Crossing the room, Amanda headed over to the sink, giving her hands a quick yet thorough wash before pulling on gloves of her own. The materials she used when creating traps resembled broken heaps of rust more than metal, her hands were consistently grimy and full of small cuts so she didn’t want to accidentally contaminate anything. Amanda didn’t want to ruin anything. Amanda didn’t want to be a disappointment.

Rolling her shoulders back, Amanda felt herself sinking into her usual role, growing much more relaxed. Walking over to Lawrence, she stood beside him, eyeing the 'patient' before them with a slight grimace. “So, what's it today, Doc?”

#❪ i havent written anything in ages i feel like this is crap my bad sorry if it is LMFAO ❫#꩜—mandy rps #❪ lawrence & amanda. ❫#❪ new tag woohoo! ❫

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wyntereyez · 1 year

Text

A Little Batty

Here it is... my @cssns contribution! It's late because I've been burned out, and it was originally going to have art by @spartanguard and be betaed by @ohmakemeahercules, but because I didn't get anything done until the last minute, I didn't want to impose.

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A Little Batty

Emma’s nights volunteering at the Storybrooke Bat Rehabilitation Center (locally referred to as ‘The Belfry’) weren’t something she’d ever imagined herself doing. She was no Disney princess; she didn’t have a natural rapport with animals. But The Belfry was her sister-in-law’s baby, and who was Emma to resist Mary Margaret’s pleading eyes? And she had to admit, any animal that let you roll it into a little burrito was cute.

Plus, her nights fell on the nights Henry was over at Neal’s. Though she didn’t think she was one of Those Moms who missed their children whenever they weren’t around, Emma admitted to herself that she was lonely when he was gone. Their creaky old house suddenly felt big and empty, and it became too much for Emma. At least at The Belfry, she could socialize without going to the effort of getting dressed up and going out in public.

Ruby was already there when Emma arrived. Unlike Emma, she did have a way with animals (“Not all animals; just creatures of the night,” she’d joked) and was the best at handling the animals when their cages needed cleaning.

And then there was Mary Margaret, who really was a Disney Princess, and you couldn’t convince Emma otherwise. All animals loved her, and she loved all animals.

They were gathered around Mary Margaret’s desk, discussing distribution of chores (Emma was not on cage-cleaning duty tonight, thank goodness) when they were interrupted by the arrival of William Smee, the man in charge of the local marina.

Emma thought at first he’d come specifically looking for her as sheriff, but he’d only nodded in greeting and headed straight to Mary Margaret.

He was wearing the thick gloves he used for dock work, and held what looked like a ratty old beach towel cupped in both hands. “Mrs. Nolan! I found a bat down at the docks. I didn’t know what else to do with him, so I brought him straight here.”

It was unusual for Smee to be working this late at night, especially past the tourist season, and Emma instinctively wondered why. She mentally scolded herself; she needed to stop being paranoid; not everyone did things for duplicitous reasons. Like her ex.

“Let’s see what you have,” Mary Margaret said. She opened the desk drawer and withdrew a set of the thick leather gloves they used when handling the bats. Smee pulled away the top layer of the towel, just enough to reveal his captive without releasing it.

Emma expected a large brown bat; they made up most of the local bat population, and thus most of The Belfry’s residents. She wasn’t prepared for when the towel fell away from a sharp, fox-like muzzle and huge eyes, topped with large, pointed ears.

It was a fruit bat. A rather large one, at that. It stared calmly back at them with its wide, dark eyes, and twitched its ears. It seemed completely unbothered at being a bat-burrito, suggesting it was accustomed to being handled. It yawned, exposing sharp canines, one of which had a small chip in it.

“Where did you find it?” Mary Margaret asked as she pulled on the thick leather gloves.

“He was down at the docks,” Smee said. “Nestled in a coil of rope. I almost missed him, but he squeaked at me. It’s like he wanted to get my attention.”

The bat squeaked, as though it were chiming in.

“He didn’t even put up a fight. He was easy to catch - you’ll see why,” Smee said as the last of the towel fell away, leaving the bat exposed in Mary Margaret’s hand. Annoyed, the bat spread its wings, and Emma ducked out of the way of the enormous right wing.

It was only after she righted herself that noticed his left wing, which Mary Margaret had caught and was gently holding. It was only half the length of the right, ending with a club of scar tissue just below what would have been the wrist. Mary Margaret was examining it critically, frowning.

“It’s an old injury,” Mary Margaret said, releasing the wing. The bat gave her a sour look and tucked it to his side. “No way he’s been living wild. He’s probably someone’s pet; a sailor, maybe, since you found him at the docks. He’s definitely used to being handled.”

He was also very obviously a ‘he,’ Emma couldn’t help but notice when the bat rolled over onto his back, his rear towards Emma. He looked towards her, gave a startled squeak, and wrapped his wings around himself.

Emma needed to stop anthropomorphizing the residents, because there was no way he could be embarrassed by accidentally flashing her.

“We’ll put him in one of the isolation cages for now,” Mary Margaret decided. “Just because he seems healthy now, doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong with him. Ruby, I brought a banana for a snack; it’s in the break room if you could grab it for me, please?”

“Do you have any idea where he came from?” Emma asked Smee. Fruit bats were illegal to have as pets, and while Emma didn’t think the owner would get more than a fine, they could lead to a larger illegal animal trade organization. “Anyone new around the docks?” It was the wrong time of year for it, though; most of the boats that came to Storybrooke for the summer tourist season had departed in the last few weeks. It was possible one of them had left the bat, but that meant he’d been on the docks fending for himself for at least a week. He look too healthy for a pet that had been abandoned that long.

“We have one ship that’s wintering over for repairs, but he’s not the bat’s owner,” Smee said. He seemed very certain of this, but there was something shifty in his gaze as he said it. Emma prided herself at being good at detecting lies and Smee…wasn’t lying, not exactly, but he wasn’t telling the truth, either. Before Emma could pursue it further, however, Mary Margaret interrupted.

“Obviously, he can’t be released into the wild,” Mary Margaret sighed. “He seems pretty docile; we can probably put him in the bat educational program, assuming he’s healthy and remains easy to handle. Thank you for bring him, Mr. Smee. We’ll take good care of him.”

Smee took this as his cue to leave, but not without an odd backward glance at the bat.

Emma told herself the bat did not nod at Smee.

Ruby returned with the banana and began to peel it. At the sight of it, the bat began squeaking and straining towards it. “Someone’s hungry,” she cooed, and held it out. The bat’s mouth opened wide, and he tore off a chunk that looked like it should have been too large for him.

They let him eat as much as he wanted while Mary Margaret held him. When he was finished, consuming almost the entire thing (How? Emma wondered. Where did he put it all?), Mary Margaret said, “I need to feed the others. Emma, could you get some gloves and put this guy in the furthest isolation cage?”

Emma grabbed another set of gloves. “Isn’t he too big?” The cages were designed for much smaller brown bats; he’d be cramped.

“He should be okay for a few days. And since he can’t fly, we don’t have to worry about too little space. He should have enough room to spread his wings, at least.”

The bat chittered, and licked banana mush off its muzzle. “We’ll have more fruit for you tomorrow,” Mary Margaret promised. “A variety. How do you feel about strawberries?” She chattered on as she transferred him to Emma.

The bat squeaked excitedly.

Which was a valid reaction to strawberries, but couldn’t be in response to Mary Margaret’s words. Right?

Could bats pick up words, like dogs? Maybe he did understand ‘strawberries.’

Emma carried the bat to the back area, past the large, open enclosures that housed the permanent populations, as well as the wild ones that would be released as soon as they were ready. The isolation cages were smaller, designed to make it easy to catch a bat that would need constant care and observation.

She opened the door of the last cage, the largest, and gently lowered her hands. It took some prodding to move him off her palms, and at last he moved with great reluctance. He crawled across the floor of the cage to the bars, and immediately began to climb them to the top, unhindered by the missing finger bones of his wing, then crawled around the top until he found the perfect spot. He anchored his feet in place and dropped his body until he was hanging upside down, eye to eye with Emma. Then, with a great yawn, he pulled his wings around himself until only the tips of his ears were visible.

“Stay out of trouble,” she told him.

Emma could have sworn he’d winked at her.

~oOo~

Emma stopped by the marina at the end of her shift, curious if the bat’s owner had returned. Her attention was drawn to a ship she hadn’t seen before, a massive wooden ship that looked like it would be more at home in the Caribbean than in Maine. It was moored at the largest dock, and Emma saw it had no sails, nor any rigging. It must have been the ship Smee said was staying over for the winter, since that was the only reason to derig it. She hadn’t expected anything so… spectacular. The ship was gorgeous. She studied it curiously for several minutes, wondering who would own such a vessel, then shrugged and headed towards the main office. The door was locked, however; Smee had already left, and there was no one else on the docks.

She shrugged and headed to The Belfry.

Mary Margaret was already there, feeding the residents. It alway icked Emma out, to see her gentle sister-in-law feeding the ecstatic bats their mealworms.

“How’s our newest resident?” Emma asked.

“He was just waking up when I checked on him,” Mary Margaret said. “He looks alert, with no obvious signs of illness. The vet stopped by earlier to take some samples, so we should know soon if there’s any diseases we should worry about.” She frowned. “There was a bit of blood in his cage, but the vet couldn’t find any injuries. Did you cut yourself when you put him in the cage last night?”

“No,” she said, but examined her hands anyway.

“Huh. Well, if you’d like to feed him, there’s a bowl of fresh fruit in the fridge for him.” Mary Margaret grinned. “At least you’ll be able to feed this one without screaming,” she teased.

Emma scowled, because her revulsion to mealworms was totally valid, thank you very much.

Ruby had thrown a mealworm at her.

It had gone down her cleavage.

Emma was never going to touch a damn worm again.

Emma found the bowl of fruit, snagging a chunk of melon for herself before picking up the bowl and carrying it to the quarantine cage.

He was clinging to the bars of the cage when she arrived, his nose pressed to the fine mesh between the bars as though he’d been waiting for her. When he saw her - or, more likely, the bowl of fruit - he began to squeak excitedly.

Emma was charmed.

The name ‘Killian’ had been written on the paper taped to his cage, in fancy penmanship that Emma didn’t recognize.

“Killian, huh?” Emma asked.

The bat squeaked.

“Okay, if you say so.”

She snagged another piece of fruit - a strawberry this time, much to the bat’s indignation - then placed the bowl at the bottom of the cage. Killian quickly climbed down and hopped into the bowl, quickly losing himself in fruity bliss.

Emma laughed, then went to help Mary Margaret finish up.

“Who named him Killian?” she asked.

Mary Margaret frowned. “I thought you did. The name was there when I got here, and you were the last one to see him.”

“If I’d named him, it would be something like ‘Batty,’” Emma pointed out. “Or possibly ‘Dracula.’” She shrugged. “He seems to like it, so we may as well keep it.”

Mary Margaret gave her a strange look. “I’m sure he doesn’t care,” was all she said.

~oOo~

Killian’s test results came back clean. As long as his phlegmatic temperament continued, he’d be introduced to the other bats, though he’d be kept in a cage alone to accommodate his disability. He seemed fine with this; the smaller cage was beside the bigger one, so he could watch and communicate with the other bats if he chose. It also had bars that were easier to grip and climb. For a fruit bat with full, functional wings, it wouldn’t be ideal, but since Killian couldn’t fly, all he needed was enough room to stretch his wings to the fullest without touching the bars.

When he continued to be easy to handle, they decided it was safe to hold him without gloves. He seemed to like this, settling into Emma’s hands contentedly.

That was how she found out that bats purred.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said. “He really likes you! Guess you’re his official caretaker from now on.”

Killian continued to purr in her hands. Emma decided maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Because he was so comfortable with people, even seeming to prefer their company, Emma took to carrying him around the sanctuary. Sometimes he’d be burritoed in a blanket, other times he’d drape over her shoulder, that incredibly long intact wing lazily hanging down. He seemed very curious about the computer whenever she played around with it at the desk (officially ‘doing paperwork’ for the sanctuary, but actually looking at memes) and she’d see his wide, dark eyes staring at the images.

He seemed especially interested in the staffing schedule.

Emma was also the only one he allowed to ‘fly’ him. It was something they did with elderly bats, holding them and carrying them around the sanctuary, wings spread, as if they were flying. Killian seemed bemused by the whole process, but allowed himself to be carried around.

Especially since the reward was always a bowl of fresh fruit - and gentle ear scritches from Emma.

~oOo~

Emma hadn’t intended to start dating again. Her divorce from Neal had been messy; he hadn’t been willing to let her go, despite his affair with his now-girlfriend Tamara. She thought she was done with men.

And then her sister-in-law introduced her to Walsh. They’d met when Mary Margaret had gone to the new furniture store in town, and she’d been charmed by his politeness.

Emma had tried to refuse Mary Margaret’s efforts to set them up, but then David had joined in. Her brother had thus far sided with Emma, and had talked Mary Margaret out of multiple attempts at a set-up. For him to approve of Walsh? That meant something. So Emma had reluctantly agreed to the date.

Walsh felt… safe. He was polite, respectful. Not particularly adventurous, which would have been a big turn-off once, but now it had appeal. Best of all, he didn’t argue with her every decision. She’d forgotten what it was like to be in a relationship with no drama.

One date became two, and plans were made for a third.

~oOo~

Emma arrived late to the sanctuary on the night of her second date. She hadn’t wanted to be out so late, but Walsh had admitted to being something of a night owl, and didn’t really eat until around nine in the evening. Emma had had to have a pre-dinner before dinner, because she knew she’d starve to death if she waited that long.

But she’d had more fun than expected. And eating later in the evening meant fewer diners, which had made the restaurant more intimate.

She’d liked it.

And the dim interior made it harder to maintain eye contact with Walsh. She’d noticed that he had a really intense gaze, and tried to meet hers as often as he could. It was… uncomfortable, for reasons Emma couldn’t really explain.

Emma put it out of her mind as she turned her attention on the anxious fruit bat, who was perched with his muzzle sticking out of the cage. At the sight of her, he gave several ear-piercing shrieks.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

Killian gave her a sour look.

“Hey! Don’t give me that! It’s not like you can tell time!”

He continued to glower.

“Okay, sorry!”

He tilted his head, considering. Then, with a sound that was almost a purr, he extended his right wing towards her thumb, snagging it with his clever little finger, and pulling her hand closer. He was about to pull himself onto her hand when he suddenly froze.

His nose twitched, wrinkled, and he bared his sharp little teeth. And then he did something he’d never done before.

He hissed.

Emma jerked her hands back. “Whoa! What’s with you today?”

He continued to stare at her as though she smelled rancid, and he wouldn’t come near her. Rather than stress him out further, Emma let him be. It wouldn’t hurt him to miss a night of flying.

~oOo~

A bat’s rejection shouldn’t have stung.

Killian continued to be edgy the rest of the night, so she left him alone.

After her shift, Emma realized she was too restless to sleep. Maybe it was a lingering excitement over the date, or maybe Emma really had taken Killian’s tantrum personally, but she didn’t want to go home. It was Neal’s weekend with Henry, and she couldn’t face being cooped up in that empty house.

So she went to The Rabbit Hole, Storybrooke’s only nightlife scene. She drew a few glances as she walked in, but they lost interest as soon as they saw she was off duty. She went straight to the bar and ordered a strawberry daiquiri, because apparently hanging around a fruit bat made you crave fruity things.

She’d been there maybe ten minutes when someone sat beside her. A richly accented voice that definitely did not send a shiver down Emma’s spine asked for a rum.

Emma waited until he’d been served his drink before turning to him and asking, “New in town?”

He turned, and Emma’s breath hitched when she met those blue, blue eyes. “What gave it away, Love?” he asked, amused.

English accents turned her into putty. Especially when combined with a smoldering gaze.

Mistakes had been made.

“I know everyone in this town,” she said. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Oh? And who might you be?”

“I’m the sheriff,” she warned him.

“And you don’t take kindly to strangers ‘round these parts?” he mocked, adapting a twang.

“We’re fine with strangers - so long as they don’t bring trouble.”

He grinned, flashing sharp teeth. “And I look like trouble?”

Emma arched an eyebrow.

His smile widened. Oh, he knew exactly how he looked.

“Killian Jones,” he said, offering his hand. Emma lifted a brow when, instead of shaking, he brushed his lips across the back of her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She hmmphed, refusing to be charmed by his old world manners.

Emma’s eyes fell on his left wrist, where a thick leather brace supported a rather alarming looking metal hook. His gaze followed hers. “Forgive the hardware,” he said. “Crude, I know, but it’s far more useful sailing than a more delicate prosthesis or a false hand.” He pulled his arm closer to his chest, not quite hiding it, but at least making it look less threatening.

His name wasn’t the only thing he had in common with their fruit bat.

“Are you a sailor, Mr. Jones?”

“Killian,” he reminded her. “Or Captain Jones, if you prefer to be formal. And I’m actually a pirate.”

Emma scoffed, then realized, “That old-fashioned ship in the marina! It’s yours!”

Killian nodded. “Aye, the Jolly Roger,” he said. That seemed a bit too on point. “I do charter sails for history buffs, as well as doing movie and television appearances. You’d be surprised what people will pay for a two-week Caribbean cruise with a dashing rapscallion like meself.” He grinned, and once again Emma had the unsettling thought that his teeth were very, very sharp.

“And what brings you here, Captain?”

“My ship is in need of repair, so I’m going to winter over in your lovely town,” he said.

“Odd; Granny Lucas didn’t mention taking in any lodgers,” Emma noted.

“I’ve made other arrangements,” Killian shrugged.

Maybe he’d leased a place, then. The cottages were usually only available to lease to summer tourists, but she wouldn’t be surprised if one of the owners made an exception.

“You don’t happen to own a bat, do you?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked rapidly, blindsided.

He had beautiful eyelashes.

“Like…a baseball bat?” he asked slowly.

“Never mind,” Emma muttered. She pulled a couple of crumpled bills out of her pocket and set them on the bar. She stood up. “Nice to meet you Mr. - Captain Jones. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I didn’t get your name,” he said. It wasn’t a demand; rather, a polite inquiry. He was allowing her to be mysterious if she chose. Not that it would be hard to find out her name, since she was the sheriff. Still, she appreciated it.

“Emma Swan,” she said.

“See you around, Swan,” he said, low and throaty, and she totally did not shiver.

She left before she could embarrass herself.

~oOo~

Emma’s third date with Walsh led to a fourth.

After each date, Killian-the-bat would give her that angry hiss, and Emma wondered if he were somehow jealous that someone else was taking her time.

But he’d eventually get over it.

Which was probably a good thing, because they had their first school visit of the semester, and if he’d been cranky, he’d have missed out on having dozens of adoring children who cooed at him and gave him all the fruit he could ever want.

Though he wasn’t too crazy about being touched by their sticky fingers. But he allowed it, showing more patience than Emma had ever had.

She saw Killian-the-human several times over the next week; usually at the bar, once, coming out of the hardware store with items she assumed were for ship repair. Each time, he gave her a significant Look that she couldn’t read.

And then it happened, on a night when Emma was walking out of Granny’s diner with a bag full of carryout containers and a couple of donuts in preparation for an overnight shift at The Belfry.

After three weeks of casual conversation, Killian asked her out for a drink.

And Emma…she wanted to go.

Even though she barely knew him, she felt a spark with him, something that was more than just the thrill of his smoldering gaze.

“I’m actually seeing someone,” she said.

She hadn’t meant to sound regretful. She shouldn’t feel bad about dating Walsh, right?

“You don’t sound so certain,” Killian observed.

Dammit. “No, I am,” she said firmly. “He’s…nice.”

“All right,” Killian said. “I’ll see you around then, Swan.”

Emma released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That had been harder than she’d expected. And a little part of her had feared he wouldn’t respond well to being ‘friendzoned.’

She watched him walk away, swaggering, then turned and stepped forward - into something very solid.

Walsh.

A deep frown was etched into his features. Emma wondered how long he’d been standing there in the dark, and if he’d heard everything.

“Who was that?” he asked.

Emma didn’t like his tone. Clearly, he had been eavesdropping.

“Just someone wintering over,” Emma said. “We talk occasionally.”

“He seemed to want to do more than talk,” Walsh said. His jaw was clenched, and Emma frowned. Oh, no. They were not going to do this.

“It doesn’t matter what he wanted,” Emma said coolly.

“Come to dinner with me,” Walsh said. It wasn’t a question.

Oh, hell no. She was not going to put up with this possessive bullshit.

“I have other plans,” she said.

“Like what?” he demanded.

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

Something flickered across Walsh’s face, then he abruptly deflated. “Sorry,” he said. “I know I have nothing to worry about. I just don’t want to lose you, Emma.”

Emma studied him, all senses on alert. But he seemed sincere enough. Still… “We’ll discuss this tomorrow,” she told him wearily. “Right now, I have to get going.”

She made it to The Belfry just as Ruby was leaving for the day. “I left some bags of popcorn for you for later,” she told Emma as she pulled on her coat. “There’s some Milk Duds, too.”

Emma grinned. “You’re the best, Ruby.”

“I know,” the other woman grinned toothily.

Nights at The Belfry tended to be long. Emma only over-nighted once a week, and she used the time to binge watch shows. The last time she’d done it, Killian-the-bat had sat on her shoulder and squeaked at the screen.

She’d just checked the bats and was about to put a bag of popcorn in the microwave when she heard the front door open.

Emma froze. She could have sworn she locked it.

And then a familiar voice called, “Emma?” and she relaxed. Marginally. Why was Walsh here?

“Walsh, hey,” Emma said cautiously. “We don’t really allow guests this late at night.”

“I’m not a guest, I’m your boyfriend,” he reminded her.

Emma went over to the front desk, sitting on the edge. Her hand crept over to the lamp on the corner.

“That doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? Is he here?”

Nope. Not doing this.

“Walsh… If you’re going to do this, then I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I’m not going to put up with someone who doesn’t trust me and stalks me at work.”

Walsh leaned back, staring down at her. But he made no move to leave. Emma braced herself for the inevitable meltdown.

Instead, he threw back his head and laughed.

At her shocked look, he said, “Did you think that would hurt me? It’s a relief, actually,” Walsh said. “Having to pretend to be interested in you is draining. You’re too abrasive, and you don’t trust anyone. Which, admittedly, was the right choice here. But it’s over now, and my master will reward me well.”

His eyes were red. Not bloodshot, but glowing a baleful crimson. “What the fu-”

Then their eyes locked, and Emma felt…something. It writhed around in her mind, clawing into her, leaving her feeling dirty. He was inside her head somehow, and she wanted him out, out, OUT!

Emma jerked her gaze away, and Walsh snarled.

“Why isn’t this working?” Walsh fumed. “You should be mine!” Then he smirked, showing off far too sharp teeth. “Guess we’ll have to do this the fun way, then.”

Emma reacted. Her hand flew to the heavy lamp on the desk corner, and she flung it at Walsh’s head. He didn’t react in time, and it hit him squarely in the forehead.

He didn’t even flinch.

It should have taken him down, or at least disoriented him long enough to continue attacking or escape. No man should have taken a direct hit to the head and just shaken it off.

He wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t human.

So Emma ran.

Her lunge to the side caught Walsh by surprise, and he didn’t immediately react. It bought her a few precious seconds to dart through the door leading towards the cage room.

There was an emergency exit in the back of the sanctuary. Emma sprinted towards it.

Walsh stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.

How?! How had he gotten in front of her? It wasn’t possible!

“I’m not here to kill you, Emma,” Walsh said in exasperation. “I’m just going to take you to my master.”

Killian shrieked, beating his wings against the bars of his cage. Walsh ignored him.

“But…nobody said I couldn’t rough you up a bit.” His hands extended towards her, tipped in razor sharp claws.

Killian fell silent.

Emma dropped to the floor and kicked her leg out, hitting Walsh in the knee with bone-breaking force. It didn’t do more than stagger him, however, and he quickly recovered. Emma rolled away, but misjudged her direction and slammed into one of the cages. The bats inside fluttered their wings in agitation.

Walsh lunged towards her.

And then Walsh crashed to the floor. Something bumped and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop before Emma. Walsh’s head, the red fading from his eyes as they slowly dimmed.

Standing over the body was Killian, the human Killian, dressed in black leather and wielding what looked like a pirate’s cutlass. “Are you all right, Love?” he asked.

His eyes had the same red glow as Walsh’s.

“What the fuck?” Emma shrieked.

Killian gave her a crooked smile.

A fang poked out from behind his lips.

“Apologies, Love,” Killian Jones said. The red was fading from his eyes, though the sharp fangs remained. “I’ll clean up the mess.”

Emma just stared at his teeth.

One of them was chipped. Just like Killian-the-bat’s.

“You’re…you’re…”

“A vampire, yes,” Killian said. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. But Emma supposed that made more sense than what she’d been about to say: You’re my bat! “As was your…boyfriend.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Emma muttered. “It was just a couple of dates.”

“Mmph.” He crouched down, examining Walsh’s body. Then, to her horror, he dragged his finger through the small pool of blood and put it in his mouth.

“He’s a neophyte; probably not more than a year since he was changed. Which means his master has to be close by, because a vampire this young seldom strays far from his master.” Killian studied her closely. “Which means he was specifically sent to seduce you. I wonder why?”

Emma didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t know, she wasn’t special.

“You somehow resisted his attempt to control you,” Killian continued. “That’s a rare gift.”

”You should be mine,” Walsh had said.

“How can you be a vampire?” There was a shrill edge of panic to her voice. This was too much, far too much.

“It’s a long story,” he said. “I won’t get into that tonight. All you need to know is that I hunt vampires like him, those who break our laws and hunt humans.”

“But… I’ve seen you during the day.” Walsh, on the other hand, she’d never before sunset. She’d just assumed he was a night owl, not a freaking vampire

“I’m over 300 years old. I’ve developed an immunity to sunlight. I don’t like it, but I can go out in it.”

“Three hun-” Her brain stuttered to a halt. “Are you actually a pirate?”

Killian chuckled. “I have been called such, yes. I prefer ‘dashing rapscallion.’”

“You would,” she scoffed.

“There’s that spirit,” he said approvingly. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

She tried to back away, forgetting in her panic that the cage was behind her.

“I’ve been here over a month, and you haven’t had any mysterious deaths or illnesses related to blood loss, aye?”

There hadn’t been, actually. The town had been as calm as it always was after the tourist season ended. That didn’t mean Killian didn’t do his hunting elsewhere, but she hadn’t heard anything from the nearest towns, either.

“So…you’ve been living in town as a bat and a human for a month, and no one even noticed?”

“The werewolf knows, but she and I reached an understanding.”

“The…the werewolf…” Emma repeated faintly.

“The lovely Miss Lucas,” Killian said. “She figured out what I was fairly quickly, but we came to an agreement.”

“Ruby…is a werewolf…”

“Aye. She’ll probably be furious that I told you, but she will vouch for me. She knows our laws, and how strictly we enforce them.”

This was all too much. Emma had snapped. She blurted out the next thing that came to mind. “Shouldn’t you be a vampire bat?”

Killian looked pained. “I don’t have the most fearsome bat form, I admit.” And then his expression became lascivious. “But I’m certainly one of the biggest.”

Of course you are, Emma thought.

Emma’s hands were still shaking. She clenched her fists, hoping to hide the trembling.

He noticed, however, and his face softened.

“I mean you no harm, Swan,” Killian said softly. “I rarely need to partake in human blood, and then only with willing donors. This town is safe from me.” His gaze went to Walsh’s corpse. “His master, however, seems to have no such qualms. It appears we were right about his intentions.”

“Is…is that why you’re here?” Emma asked.

“To find his master, yes,” Killian said. “We suspected that a powerful old vampire was no longer keeping to our laws, and I was dispatched to track them. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for some time. Though I suppose you’ll want me to find other accommodations,” he added regretfully. “Pity; you have some lovely fruit.”

Emma assumed that was supposed to be an entendre, but when she looked at his expression, she realized that, no, he actually meant fruit. What kind of vampire fed on fruit? “You can stay for now, until you find something better,” Emma offered. “Although, you will have to put up with the Bat Education Program,” she finished apologetically. “Mary Margaret wants to make you the star. But somehow, I don’t think you mind being the center of attention.”

Killian grimaced. “I’ll tolerate it. But only if the children wash their hands,” he growled

“She’s calling you the ‘am-bat-sador,’” Emma warned.

”Bloody hell,” Killian groaned. “But it will help me guard the children. They’re preferred victims of rogue vampires,” he concluded grimly.

A shiver went down her spine, and this time it wasn’t because of his accent.

Something evil was coming to Storybrooke.

~fin~

#author: wyntereyez #fandom: once upon a time #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #vampires #cssns #cssns23

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