#I needed this on my television screen yesterday

[thatgirl4815]

I am a complete sucker for two-people-from-different-worlds-bound-together-by-duty-learn-they-aren’t-so-different-after-all with a *sprinkle* of mafia thrown in, so suffice it to say I am ECSTATIC about Never Let Me Go. GMMTV, you better not disappoint. 😤

[safination]

Partners in Death…and Life

Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself

| Part 1: Radio's Not Dead |Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should be Trusted| Masterlist | ao3 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.

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’m back :D This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got busy. Anyway, thank you for all the likes so far. It motivated me to really finish this chapter. Also once again, I have everything planned out, it really is just a matter of writing it down. *Updated 28/02/2024 Just added some stuff that I thought made sense*

Flick . . .

Flick . . .

Flick . . .

Lights flicker above you with a slight buzz. You drape an arm over your eyes when the gleam of the bulb blind you. The hardwood floors chill your skin, but it’s the sensation of casual loose clothing on your back that warrants your exhale in peace. Just a second. You just need a moment on these hard and chilling floors to ground you . . . just . . . one . . . single . . . moment to . . .

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

A stray feather pricks into your arm. The vane tickles, but the barb digs your skin. You’ve called this body ‘ yours ’ far longer than your human one, yet the feathers that grow on your skin still astound you. You twirl it around your fingers, and wave it in the air like a wand—it’s a proper animalistic feather.

Your nose scrunches into a hard scowl, and you jump up, stomping into the kitchen toward that untouched coffee mug on your counter. Grabbing it, you splash the contents down the sink, letting it flush down the drain. The sponge is rough against your hands as you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub a̵̯͒n̴̤͝d̶̫͌ ̶͚̇y̶̤̎o̷͔̓u̶̢͐ ̸̓͜s̵̪͗c̸͎͂r̷̀ͅṳ̴̎b̸͖̀ ầ̷̩̯͍̙̳̍͗͘ń̵̰̞̰̕d̴͇̻̮̫̝̓̎̈́ ̶̡̬̬̮̺͗͒́̌͑y̴̙̘̻͇̿̉̐͆ǫ̷͉̟̍̅̑̏ŭ̸̖͓ͅ ̴̛̝͇̭̥̌́́̂s̸̠̑̽̏́c̷̥̺̃̾̊r̶̲̯̈́̈̄͆͊u̵̼̝͕̼̇̍̈́͘b̶͍͖͖̐̾͝.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You rinse the mug, slamming the cupboard door shut when you drop it next to your own clean one. Fingers run through your feather-hair . . . hair-feather, or your ‘ whatever that grows on your scalp’. Some questions you’ve stopped asking.

An audible grumble . . . well, uhhhhh . . . grumbles from where your stomach is placed in this body, and you munch on your lips to keep the inhumane screech from erupting into the kitchen and breaking all kinds of glassware and little knickknacks that Alastor filled your home with. (These days, the old trinkets collect dust on your shelves. There haven’t been any new ones in years.)

Chopping Hell’s equivalent of carrots calms you. (It’s honestly the use of some type of razor-sharp object that calms you. You’d prefer a different razor-sharp object, but a sharp knife is a sharp knife, no matter the size.) You chop until there’s enough food to make a proper and decent meal that your stomach will accept.

You crash on the couch, dinner secured on a plate, and flip the television switch. Light flashes into the room when you do.

Ad about some impish business—Not interested.

‘Yeah, I fucked your sister, So what?’ — Boring.

Cooking Venison with Vox— Lame.

Settling on the lifestyle network, you munch on your food. Some poor slimy creature flashes across the screen, and it's her home that will be remodeled because of . . . something . You’re not sure what that something was. You don’t care enough to find out.

The sounds from the television swap with the silence of your living-room as you take each bite. It’s one of the sadder habits you’ve picked up since purchasing this noisy picture box. Your eyes wander to that half-filled coat rack, while your ears listen in on the show and that woman did not just say that pink would go with brown . Only your singular coat drapes on the hinge, when this particular design was made to hold two.

A commercial plays for some-thing called the Hazbin Hotel.

Your eyes are stitched to the screen until the final note of the song plays, and a different advertisement takes its spot. You take a sip of your drink.  Just ą̷̖̯͈͂ ̷̡̧͚̤̩͎̙͇̞͓̟͈̤̝͉͉͉̘̉͐̓́̆́̇̍̐̿̈̄͜͜͜͝͝s̶̨̢̛̥̣̻̱̰̬̩̹̥̞̟̳̝͔͓͙̗̗͕̟͇̆̉̿į̴̡̢̠͇̱̤͔̙͎͕͛̑̓̒̀̔͆̓͂̃̚͘͘͠ṗ̶̡̢̨̳͙̦̮͍͓̻͎̲̪̲͕͛̔̐́̐̈́̒̒̉̎͛̆̈́̈́̉̔̑̃̕ͅ.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You blink, and you find your keys locking your front door.  Already, your legs are trekking down the garden stones. A flower snarls at you as the gate locks with a click.

Another blink.

Huh . . . you’re on the bus .

The sign says it’s headed into the city. Living on the outskirts has always been beneficial for you. Not today, though. Today, the one-hour commute makes your feathers bristle. You read the barely eligible address scribbled on the note, and pat your hair, smoothing the flared feathers sticking out. It seems . . .

Hmmmmm.

It seems you did not think this through. How . . . how are you going to get to the hotel?

Tagatha calls you a fossil for using one of those flippy telephones. You considered purchasing those fancy telephones with the lights and screens, and loud robotic voices telling you where to turn left, but learning to use a flip-phone brought enough stress for two lifetimes. You’ll happily stay a fossil.

Turns out, you don’t even need the address.

The Hazbin Hotel sticks out. It’s a humongous building with its name written across what you call the sky in blinding neon lights. Your vision zooms in, and you see that the hotel rests on a giant hill at the other edge of the city. Three large neon-lit arrows point to a crudely attached radio tower. Below it, a wooden ship hangs to the side. Circus light bulbs flicker with electricity.

The Hazbin Hotel is an eyesore – it’s exactly what Alastor prefers.

You reach the dinged-up metal gate on the bottom of the hill and reset your hand on the rusted latch. Trekking through the city took a lot, and you were already here. So, why are your legs frozen to the cement? Why does your heartbeat thump in your ears?

“Excuuussseeeee me.”

A snake towers over you. It’s your first time seeing such a slithery specimen as large as him. His hat rests on his hold, and it blinks at you. His hair . . . or was that skin . . . puffs out with two red sets of eyes.

“Can I help you?” you say, warily. Sinners are in hell for a reason.

“Yessssh,” he says, his tongue slithering out. His flaps stick out, all four eyes staring right into your own. “I’d like to be a guessst at this hotel!”

You glance at the eye-sore that’s called a hotel. “I don’t work here.”

His flaps droop. The snake takes a deep breath, and slides the gate open, slithering in with determination in his . . . er . . . snake body.

You follow in silence.

The snake matches your pace. “Will you be a guest at this establishment as well?” he asks you. “Or were you given the same sssssuper secret mission?” Just like before, his tongue slithers out—what a funny little odd man.

Bangs grab your attention. When you focus your vision, you see an inky shadow servant striking a nail into broken wood. “Not at all,” you say slowly. “I’m just here to visit someone.”

His flaps open, and three pairs of eyes and a hat meet yours. “I am the great Sir Pentious!” he says with a proud hand on his puffed-up chest. “Inventor. Architect of destruction. Villain extraordinaire!”

You give him your name “ . . . Doctor.”

“It is only the coward who attacks a battler of health.” His flaps droop as he sinks into himself. “You cannot be my rival, I’m afraid.”

“I guess that makes you brave,” you say, humming. The decorations for the hotel are rather dull. Drawn on the middle of the hill, a giant pentagram is etched on the ground. The flowers dwindle on the cliff edge, and do little to combat the grayness surrounding you. “What a shame to hear—I rather love good rivalries.”

The eyes on Sir Pentious’ hat brighten at the same time his own do as well. “Ssssso do I!”

One of the inky shadow servants waves at you.

You wave back.

Light streams from the glass doors. You blink a few times, adjusting to the sudden change of brightness. Circus-themed stained glass decorate the front entrance. One of the less tacky – but still tacky – designs of this hotel. Sir Pentious taps the glass with the tips of his finger, clinking with each tap, and his eyes water in excitement. His nose crinkles when he takes a deep breath. You weren’t aware he even owned a nose. Sir Pentious fiddles with the flap of his hat, and bangs on the door.

Your smile strains after a minute of banging.

A young lady with long, white hair creaks the door open. You recognize her from the commercial.

Sir Pentious’ flap open and close with each word as he says, “Why, hello, my dear –”

A punch to the face is his reply.

“Oh dear!” you screech. Sir Pentious drops to the ground, and you kneel next to him, a steady hand on his slimy shoulders. “Have you no manners?”

This insolent girl points her spear and stomps a foot on Sir Pentious. She snarls, and her glare hardens.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sir Pentious’ tongue slithers out as he holds a peace-sign. “I come in peacccccceeeee”

“What are you doing here?” Her spear inches closer.

“Vaggies,” another voice calls out. A blonde with a red pantsuit and a bowtie pokes her head, eyes in a squint. O-oh! You know this lady from the commercial. The Princess of Hell . . . Cady . . .Char . . . Charlie Morningstar! “What’s the problem?” Charlie’s eyes widen when she spots you and Sir Pentious, an honest smile drawn on her face. “Oh, hello again! And hello to you as well!”

“Can you please tell this insolent girl to get her food off this gentleman,” you spit, tilting your nose into the air. Your feathers sharpen when you bristle. “And your weapon away from my face .”

Vaggie takes her foot off Sir Pentious. She holds the spear close, but it’s away from your face.

Sir Pentious straightens into a stand, and the group prattles on.

No one bothers to help you. A huff escapes, and you brush the dirt off your skirt. Absolutely no manners. Insolent and ill-mannered.  Would Alastor stay in such a place?

You’ve never laid an eye on someone as unique as this Vaggie. Her hair patterns are similar to wings. It’s almost unheard of to see such a prominent ‘ x ’. Her flared eyelashes resemble a bird. It strikes you silly. Almost everyone in hell resembles a human body with animal characteristics hidden somewhere. This insolent girl doesn’t appear to have any of that – only miniscule feathers made to appear native to Hell.

“Absolutely!” Charlie exclaims to who you think is Angel Dust. (The porn-star, not the drug. Obviously.) Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile on his face. There’s a squeak every time he bobs his head. That hat of his looks nervous.  “This place is about second chances and who deserves one more than this . . . slithery . . .slippery . . . special little man.” Charlie takes a peek at you. “Oh, and this feathery . . .sheddy . . . and round-eyed woman.”

You do not shed.

You smile at Charlie, and give her your name, “ . . . and I expect it to be used.”

Angel Dust whips to Vaggie. “Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” he says and turns to you. “How are we even sure we can trust this lady – no offense, toots.”

“None taken,” you say, dryly.

Charlie’s eyes water when she turns to Vaggie, who easily relents with a sigh.

You’re thrust through the apple and circus-themed doors, squinting at the chandelier. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the design—it reminds you of those old rolled films. Charlie leads you and Sir Pentious further down the hall, all but pushing you in. Vaggie and Angel Dust lag a few steps behind.

Charlie waves her arms to go into an enthusiastic point. “So, this is our bar,” she says. Husk drops his drink, a scowl on his face, “and the bartender. This is the curtain, and this is the new wall after Sir Pentious broke the last one. And this is—”

Vaggie calms her down.

The bar clashes with the red wallpaper of the hotel. It’s almost as if someone just dropped it there, and etched it to the very wall. The wood is firm underneath your touch and feels exactly like what wood should feel.

You turn towards the bar and take your seat. Husk focuses on his drink. “Hello,” you say with a gentle voice that should not be mistaken for kindness. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Husk chokes and splatter out his drink, but you only smile at him. He coughs and his ears droop low. “Yes . . .,” he starts. “Good to see you as well.”

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

You run your finger across the skeleton wrapped around the bar post. A memory tickles your brain. This is one of the many specimens you owned. It took one whole month to strip the muscle off its tight hold on the bones, and another month just to clean, bleach, and wire together. The heads above the bar sign were a gift to you, and the skeletons were your gift back.

The neural spine pokes your finger as you tap each one. “I see you’ve set up shop here.”

Husk scowls, taking another swig of his drink. “Not much of a choice.”

“And tell me,” you start, “how long have you been here?”

Husk doesn’t answer you.

Charlie calls your name, and waves you over. “Over here,” she says pointing to where Niffty plays with some kind of one-eyes cat, “we have our maid—Niffty!”

Niffty hops on Sir Pentious. “The bad boy is back!” she exclaims, pulling him closer, eyes wide and shaking. A bead of sweat drops from Sir Pentious’ hat. “Never leave me again.”

“We’re about 80% sure she’s harmless . . .” Charlie prattles on.

“Hello, Niffty.” You smile at her.

She jumps off Sir Pentious, landing with a small ‘ humph’ , and strides to you with her pointy short legs. She calls out your name.

You squat, meeting her eye. “It’s great to see you again—Is Alastor forcing you here?”

Her eyes shine with an innocent type of glee. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She claps her hands. “I get to chase all the bugs here.” Nifftly leans closer to you, giggling. “Can I be strapped to your table again? I love it when you slice me open.”

“Maybe next ti—”

Charlie grabs your arm, hauling you forward. “Oh! Uh, Alastor! Our gracious facility manager! You've met our newest guest Sir Pentious . . .hehe . . .,” she tells him. Charlie keeps pulling you, only stopping when you stand before a grand staircase. “These two will be our special wonderful guests!”

Alastor does little to show you what he feels, there’s just that same empty grin.

He bought a new coat, you note. This new one has white streaks on the new collar and less stripes. Guess some things were more important than others.

You slip out of Charlie’s tight grasp. “I think you’re mistaken, my dear,” you say. “I’m not a guest— just a visitor.”

You hold your husband’s gaze and greet him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“It’s good to see you,” you say, a smile drawn on your lips. “How are you doing on this wonderful morning?”

Alastor turns to you, drops an item into his grocery basket, and blinks. “I am amazing!” he says. He grabs your hand with his gloved ones and shakes it. His hands are warmer than you expect them to be. “Alastor. Pleasure to meet you. Quite the pleasure.”

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I’m aware of who you are.”

“Oh, how lovely!” He waves his fingers. “ are you on of my many fans?” His smile strains, and there, you see it, on the corner of his cheek. His nose flares and his smile takes the appearance of a snarl. Maybe it was the other way around.

“A bit,” you admit, adjusting your hold on the basket. “How are your stitches, Sir?”

His eyes widen—brown eyes, you note. “The good doctor!”

“I think you mean the good nurse.”

“Oh yes, yes,” he hums and inches the basket away from your gaze. “I’ve been taking my medicine, and replacing my dressing every three days, just like you said.”

“Good—that’s great to hear. No more accidents?”

“None!” He laughs. “And if one does happen, I’ll be sure to present you with an injury that is only hours old.”

A giggle slips through your lips. “That’s even better to hear,” you say. You clear your throat, tightening the hold on your basket. “I’d hate to take even more of your time. I’ll let you go on with your day.”

A firm grip on the basket handles keeps your feet planted on the glossy floor of the general store. “Not so fast, my dear. I think you still owe me,” he says. Your teeth bare into what you hope is a polite smile. “You promised to show me your marvelous embroidery the next time we meet! You’re not the type of lady to go back on your word now, are you?

“You sure do know how to put such ladies into a tight spot.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light. “I assure you; I don’t mean to. I tend to get very excited about art

“Well, with you holding my integrity hostage, and the addition of such lovely enthusiasm, I find myself having trouble refusing.” You reach into your purse and pull out a clean handkerchief. “Sadly, I wasn’t expecting the general storm to be an art gallery, so this will have to do.”

And there it is again, that same breathy and light laughter. “They really do have everything in here

Alastor takes your handkerchief with steady enthusiasm, studying each stitch carefully. It’s one of your simpler designs—tiny flower bouquets scattered across the fabric. Your eyes are drawn to the contents of his basket: rope, strong acids, latex gloves, rolls of plastic wrap, and other such interesting items.

“You have such beautiful handiwork.”

“You can keep it if you wish,” you tell him. “I have thousands back home, and I’m always weak to such flattering compliments— a real boost to my ego.”

“Splendid!” Alastor slips the handkerchief into his coat. “I love receiving gifts from fans.”

You smile at him to hide your frown. You are not some fan-girl. “Of course.”

Alastor is following you.

The conversation ended several beats of silence ago, but he trails behind your every step. You skip the aisle where they sell produce, stop to grab some eggs, ask the butcher for 50g of chicken liver, and smile back when he smiles back. You sigh and lead Alastor to the end of the general store, and into an aisle.

You snatch a glass bottle of chemicals off the shelf—they really do have everything here. “Going for a hunt soon?” you ask, and read the label.

His smile brightens as he says, “Why yes! There was this wonderful prey that I spotted the other day, and I’m just dying to have his head hanging on my wall.”

You offer him the bottle. “You have a lovely coat. It would be a shame for it to be ruined by stains,” you say. “This always does the trick when dealing with the redder parts of my job.”

He takes the bottle from you.

“Take this as well,” you say and reach into your basket. “It’s the last bottle of 12% hydrogen peroxide in this store, but you need it more than I do. A ratio of fifty-fifty of this and a bit of hair developer in a bucket of water should brighten up your bones. Just let it soak for a day. Oh . . . and just in case, those two chemicals are safe to mix. You should avoid doing so, but an accident wouldn’t hurt you.”

Alastor offers his basket, and you drop the bottle along with the other hazardous substances. “You sound certain.”

“That is because I am.”

Fate has granted you a humorous shopping companion, and you decide to stop fighting it. Alastor follows you to the bread aisle.

You point to the top shelf. “Can you . . . ?”

He drops the bread into your basket, and stares at you with what you think is curious tenacity.

“My father works as a butcher,” you say, sighing. “He prides himself on catching the venison he sells. We don’t believe in wasting a precious body, so we use it until there is nothing left to give. He came back from his own hunt and wanted to add another antler to his display

Alastor hums. “Won’t you need these then?”

“There’s still a bit leftover sitting in his workshop. I just came to get an extra bottle.”

Alastor continues to follow.  “Do you often aid your father in his work?”

“Not as frequent as when I was a teen, but I still aid him when I have the time to do so,” you say. “It’s how I got to be so normal around a knife —the sharp ones are the best, they cut right through the skin, and with enough force, the bones as well. I keep a little collection of bones at home.”

“Such interesting hobbies you have.”

You pick up two coffee bags and hum. “Thank you.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him and reach out to straighten it. Alastor jerks away and spins to reach into the shelf behind you. “I rather detest owing favors, and you have done me two,” he says, offering you an entirely different brand of coffee beans. “I suggest you try this one. It’s flavors are far richer.”

You offer your basket and Alastor drops it right in.

You eye his basket once more. “Will that be all you’re purchasing?”

He nods, smiling at you.

You smile back.

Well, isn’t this just lovely? Well-dressed gentlemen really are your favorite.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie whips her head, mouth wide as she stares at you and then at Alastor. Angel Dust has an arm on his hips, his brows furrowed and mouth quirked to the side an awkward but rather cute frown. Sir Pentious’ hat squints at you with what you assume is confusion—you can’t really tell. Sir Pentious’s tongue sticks out of his bewildered and crooked frown.

“Oh! How nice,” Charlie says after a beat. “So, you two know each other?”

“Partners,” you say

“Friends,” Alastor says

Your smile strains as you say, “To be called a friend by the Radio Demon is quite the honor.” Alastor wipes his monocle with a proud puff.

Angel Dust whistles, leaning on the railing with the first set of arms crossed, and the second propped on his hip. “Didn’t think Freak would be the type to have friends.”

“Neither did I!” You say with a loud laugh. “Well, that’s what I am – a f̵̼̎r̴͔̃i̶̦̍e̶͕͠ṋ̸̀d̶͚̋ .” You smoothen your puffed-up feathers. “Apologies.”

More introductions are done. Charlie insists on giving Sir Pentious his first lesson on apology. It goes about as well as you think.

Charlie winces a bit “Ooooookay,” she says and inhales to plaster a huge smile. “Why don’t we . . . uh . . . take a look at the kitchen!”

Angel Dust takes one look at Charlie’s enthusiasm, winces, and says he’s getting a drink.

Charlie’s death grip on Sir Pentious stays firm as you trudge to the kitchen. She stalls at every painting to explain its history, and introduces every crack on the wall, showing it off with an enthusiastic glee. Even the water-stained wallpaper gets its own special moment during the tour. (Where is that ill-mannered girl when you need her?)

You lag a few steps behind. “Alastor . . .”, you say as a greeting.

Alastor matches your pace, using his microphone as a cane. With the very tip of his fingers, he plucks a stray feather off your hair with a coy smile that reaches from ear to ear. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering how I’ve been fairing these last few years,” he says, spinning that microphone of his and waving his hand like some kind of street performer.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, I know I’ve been absent for some time,” he starts. “It’s nothing serious; I assure you. It’s nothing I cannot handle as well.”

 “My goodness, and here I thought you were occupied at work.” Your teeth flash when you smile. “But in any case, it’s quite . . .kind of you to soothe what little worry this friend might have for you.” Alastor and his microphone laugh at you, but you hum with satisfaction when his eyes narrow into a glare.

Charlie and Sir Pentious wave their hands, calling you from across the hall, and you hasten your steps.

The kitchen intimidates you. So many large and metallic machines. You’re sure it would be a living hell should you ever need to operate such an unorthodox set of appliances. Copper-red tables fill the space, and similar colored cabinets stick to the wall. Such peculiar stoves they have in this establishment. There seems to be no space for the gas tank, nor a gas burner, just some flat glass with weird markings. You prefer the appliances stashed at your home.

“This . . .,” Charlie starts, winding her arms to a point, “ . . . is the kitchen!”

Sir Pentious’ flaps extend, his arms rocking with excitement. “Such lovely metallic inventions.” He slithers to counter with a dip that appears to mimic some kind of skin. There’s some type of yellow liquid. “This bubbly torture deviccceeee is my favorite.”

“Uhhhhhh, I love that you love the kitchen appliance,” she says with an honestly gentle smile. “But that’s actually an oil fryer.” Charlie crosses her arm into a big ‘ x ’. “But no torturing is done here, no siree.”

“What a peculiar shape for an oil fryer to be,” you say, taking a look. Alastor glances over your shoulder to take a peek as well. “And there’s so much metal around—did you run out of paint, perhaps?”

Charlie frowns, her shoulder dropping low. “I’d love to add different colors to the machine, but Vaggie says it would take up too much money and time.”

Her frown lasts a second before she’s smiling again.

 “ Oh oh oh! You should take a look around. See if there’s anything you might want to add.” Charlie drags you towards one of the cabinets at the back. “We each have a shelf dedicated to our own snacks, but I always love to leave cookies on the communal snack pantry.”

Charlie prattles on, introducing each section of the cabinet. You watch Alastor warily when he shows his teeth. He wiggles his fingers across the air, reaching towards the shelf where Charlie just mentioned Vaggie storing her personal snacks. You slam the cabinet door before he reaches them.

Soft static fills the kitchen air.

“Go on,” Charlie urges. “Take a look around – I know some species of Sinners have specific dietary needs.” She props a hand on her chin. “Like Angel! He can’t seem to be able to have any milk—I wonder why? But he just keeps drinking it anyway for some reason.”

Does the Princess of Hell not know what Lactose Intolerance is? Maybe because she’s never lived as a human . It’s quite humorous, you suppose. A hell-born trying to guide a human, with little to no insight about humanity. Could this be the reason why she’s so naively optimistic?

Sir Pentious’ smile widens, and so does his flap. “You’re . . . giving . . . me permission to poke around?”

“Er . . . yes?”

You open a random cabinet door, and huh . . .

On the shelf, towards the back, you have the same set of spices in your own kitchen. One of the bottles here has its label stained and fraying at the edges. Another bottle is nearing empty, and the corner of the cap has been chipped off. There was a time, when your own set of spices was stained with oil, and its label frayed because of the constant picking to the edges.

Yesterday, you threw out a set of unopened bottles of spices, its seal still clinging to the caps and brimming with unused flavor, and replaced it with the same set of sealed spices. It’s a waste of your money to keep throwing out something that you never use, but . . . but . . . you find it in your grocery basket every single time .

Alastor closes the cabinet with a gentle click.

Your smile fades, and he holds your gaze.

“You are shedding all over my kitchen floors.” Alastor presents you with a bundle of your feathers bunched up on his palm. His grin mocks you.

You turn away, heading where Charlie and Sir Pentious converse. You do not shed.

Alastor pops out of your shadow, towering over you as he inches closer. “Long day?” he says with a hum, that smile still on his face. “You don’t usually start molting until the mid-summer.”

“Oh yes,” you say with a hum, that frown still on your face. “This day has been quite long. How very generous of you to check up on this friend of yours.”

He holds the feathers he’s collected, examining them with a careful eye. “With this rate, you’ll be able to gift a whole pillow.”

Your frown deepens. “Lovely,” you murmur. “I’ll make sure to do so.”

Alastor twirls his microphone and lands it with a soft thunk. He studies you for a second. “Rosie’s last husband got eaten by a shark,” he says. “Not even a loan shark—just a proper dead shark. She swore vengeance on the creature for taking a bite before she had a chance to.”

“ What?” you say, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Is that what happened to him? She would be so vague about it when I ask.”

Alastor draws a line along his face, mimicking a smile with his fingers. “Much better, indeed.”

Charlie insists on showing the view from the top of the Hotel. Her arms cross around your own as she chatters about everyone and everything. It’s refreshing to meet a soul as honest as hers.

The elevator ride is painfully slow. The music strains your ears, and this battered metal death box jerks with every floor.

Sir Pentious and his hat scowl at the ‘ absolutely inferior ssssmmelting of this handle, Charlie’ and ‘ this piss poor wiring. The endsss are not aligned to the proper sssssafety guidelineeeesss’ or something. Charlie listens in on every word, nodding to indicate that she hears each and everyone. It makes you smile. Alastor picks at your stray feathers with the tip of his fingers, preening the areas you have difficulty reaching.

Moments too late, the elevator doors open with that heavenly ding.

“The view up here is helltastically a-mazing! ” Charlie informs the group. “Alastor, you often hide up here or inside the radio tower. It’s really good, right?”

Alastor switches his hold on the microphone, swinging to catch it. “Quite helltastic indeed!” he says. “ I get to see the whole city underneath my very feet.”

Sir Pentious nods. “I, too, would love to sssseee the city underneath me!”

Alastor swings a door open, gesturing for the group to enter like a gentleman.  Charlie whispers an audible ‘awww’ at the sight and saunters right in. Sir Pentious follows along, slithering behind her.

He shuts the door when you take a step forward, separating you from Charlie and Sir Pentious.

There’s still that never-ending smile on his lips as Alastor strides to the other end of the hallway, playing with his microphone. You follow behind in silence. Alastor opens a different door, and this time, you step through.

Alastor closes the door, leaving you and him together, alone, on this flimsy balcony. He beams at you, taking a step forward—

You slap him.

Radio static glitches from his microphone. There, on the corner of his cheek, you see the strain in his smile. His eyes harden into a glare, his nostrils flare, and his smile takes on the appearance of a snarl.

The air around you starts to gray with static. Symbols carve themselves into the space.

You slap him again, staring down at him.

“Is that all you came to do?” Alastor says to you with a low snarl, but the symbols dissolve and his antlers shrink.

You turn towards the view, propping a hand on your chin. “Such harsh words for a friend,” you say with a sarcastic smile. “It’s a wonder why you don’t have more with such a dazzling personality. At any rate, it’ll be impossible to find yourself a wife.��

His eyes twitch, and Alastor strikes the ground with his microphone. “Well, consider it an honor,” he says, inching closer, mimicking your smile. “Not many can say such words to me, much less be able to strike my flesh

“Maybe they should—someone certainly has to.”

Alastor still has a smile—he always has a smile. You watch as his eyes morph into radio dials, and the absolute audacity of that man to look at you like that.

Your feathers sharpen and crack at the sight. “D̷̝̈́o̷̞͊n̷̟̂'̷̗̏ť̵͔ ̴̱̀f̷̳̓u̴͍̓c̷̛͕ḳ̵͝ ̴̲̽w̸̞̑í̵̞t̴̼̐ḥ̷͝ ̵̫͌m̸̻̔e̸̡͘!— you never have, so don’t start. Don’t test me—not today, my deerest,” you say, hissing at him. 

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he says, glancing down at you. “Unless you are a child, I expect you to use your words.”

“You know I’m not just some friend — you do not allow yourself to make such connections. We’re partners,” you tell him, and you don’t know why you remind him when he should already know. Was it in fear that he forgot? “But you left without as much as a word.”

“Was it that I left? Or was it that I left you?” Alastor says with casualty as if to show you such dismissal, and oh . . . yes, your husband can be a cruel man, indeed. Time and sweet smiles made you forget.

You rub your hands on your face, taking one deep breath. “I want what I deserve—an explanation,” you say. “That’s all I need as your wife.”

It’s his silence that makes you turn away. 

“I see.” Your face falls. “Perhaps, it was a mistake to seek you out. A fool’s errand.”

You study the sinners below. The whole city really can be seen from underneath your very feet. (You ignore the trembling of your fists. You’re a doctor, for fucks sake. Your hands don’t tremble . . . at least, they never have before.) 

Hesitant, but gentle touches pick at your feathers. Alastor preens you with warm hands. “You are not a fool, my love,” he says. “I would not be yours if such were the case.”

You harden your heart for you cannot let this man see the cracks. “This is not what I wish to hear,” you say, voice steady.

Alastor does not answer you.

“Will you just stay silent every time?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you meet his gaze. You hold it as much as he holds yours. “ There is not a thing in this world that you do not do without reason,” you say slowly. “However,  I’m not sure if your silence is because you cannot or if it’s because you will not explain yourself to me. Which is it?”

There is nothing on his face that you can read, just a small steady smile that tells you nothing. “I will not.”

“I know you, my deerest, and I know that you’ve never once led me astray.” Your grip on the railing tightens painfully. This day has been long. “Then all I need is your word that you will return to me with that smile of yours when you’ve accomplished what you need to do.”

Alastor smiles at you, twirling his microphone. “We can even shake on it.”

You shake your head. “This is not a deal,” you say. “This is your wife demanding that you do so.”

“Then it shall be done,” Alastor says, inching close enough for his warmth to spread.  He turns to you and pokes his cheeks to indicate a smile. "You look much more radiant with one."

You bare your teeth at him, giving a dry smile. “Much better?”

“Indeed.”

You study the sinners below once more, but this time your hands stay steady next to Alastor’s own. Well, Charlie was correct, the view is helltastic. The entertainment district blinds you, but only for a second. And when you sharpen your vision, you can faintly make out acid clouds forming on the outskirts of the city. You should have grabbed an umbrella on your way out.

“I heard you on the radio today,” you say.

He glances at you, his smile widening ever so slightly with smugness. “And you came all this way for me?”

“Well, that is what good friends do for each other.”

Alastor points his nose to the air with a huff.

“I only jest, my deerest,” you say, chuckling at him. “ I came all the way here to see if I’ve been widowed a second time, or just dumped like a common rag.”

“Is that so?”Alastor hums with dissatisfaction. “I’m sure you mentioned something about not noticing such a long disappearance.”

You hold his gaze, inching your hand to cup his cheek. You stop inches above his skin, and your palm hovers enough for Alastor to feel the warmness you hold on your hands. “Don’t pout, my deer,” you tell him, softly, oh so very soft as you caress the air. “Of course, I noticed your absence.” 

You clap your hands together with the brightest and most innocent smile you can muster.

“But if I told you that, my deerest,” you start, “I feared that big head of yours would implode if I fed your ego.”

Alastor laughs, and his real voice bleeds in as he does. “That humor of yours has been my most wonderful companion all these years.”

You smile with satisfaction. “My, my, you make such fine compliments.”

His smile relaxes. “I do, indeed!”

“Just as you say that my humor makes a fine companion,” you say as you laugh, bright and heavy, “that smile of yours has been mine.”

A knock breaks the moment.

The door swings open, slow and hesitant. Charlie pokes her head, and her hair droops to the sideways. Behind her, Sir Pentious waves at you. You wave back.

“Oooooooohhhh . . . yikes,” Charlie says, shrinking deeper into the door. “Am I interrupting? I could just go an—”

“Not at all my dear,” you say. “Come right in. You have such a lovely view, and things like this are better when shared.”

Charlie swings the door wider, sauntering right in, and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “You could live here as well!” she says. Behind her, Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. “We accept everyone.”

You flicker your gaze to Alastor. “I already have a home,” you find yourself saying. “And this place is far too close to the city. So much honking and blasting aren’t good for my ears.”

Charlie pouts, but she doesn’t press you.

The view is better when shared. Charlie points at every detail and explains everything you see. The sky darkens to a red, and too soon, it’s time to leave.

There’s a warm, but firm, hand resting on your back when you walk out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. Alastor keeps his hands steady, even when you reach the common room.

Vaggie is the first to greet your group—well, it’s more appropriate to say she greets Charlie, and you just happen to be there. There’s a bag by her feet. “I was able to find the costumes you need for the exercise,” she says. “Even the giant lollipop is here.”

Charlie squeals. “ Thank you thank you thank you! ” Her excited gaze filters to you. “I have this wonderful game in mind, and then we could fo a bit of some of that good ol’ roleplay.” Angel Dust quirks a smile from the couch. “You should totally sta—”

“I’m afraid not,” Alastor says, drumming his fingers on his microphone. “I think it’s time for our visitor to head home. She’s had quite a long day.”

“Oh, of course. No worries!” Charlie says, giving you a bright smile—a real genuine and honest smile. “Feel free to come by anytime. The Hazbin Hotel’s doors will always be open should you change your mind.”

Vaggie scratches her face. “Before you go, I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she says. “It wasn’t right of me to be so hostile—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, my dear. I understand,” you say quickly, ignoring the static behind you. “You were protecting something you cared about. I find great value in those who do.”

Vaggie smiles, and maybe she’s not too bad after all. “Thank you.”

From the couch, Angel Dust props his legs and waves at you. “And you’re welcome to open these doors any day.”

Alastor leads you to the door. You wave back at Niffty and Sir Pentious, whose eyes water as he frowns. Alastor’s hand stays firm as you trudge down the hill, past the rusted gate, into the city, and to the correct bust stop.

“You sure know how to find the most interesting groups of people, my deer,” you say. “Charlie and that hotel of hers are wonderful.”

Alastor adjusts his monocle. “Well, you know me. I see potential, and I follow it wherever it leads.”

“Should I be worried?” you say, chuckling. “The last time you saw potential, it ended with us married.”

“Not at all, my love.”

“You should continue to stay at the hotel,” you find yourself saying. “There’s just something about it—I think you’ll pick up quite a lot from your time there.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him, and reach out to straighten it. Alastor inches closer. The fabric is smooth underneath your touch. There’s stray lint on the shoulder of his coat, and you brush it away. You grab his lapes and adjust its fit, smoothing the fabric beneath your fingers.

“Much better?” he asks.

“Indeed,” you say softly.

“I will see you soon,” he says, and you hear the unspoken promise and question hidden beneath his words.

“Good.”

Alastor tilts your chin with the tips of fingers. (And oh . . . oh . His gloves are off, and his hands are warmer than ever) He presses his lips on your cheek.

That blasted bus arrives too soon. You step inside, but turn to your husband and say, “Next time, when you disappear for several years, I expect to be informed and not just left with a vague note,” you say with a huff. “And when you return, I also expect to be the first to be informed.”

“Of course.”

“See to it that you keep your word.”

The bus door closes, and you take your seat. You smile to yourself and lean back on the crusty bus fabric. Patting your pocket, you take out a single gold band, slipping it on your finger.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

That habit of recklessness in moments of excitement was something your father hoped you’d grow out of. Thinking things through never really was one of your many strengths when such an exhilarating opportunity presents itself.

You scold yourself for not double-checking for gloves. Measure twice, cut one, and all that. But no matter, you’ll push through as always, clawing and digging to unearth the treasure left behind.

Your scalpel fits into your palms. Throughout this Earth, no . . . not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You sigh, breathy and exhilarated, and begin.

‘First, do no harm’

But this . . . this does not harm a single living being.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should Be Trusted| If you guys know who Octavia and Stolas are, that's what I imagine when I think about the reader's hair. Also, maybe some of you noticed, but I'm very relaxed when it comes to formatting my writing. Its why I use quite a lot of ellipses and em dashes and utilize italics and spaces. But the one thing I was very strict about was not to use the word, "miss". So there are no "You miss..." and "I miss..." But the words are there and spoken beneath actions and thoughts, hidden and unspoken, but known. My inbox is always open because I'd like to know what your favorite unspoken "I miss you" is/are. I have my own favorite ones as well.

[waldau-archived]

softie — choi seungcheol | 890 words | fluff

#melonpan :c also, my need to include marriage in every other fic of mine needs to be studied.

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

"are you sure it wasn't as bad as i thought it was?"

you stop combing through seungcheol's hair with your fingers. "yes."

"really?"

"yes."

"i mean, i broke a plate, stepped on your mom's foot and—"

"i was there."

"—swore in front of your dad."

"i know, baby."

"promise it's okay?"

"seungcheol, if you ask me that question one more time, i'm going to eat up all of your melonpan."

seungcheol tilts his head up to look at you from where he's sitting on the floor between your legs. he tries to put on his best hurt face. "what happened to cheol? or love of my life? or even...pookie?"

you laugh. "you want me to call you pookie?"

"...no. but anything's better than my name."

"no," you say, resuming combing through his hair and detangling a particularly stubborn clump. "your name is lovely, even if you insist it isn't."

"it's just so...serious. it sounds like i'm going to get scolded."

"it's you. and i like it. but tonight didn't go bad at all, baby."

the thing is, seungcheol's never met anyone's parents before. at least, not since he became an idol. you had been telling him your parents should be more worried about hosting an idol at their place for dinner but seungcheol had been stressing about it for a couple of weeks, worrying about what to wear and what to gift and how to sit, till you held him by the shoulders and very sternly told him to be himself, and nothing more.

he's done just that tonight, and he's landed himself in this predicament now.

"you're just saying that to make me feel better."

you sigh and your hands stop working in his hair again. now seungcheol can't have that, so he turns around and clings to your leg.

"cheollie!" you say immediately, ruffling his hair. he lets go. "what, are you really that scared of what my parents think of you?"

"yes? they're your parents. and i met them for the first time yesterday. what if they tell me to stay away from their only child for the rest of my life because they didn't like my shirt yesterday?"

you fish out the television remote from behind the cushion and toss it into his lap. "show me a fancam of yours while i finish working on your hair. choose one you really like."

that doesn't sound good. why would you ignore what he said in favour of something else? unless—

"did they—"

"choi seungcheol."

that shuts him up. he scrolls through some videos on youtube and picks one he thinks looks good. you pull out a rubberband and gently tie his hair into a ponytail. seungcheol swears you have magic hands, because you've never once hurt him whenever you've volunteered to do his hair.

"done," you say, pushing him a bit forward so you can stand up.

seungcheol groans. "don't leave me alone."

"i'm just...going to get us some water?"

"i'm having a crisis here."

you giggle and sit back down, tugging at him till he climbs up and rests against your chest, both of you watching his videos of choice together. your grip on him tightens even though you don't say anything. seungcheol keeps quiet about it for exactly two and a half fancams before he twists to look at you.

you have a goofy smile on your face, and he feels kind of silly for wishing you were looking at the real life him, and not the one on the screen.

"what is it?"

"what?" you ask, looking down at him.

"you're smiling. at him."

you snort. "that's you."

"yeah, but i'm right here."

your eyes crinkle when you smile at him. seungcheol just feels like he's stepped into bright sunshine after a cold day.

"i was watching some edits of yours yesterday."

"oh. were they any good?"

"really good. but i wonder what your fans would think if they got to know you're the biggest softie in the world. none of that supposed alpha stuff here."

seungcheol pouts, but he can't keep it up for long. he's pretty much at his best when he's with you. you're the reason why he can physically feel his shoulders relax most days. you're also the reason he finds himself smiling a lot more.

"supposed?"

"well..."

seungcheol turns to bite your arm gently. you push his head away, not before pressing a kiss to it. "stop worrying so much, okay? you didn't mess up anything with my parents. do you have any idea of how much my mom liked you?"

"she...did?" 

"yeah. and my dad asked me when we're going to visit again."

seungcheol feels his worries dissipate. you don't look like you're saying it to placate him, but...

"are you..."

"...sure? cheol, my mother literally asked me when we're planning to get married. i think that's enough for surety, isn't it?"

seungcheol swears he can feel his heart beating fast enough to escape his chest. of course he'd love nothing more than marrying you one day, even if it's a long way down both of your futures.

"hm," is all he can say, settling back down against you. he doesn't mind you smiling at the version of him on the television. he's the one who's going to get to marry you, after all.

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness (10)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

You need to start planning an escape.

Reader is Gender Neutral!

It wasn't the most flattering picture of you they decided to use. At least you could find some humour in that fact.

"...Why are you just staring at 'the television'?" Sandrone raised an eyebrow, looking distraught.

"Oh, hey, you're on there!" Childe pointed out. "You famous?"

"Something like that..." You mumbled in return, trying to hide the smug smile on your face.

This is perfect. They couldn't read the roman alphabet! Not only can you use this against them to plan an escape, but you can also insult them later for it!

Illiterate bitches You snickered to yourself.

"Yesterday afternoon, a local fast food restaurant in '_____ ___ _______' was attacked by an unknown group. Police officers found in the area of the crime were frozen solid in strong ice, scientists all across the country have come to try and understand how such a phenomenon could happen."

The screen changed to the fast food restaurant you were taken from yesterday, to a hospital ward with remnants of ice all over the floor. The camera panned upwards to a man laying on one of the hospital beds. His face looked awful, like he'd been revived from the dead. His nose red and lips blue, he was shivering as nurses rushed to get heatpacks for him.

"When the first officer was thawed, he had no memories after he'd been turned to ice. From what our journalist's gathered from him, the group whom attacked the restaurant kidnapped a civilian inside the facility, killing all who remained inside and allowing children to run away from the scene."

The screen then cut to a zoomed in clip of him sitting up, visibly in a better condition than before.

"Could you tell us what happened?" A cameraman from behind the screen asked him, the police officer looking directly into the lens of the device.

"It was... traumatising." He answered in a low tone. "I had ran from the station after being called to an emergency downtown. Something about an answer to a 999 call expressing worries of there being a hostage. My co-workers ran out of the police car first, and shouted from outside the building."

"And?" The cameraman pushed him, noticing the officer's hesitation.

The officer sighed, his breath shaky, then continued.

"A woman calmy walked outside, at least I think it was a woman. I remember my friends shouting for 'a lady' to stop walking towards them and put her hands in the air. Last thing I remember is seeing something blue and shiny heading right for my co-workers and the police car I was in."

"Bah!" The cameraman laughed out loud. "You're saying she was the one who almost froze you to death? Don't be ridiculous, unless you dreamt Elsa." He mocked.

"But, that's what happened!" The police officer shouted at him, the footage of the hospital suddenly going black.

"The Police Station checked all officer's body cameras. However, from the external ice interference, all footage was damaged and therefore unable to be investigated."

Another picture of you, different from the first one displayed earlier, transitioned next to the lady reading from her script. Her face showed one of concern.

"The missing person is Mx Y/N L/N, a college student who was kidnapped at the location. They were the one whom called 999 and first alerted authorities to the situation inside the building. Our heart goes out to them, in hopes of them being safe." She said sympathetically. Her face soon changed to an interested one, forgetting about all the death's in the first place.

"Just who could this group and 'lady' be? Where did they get the power to turn others into ice? Perhaps the lady is their leader! Let's hope an update on the situation comes soon. To find out more, go to our websi--"

You turned the television off with a disgusted expression on your face.

Fake. Arse. Bitch.

"Her??? 'The Leader'? Fuck that shit." Childe scoffed, arms crossed with a glare sent towards the woman.

"Enough, Childe." Signora scoffed back, rolling her eyes at the child clearly fuming.

"So, everyone knows you've gone missing?" The Regrator whistled, fiddling with a mora coin and sitting on the only armchair which hadn't been torn to pieces.

Ugh, you forgot they could still understand the English language.

"Yup." You sighed.

"Even though I already know the answer," Scaramouche huffed. "Do you have friends who could have seen that and immediately thought to check up on you at your house?"

Oh yeah, if only you had friends who actually cared about you! Then, maybe someone would come looking for you. Also, was Scaramouche implying you had no friends!?

For his information, you knew plenty of people and had a lot of 'friends'! ... Unfortunately, you don't think they care enough to drop by your house.

"Pshh!" You shoved his shoulder lightly, slightly hurt. The puppet scowled and rolled his eyes. "Of course I do. They just... aren't available right now." You lied with a shrug.

Scaramouche simply stared back at you. "Uh-huh, I believe you." He shook his head, walking away.

"Hey, don't walk away from me. You need to- HEY, THAT DOESN'T MEAN EVERYONE ELSE CAN TOO! CLEAN THIS GOD DAMN MESS YOU LOT MADE OR I SWEAR TO-"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Everyone walked off to do their own thing around the house after that... cleaning session. You spied on what the harbingers were doing, a notepad in your hands with scribbled writing full of potential ideas to get away from the house.

You'd crossed out many plans:

Use phone, call someone?

Definitely not, you'd be heard and questioned by the harbingers then lose your phone to their control. There's no doubt in your mind Pierro would let Sandrone and Dottore get their hands on it.

Run out house, when everyone is sleeping?

Wouldn't work. They said it themselves, some of them don't sleep. Plus, most of them probably have supersonic hearing.

Suggest to go out together then secretly pass someone a note?

Too dangerous. The harbingers would quickly catch on to what you were planning, and would potentially kill the person whom you asked for help.

Ugh! This is terrible. Your dumb brain has thought of every possible way to escape, and they all end up in failure! They're too risky, the phone one is the most ideal but you'd never risk your phone being taken away too early! It could be detrimental later down the line.

"Decider. If I may have your attention," The old sounding voice of Pulcinella coughed from in front of you. "I would like to ask a question."

"A question? I mean, it's not like I can stop you from asking it." You hid your notepad from his view.

You didn't want to make the harbingers suspicious. Even if they couldn't read what you were writing.

"Insolent child." Pulcinella sighed to himself, shaking his head. "What exactly do you plan to do about the food?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean 'the food'?"

"Whilst your meal from last night was delicious, I noticed from how it tasted it isn't the... healthiest option. Feeding 12 people, including yourself, is quite a task so I understand why you prepared something like it. But, aren't you worried about eventually running out?" He scratched his mustache, sitting on the sofa next to you.

"You're right." You sighed back to him with a nod. "I'll need to go shopping soon to get more food for everyone. But if I start doing that, I'll eventually run out of money."

"The Regrator can lend you some Mora---"

"Fuck that." You scoffed. "First of all, I know just how harsh the Fatui are with debt. Second of all, Mora isn't even the currency used here."

"You mean to say The Regrator is worth nothing in this world?" The old man's face grew amused.

"I mean, he wasn't worth anything to begin with..." You grumbled, trying to be as quiet as possible. "Anyway, I'll need to go to the cornershop and grab us some food."

"You won't be going anywhere." Pierro walked into the room, a small yawn erupting from his lips.

"Welcome back from my office." You glared slightly, Pierro glaring in return.

Well, technically it's not your office. Buuuut, your father did always joke how it would be yours when he dies... so yeah, it's yours now.

"I see no reason why it must belong to you when you are so concerned of your bedroom." He put a piece of paper in front of you.

"What does this say?" He dropped the paper on your lap, you giving him an eye roll before taking a closer look.

It seemed to be a... private file addressed to your dad. Something about house bills being paid at a certain date. Wow, that's not interesting at all.

"Don't you know privacy is the only thing I have left now?" You scoffed, pushing the paper away from you.

"Now, Now...." Pulcinella scolded you, his walking stick digging into your foot. "Treat The Jester politely."

"Fine. I don't want to read it to you since they're my father's personal affairs, got it?" You winced, sighing in relief when feeling the pressure on your foot fade.

"Understandable." Pierros sighed to himself. "It looked important, with this script being written in thicker ink."

I could have sworn Teyvat has made something equivalent to a printing press... How else would 'The Legend of the Sword' have gotten so popular? You thought, scratching your cheek with a confused face.

Well, Pierro was right either way. What he didn't know, was the bold text he deemed important was just the money paid, and the next date due.

Not like the house bills mattered anymore, you were assumed missing and the house is probably not going to be visited for at least a year due to the janky government.

Besides, you were missing, not dead. According to the law, you have seven years until you need to worry about the police barging down the door. You probably won't live that long, so yay for legalities sake!

"Well, it would have been important for my mother and father before you ripped their carcass' in half. Now it's meaningless, ...for the next seven years or whatever." You gave a sassy reply, handing the paper back to him.

"Could you put it back where you found it? You'll probably not let me back in the office."

"Very well." He took the paper from you, leaving the room without another word.

"You, Mx Decider, need to work on your manners." Pulcinella gave you a side-eye.

"I have manners, but I won't give them to people who killed at least 30 people because they couldn't 'find the person they were looking for'. And then proceeded to kidnap them and--"

"I am getting tired of your blathering." He cut you off, a vein very clear on his head.

"One would say you act worse than Tonia back in Snezhnaya, but that would be a compliment. The situation is over and done now, I don't think you realise how much trouble you're actually in at this moment."

"Well, old man, everyone has a different coping method for traumatic situations. It just so happens that one of mine is joking and yapping on and on and on--"

"Understood. Just, shut up for the sake of my headache." He rubbed his head with his fingers, effectively shushing you.

"Must you have an answer for everything?"

Ahh, being annoying truly has its perks no matter who you annoy. From a scolding mother, to a bloodthirsty harbinger.

Anyway, you have an idea. You may look like an idiot trying, but you have evidence it could work.

All the Harbingers called you 'The Decider', meaning they recognised you before you even met them. This must mean they were aware of your existence before they left the game and entered your world.

Arlecchino in particular, she commented on Aether's existence being involved with your title. This means you're tied to him in some way. Perhaps.. If you were to log in to Genshin again you could ask him what in the fuck was going on.

You're not the smartest person, but this seems like the most obvious choice right now. You wish you could say the same for it being the easiest choice.

You hadn't logged into Genshin since you were forcefully taken out of the bathroom's in the restaurant. Were you really ready to go back to Genshin? The game which started all of this?

This is definitely not two (technically three) weeks late or anything... ahahah....

I, 100%, purposefully uploaded this on Valentine's Day.

Yup.

Anyway, I'm very unsatisfied with this. But I really wanted to post it. I'll try to make the next one as long as possible since I'd like to personally not make too many views...

One day, I'll most likely combine some shorter ones into one whole view if that makes sense :3 (I think I've mentioned this before...)

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @shellofthewell @ginnxy-galaxy @clara-maddenlin @bk-4-trash-fire @uniqaal @tnsophiaonly @vianitry @dottoreandcolumbinaslovechild @melou008 @lsleepysimpl @steadybreadbluebird @thebigkessydisaster @eliciana @kamit-frog @twst-kumi @idk098 @kurayamioterasu @mmeatt @the-lazy-perfectionist @florelll

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

[b1rds3ye]

hi!!! i LOVE the masked reader content 😭💞 my hyperfixated brain is thanking u deeply

can i request a masked (w LEDs bc i love it sm) reader who's saying "i cant believe you guys didnt notice my new haircut" or something similar, having a :( face on their mask and 141 is so confused like "we cant see your hair" "you have hair? kinda thought u were bald" stuff like that 😭 its a weird idea but im craving stupid platonic fluff like that

ty for the masked reader content love u sm for it

Hehehe as someone who hyperfixates a lot I am flattered I can induce it onto someone else LMAO Just a lil Drabble for this one I couldn’t think up of much 😅

“You pissed ‘em off,” Ghost observes and Soap’s face drops into one of sheer betrayal.

“That was one time 'n' now you a' think it’s me?” Johnny jerks his head to the side in annoyance. “What about when cap’n-”

“I’m sure they can hear you,” Gaz whisper-shouts as he gestures to you. The rest of the task force look over to you sitting on the couch at the far end of the common room. Absentmindedly watching the shared television, your arms are folded with your mask in a perpetual "-_-". You make no indication that you heard them, no, you were fully set on ignoring them all morning.

"Captain what should we do?" Kyle asks.

"This isn't a mission Kyle, we can talk it out," Price sighs.

"Care to do the honours, then?"

Price stills, beady eyes sparing a glance at your unmoving figure. If the rest of the task force didn't know any better, they would think the unwavering captain was scared.

"'m busy," he replies gruffly.

"Busy" being him fishing around in his pocket for a new cigar for an impossibly long amount of time until his subordinates let him off the hook.

"L.T.?" Johnny looks to the next superior officer, to which Simon only responds with a half-hearted grunt. In truth, Simon and John have always been good at figuring out your mood. This is one of the few times they've been left stumped, clear through the silent conversation they shared as they looked at each other.

"Cowards," Johnny mutters to himself before stomping up to you, with a drawn out, sing-song (but horrendously out of tune) "bonnieeeee" announcing his presence to you. You don't even flinch.

Johnny saddles himself beside you, leaning into you. He offers you his sweetest puppy-dogs to try and placate you before he tests the waters.

"So... what's up?"

The rest of the task force was slowly joining Johnny, you could tell as Price's cigar smoke became more pungent. An explosive move by you has these grown men flinching as you pull out a strip of paper and slam it on the coffee table in front of you, mask flitting to an angry face all the while before returning to "-_-".

Simon reaches the paper first. Delicately opening the thin parchment as Kyle and John peer over his shoulder. Johnny looks up at them but stays by your side.

Simon looks at you.

"A hairdresser?"

"Got it done yesterday," you seethe. "And no one bloody noticed. They're not cheap, you know!"

Johnny tries putting a hand on your shoulder but you jerk it away. There's a heavy moment of silence as you keep laser focused on whatever the hell the television is playing. Your hands grip your biceps as you ensure they stay crossed.

Kyle eventually submits. He kneels before you, not daring to take up all the view of the screen, but just enough for him to be sure you were aware of him.

"Love, I'm gonna ask you a question. Please don't take this the wrong way."

"What?" you grumble.

Kyle takes an audible inhale. He receives an encouraging nod from Price and he needs to take a swallow to prepare. Even you have to admit the anticipation is killing you now, you offer him the relief that he indeed has your attention, mask now set with "?" over the eyes.

"... you have hair?"

You groan and swat him away as Johnny bursts out laughing. Leaning forward with your head in your hands you try to make it seem like your shaking shoulders were from devastation and not because you were laughing too.

"No, Kyle, I just thought I'd go to a hair dresser and admire everyone else's hairdos," you retort once you've recollected yourself.

"Thought you were bald," Simon muses.

"Right back at you, Skull Face."

"I'm sure it looks good, sergeant," Price encourages as he takes the receipt from Simon, inspecting the details.

"At least someone appreciates my efforts unlike the rest of you."

"How about we appreciate it more then, bonnie?" Johnny leans in mischievously. "Take that mask off. Show us how good it looks."

"Actually, I- uh... I got my hair treated. Need to keep this mask on, let it set, you know?"

Kyle tilts his head.

"That's not how it works-?"

"I've been waiting for this bit!" You exclaim as you point at the television screen. Kyle shakes his head with a smile before joining you on the couch, opposite to Johnny. Simon and John also situate themselves around the room, far enough for personal distance but close enough to still take part in conversations, and it's now a typical off-day for the 141. They may not be able to see your face - nor your improved hair - for now, but perhaps one day they'll be graced with the sight. For now, these antics around base will suffice.

Call of Duty Navigation Masked Reader Masterlist

[queerly-autistic]

I've seen some concern about the fact that the BBC has double-billed the last four episodes of Our Flag Means Death and bumped it up later in the schedule - concerns that this means it's not doing well for the BBC - and so I'd just like to allay some of those fears, if possible? To start with, it's important to recognise that the BBC does this all the time. I was in EastEnders fandom for many years, and nonsense schedule changes were a regular annoyance. When I shared OFMD's schedule change with my little group of friends from that fandom, everyone rolled their eyes and went 'oh yeah, typical BBC shenanigans'. As an example: the BBC was really pushing EastEnders last year, they'd been hard-marketing towards the big iconic Christmas episode since February, and then, around comes Christmas, and the BBC inexplicably sticks it on at 10pm (when it's usually broadcast at 7.30pm).

So this isn't unusual. This is extremely common. There's often very little rhyme or reason to the BBC live broadcast scheduling. To try and accurately read between the lines of this is like trying to analyse the written output of a cat walking across a keyboard.

But another big thing to remember is that Our Flag Means Death is a streaming show. The BBC dropped all of the episodes in one go because they know that it's the streaming audience where the show is successful. It's the same with What We Do In The Shadows - we know that the show does well for them, because they keep renewing their contract to show it, but because it does well specifically with a streaming audience the live episode broadcasts are perpetually bumped to a weird time (sometimes one in the morning!!).

The BBC is under contract to do a live broadcast of these shows, but that's not where the audience is. And that's why the episodes get shuffled around or bumped to a late timeslot or double-billed together. Them not necessarily getting spectacular overnight live broadcast ratings is not a big barrier to potential pick-up - streaming numbers is the important metric. And, just yesterday, the BBC dropped a card for the show over the credits of House of Games, a very popular (and mainstream!) afternoon gameshow, asking people to go stream it on iPlayer. if you haven't seen it, I managed to screen-record and post it on Twitter here (subtitles included): https://x.com/QueerlyAutistic/status/1762913455051325888?s=20. This is a really, really good ad to get - a very mainstream slot that potentially brings attention to the show from new audience demographics. The fact that they put an ad-read for the show in this particular slot is more indicative to me of the fact that the show is doing well for the BBC than any predictable shenanigans around live broadcast times. They advertised the 'niche' queer pirate comedy to a very mainstream middle-of-the-day audience! That's not nothing! And the fact that they were specifically advertising it as being on iPlayer - not the live broadcast - indicates to me that that's where it's doing well: that's where they know their audience is, and they don't care about the live broadcast, because the streams are where it's at. The live broadcast is probably just a contractual obligation at this point.

Our Flag Means Death is still regularly listed under 'trending' on the iPlayer website, and the Parrot Analytics for the show in the UK are excellent. And that's what we want. That's what we need to convince streamers. Remember: the YouGov survey about the show specifically asked questions about it in the context of streaming services. Overnight figures are lovely to have, too (so keep tuning in!) but this is a show made to stream. It was all dropped on iPlayer first for a reason; they're specifically pushing it on iPlayer for a reason. And, at the end of the day, it's streamers we're currently trying to convince to pick up the show, not broadcast television networks.

So, don't read too much into it. We're still doing good, UK crew!

[syddsatyrn]

Chapter 1⛤Chapter 2 ⛤ Chapter 3 ⛤ Chapter 4 ⛤ Chapter 5 Masterlist

⛤Pairing: - Eddie Munson x FemReader

⛤Warnings: Swearing, drinking smoking, fluff, friends to lovers

⛤Words: 1.6k

⛤Song: "Photograph" By Def Leppard

⛤Summary: Moving away from Hawkins was the biggest mistake of your life. You left your best friends and forgot to stay in touch. Years later, you decide to hit up your good friend Steve. Its time to make a plan and make amends. The one thing you didn't expect was feelings to resurface when you saw your old highschool crush.

⛤Notes: This series is 18+ Minors scram. Special thanks to @hellfiremunsonn for being my sound board and fanfic support. You are an absolute unit! I have returned from the dead with a fluffy fanfic with a Sydd Satyrn twist. Enjoy!

---------------------

⛤Chapter One: Phone Call

It had to be the worst day you’ve had in a while. You were late to work and your boss scolded you. The cafe was so busy today, you had to skip lunch and your feet are killing you from all the rushing around and taking orders. You broke a plate in the cafe kitchen and accidentally cut your finger. You tripped trying to get to your car and scraped your knee, everything spilled out of your purse and you had to go through the embarrassing motions of picking everything up in public. Today was a total bust.

When you walked through the front door of your apartment, you breathed a sigh of sweet relief. You were not scheduled for tomorrow so at least you’ll get some time to relax. You notice your mom has already come over and dropped off a few boxes of your old high school stuff. She’s attempting to clean out the garage and says everything must go. It wasn't much but you still had to find the energy to go through it all.

After a much needed shower, you poured yourself a glass of wine and called in some Chinese takeout. It didn’t take long for you to devour half of the food in front of you. A reality show is playing on the television, you lean back and finish your glass of wine. The sun is starting to set, things are finally feeling peaceful.

That's when you notice the reflection on the TV screen. Those dusty old boxes staring at you piqued your curiosity once more. Despite your lack of energy, you really wanted to know what was in those boxes. After getting yourself another glass of wine and a pair of scissors, you grab the first box and set it on the coffee table. You opened the box and to your surprise, it was a bunch of your old Polaroid photos from high school.

You looked through each one, remembering each face like it was yesterday. There’s a photo of Steve and Robinat Starcourt mall. Oh and this one was from Prom when no one asked you out, you went with Nancy Wheeler, one of your close friends. You guys had the best night goofing off and dancing. Each photo was something special you left back in Hawkins.

After senior year, your parents got divorced and your mother ended up with full custody. This meant saying goodbye to Hawkins and hello to Shelbyville. Has it really been that long? Since you saw your friends. At first, you visited and called but life just got in the way. Long hours at work, finishing school, and just surviving in general kind of took over. Maybe a dash of depression thrown in.

You pick up another one, it is a Polaroid of Eddie Munson passed out in your bed. You had such a huge crush on him in high school. He was so hot in a bad-boy kind of way. Eddie was kind of like your best friend though, there were many late movie nights at his trailer, and sleepovers while your parents were out of town.

You chuckled to yourself when you remembered that one time Eddie climbed through your window. Your parents heard something and came to check on you, you had to stuff him in the closet before you got caught. All these memories flood your mind and you start to tear up, feeling a little too nostalgic. You notice the phone number scrawled on the bottom of the Polaroid of Steve and Robin.

You know that number, you're pretty sure it's Steve's house phone number. You had to wonder what that man was up to these days. Is he still obsessed with his car and his hair? Did he finish high school like he wanted? You wondered if he and Nancy ever got back together. You sure miss your old hometown and all the trouble you and your crew got into.

You finish another glass of wine and look through some yearbooks, you giggle at old goofy messages written on the inside covers.

“You better visit or we will kidnap you! Miss you already” -Robin

“Don't change a bit, sweetheart.” -Eddie

“Keep your head up and Don't do anything stupid!” - Steve

“Love you so much! Call me!” -Nancy

You glance at the pile of photos on the coffee table, the Polaroid with the phone number is eating away at your ability to focus. The nostalgia clouded your brain or maybe it was the wine. Would they even want a phone call from you? Have they forgotten all about you? You brushed off all the self sabotaging thoughts and picked up the phone. You had no idea who would pick up but at least you had enough liquid courage to try.

"Hello, Harrington residence." Said the lady on the phone.

"Hey there Mrs. H, it's Y/N."

"Well oh my stars! We haven't seen you in ages! How are you, hun?" She asks politely, she's always been really nice to you.

"I'm good! I'm making good money, everything is rather ordinary in Shelbyville." You try not to sound depressed when you mention the last part.

"Good! And how is your mother? You tell her hello for me okay?"

"She's great! She's lost weight and her new boyfriend is pretty cool. I will tell her you said hello." You weren't one for small talk, but you humored her anyway.

"Oh goodness, I'm sure you're calling for Steve? He got a new apartment just a few months ago. I can give you the number."

"Oh, that would be great! Thank you!" You reply.

Mrs. Harrington gives you the number and you write it down on the back of some junk mail. You say your goodbyes and hang up. After a couple of deep breaths, you dialed the new number.

"Hello?"

"Steve?"

"....Y/N?" He sounds like he just got a phone call from a ghost.

"Yeah, it's me." You said, a little nervous.

"How the hell are you?! I haven't heard from you in what feels like forever." Steve's over excitement made you grin.

"I'm good! My mom brought over some boxes with my high school pictures in them. I was feeling nostalgic so I thought I'd call. How are you?" You ask, a lot of your worries fade away as you keep talking to him.

"I'm doing alright! I got an apartment with Eddie downtown. He does a lot of shows now so he's often out trying to live the rockstar life. I bought an old Camaro and fixed it up so it's all mine. Things are good."

"How is the rest of the gang?" You ask.

"Nancy went to college in Indianapolis, Robin works at the record store now. She lives just down the road. Eddie has been a little reclusive lately but I think overall he is fine." Steve sounded a little bummed about the Nancy part.

"Wow, sounds like you guys are staying busy. I wasn't sure if you'd still–" Steve cuts you off.

"You should totally come visit! You can stay here, and we can invite everyone. It will be like old times. What do you think?"

"I uhm…do you think everyone wants to see me?" You ask, unsure of your place in their lives since it's been so long. You honestly thought they would all be irritated with you.

"Are you kidding?? Dustin and I still talk about you all the time, Robin does too. But you know who I think misses you the most?" He says in a playful tone.

"Who?"

"Eddie." Steve chuckles.

"Why do you say that?"

"He still keeps one of your senior photos in his wallet." He has to be gossiping as usual.

"Still?!" You were genuinely shocked. There's no way, he has to be kidding.

"Yeah, he was pretty bummed when you moved. Poor guy. He was down bad."

"Shut uuuuup. He doesn't like me like that. Haha, we were just close friends." You try to brush off his words as nothing but nonsense. Steve is just implanting ideas in your brain.

"Close friends don't sleep in the same bed together." Steve snorts.

"Whatever Harrington." Your face gets a little red as you remember the many times you shared a bed with the brown haired misfit.

"So will you come stay? For a week?" He asks again, this time a little more desperate.

"Well…I do have some vacation days saved up…" You admit it would be fun. It sounds like they miss you and want to reconnect despite the time and distance.

"YES! This is gonna be so rad!" Steve is stoked.

You make a game plan with Steve, figuring out when would be a good week. You had to give your job enough notice to cover your shifts. Steve offered once again to give you a place to crash and you accepted. The final decision you both made was to keep this a secret from the others. It will be a surprise and everyone will "totally flip out" he says. You agree to stay silent and you say your goodbyes and hang up.

Then it dawned on you. You'll be staying at not just Steve's apartment, it's also Eddie's. You are bound to run into each other. You both are going to need some time to talk. It's no secret you miss him and can't wait to see him, but is he going to feel the same way about you? Does he still have feelings for you? Do You have feelings for him? Does he really still keep a picture of you in his wallet?

[mieromaestro]

finally found pt.1

Summary: Y/n and Marshall have a fight. This time it is a serious conflict. He's almost disappointed in the relationship again, but this time it's different. He knows you're special and can't just lose you. Y/n is a celebrity too.

warning: 18+

“I can't believe it. I've trusted you for so many months and I stumbled into betrayal again!”

“You need to hear me. I didn't cheat on you yesterday or ever. It's just that…”

“…I found you making out with him in his car?”

“Marshall! That bastard got me drunk. He wanted me to sleep with him, he wanted to take advantage of me, Marshall!”

“And you're happy about that?”

You slapped him on the cheek.

“How can you say that?!” You cried out in frustration as you looked at his face. “I was insanely scared, I was afraid, but I couldn't do anything!!! I couldn't move because of the crap he gave me.”

Marshall laughed, very bitterly.

“You're really good at manipulating me. You know, I thought you were different, not like all the other whores who betrayed me and hurt me. But it turns out you're not. You're even worse. You got under my skin…”

“I didn't betray you, Marshall.” Your voice trembled, tears dripping to the floor, but you continued to speak insistently. You reached for his head but he roughly intercepted your hand.

“Don't do this to me.” You said, looking into his eyes. There was always so much pain and loneliness in them. It wasn't in the last few months when you were able to build a relationship. He was different. He was so much happier. You were glad that you were the reason why. But now everything was falling apart before your eyes.

“You'd better go.” He said in a cold tone.

You looked up into his eyes in disbelief. Was he really that angry? You couldn't move because of the chilling cold that enveloped you. With trembling hands you began to gather your things. Everything was like a fog. 

Now you just couldn't contain your resentment that HE didn't believe you. Tears came flooding out of your eyes again. Grabbing your suitcase, you walked silently out of the house with one last glance at Marshall.

The incident that had happened to you had been televised and broadcast 24/7. It was the high-profile event of the week. Of course, the pop diva was caught in a car with another guy. All the media wondered if there was a breakup with Eminem and how he survived the "betrayal." Every time you threw a pillow or the first object you could find at the screen at the mention of your name.

Marshall didn't call or write. You went crazy with uncertainty, leaving numerous calls and messages until you realized it was useless to do so.

But you had to endure the embarrassment even worse. Reporters found out about the harassment. To the old footage that didn't really say anything was added a video that a fan who recognized you shot. 

In the video, you could clearly see that you were almost unconscious, and the bastard was kissing you. It was painful for you to look at the recorded video, as if you'd been humiliated and shamed all over again. Tears formed in your eyes, which you wiped away. 

Suddenly you heard the doorbell ring. Not knowing who could come at such a late hour, you went to the door, by which there was still an unpacked suitcase. When you opened the door, you were stunned. The one standing in front of you was Marshall.

“You forgot this at my place.” He was holding a sweatsuit. But not just any sweatsuit, of which you had many, but the one he had given you. It was too big for you because it was his original sweatsuit. You still stood there in silence, not knowing what to say. 

“Thank you.” You reached out and took the sweatsuit, pulling it, but Marshall wouldn't give it back. You looked shyly into his face.

“He won't bother you again.” He said. You looked at him perplexed, and suddenly you saw a blood stain on his eyebrow. You were horrified to imagine what Marshall's words meant. A fight. You didn't even want to ask how he'd found him. With his connections and capabilities, it wasn't hard.

“You shouldn't have, I…” Suddenly you felt his hand sharply lifting your face by the chin.

“Look at me. Did he do anything to you?”

You couldn't fight the rush of feeling that came over you. He was there again, you could feel his touch. But an unpleasant realization stung your heart. He came, but only after the news broke.

“So you believed those weasel reporters, but not me?”

“What?” He frowned.

“You only came here after those videos went viral in the media.”

He suddenly looked in the direction of the TV where the sound was still coming from. There was another story on Y/n.

“I didn't know about that.”

You frowned. “Then why did you come here, Marshall?”

“I'm sorry I didn't believe you right away. Jealousy blinds me.”

“What made you change?”

He came very close, and stared intently into your eyes. That look had been familiar to you for a long time, and you could feel your breath catching. 

“I knew it was crazy to leave you. I knew I would kill myself with it. But I can't take it anymore.” His eyes filled with anger. “It's like I can't control myself. Every time I see assholes stretching their arms toward you, I forget that you belong to me.”

You looked up and put your hand on his neck, gently pulling him closer. Marshall let you pull him to you.

“Nothing could ever happen between me and anyone else.” You smiled. “You know how long I've been trying to win you over. You think I'm just going to back out?”

His hands dropped to your waist and began slowly stroking your skin through the fabric.

“Picked up a lost dog and turned him into an obedient puppy?”

The corners of your lips spread apart and the sincerest smile appeared on your face. He adored your smile because it always reflected your true feelings, your happiness when you were with him. Marshall took your chin in his hands, and you closed your eyes, still smiling.

“I don't know how you do it, but you made me come back to you again.”

At first it seemed like your relationship was only for a moment. Guys like Marshall don't usually pay attention to girls like you, you thought. He was too distant and inaccessible. At times his behavior remained so. But you knew the real him, you saw a side of him that was hidden from others.

You reached forward and kissed him. He moved his hand around your neck and pulled you closer. The other hand that was still resting on your waist moved lower, and you exhaled in a kiss. You were both insatiable, you two haven't had enough of each other. 

You buried your fingers in his hair and felt Marshall lead you toward the inside of the apartment. He began to run his hands over your shoulders, back, waist and hips and you heard his labored breathing.

“I fuckin’ love your body”. He said hoarsely.

You pressed your lips to his neck and left a little hickey there. You knew it was his erogenous zone. Marshall growled, and his movements became more sloppy. He took off your blouse and unhooked your bra, slowly running his palm from your neck to your cleavage and your breasts. 

You tried to keep up with him and pulled off your favorite leather jacket of his, running your palms over his broad shoulders. You didn't notice how you reached the bed and Marshall pushed you onto the soft surface and threw off his shirt. You reached up and pulled him to you. Your lips met again.

Marshall deliberately seized the initiative and pressed you against the bed. It was turning him on, you knew it. He pulled away from your lips and grabbed your jams holding them in one position for a moment and hovering over you. You ran your hand over his chest and taut belly, your hand lingered on his belt and you pulled him toward you. He grabbed your hips and lifted them up. You felt how hard he was and you let out a moan. 

“Honey, I want you to do something for me.”

When you looked at him, you willingly leaned forward and unbuckled his belt. Suddenly Marshall intercepted you and switched places. Now he was on the bed and you were hovering over him.

To be continued

[drabblesandimagines]

Syrup

From an anon request - thanks anon! :) Pairings: Rei x reader Fluffy fluff

You’re sat up on the counter, cross-legged, staring up at the television screen suspended from the ceiling, mashing X as if that would make a difference. It’s a slow afternoon in your workplace of four years – Mr Kyoshi’s Joypad – a shop purely dedicated to video games and consoles. It’s a great place to work, combining your love of video games and recently you’d entered into repairs as a side hobby. In quieter periods, Mr Kyoshi had no issues with you passing the time by gaming yourself, as long as you still attended to the customers, of course. There were sample consoles dotted around the place with recent demos installed, but the one above the counter is where you’d mainly play to show off the most recent games.

The bell dings as you reach a critical part of the fight. If you pause, you’re going to lose momentum and you always die at this point. “Welcome to Kyoshi’s Joypad where we cater to all your gaming needs!” You say almost robotically, before adding, “I’ll be with you in just a second…”

You mash X again, hoping maybe you’ll get another attack in before the boss’ big attack but it’s not to be – your character’s HP drops down to 0 and the screen displays game over.

“Ugh!” You put down the controller and hop off the counter, before spinning round. “Sorry about that, I’ve been trying to beat him since yesterday…” You trail off at the sight of the man before you. He’s tall and lean, shaggy black hair and he looks like he didn’t sleep the night before, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit he was attractive. He’s dressed in tight black jeans and has a blue hoodie zipped up, with a tote bag in hand.

You realise you’ve trailed off and you’re just staring at each other, so you laugh before starting over. “Er, hi! What can I do for you?” You smile, warmly. You’ve had your experience with a lot of socially awkward boys and men in your time working here – some more painful than others – so you’re aware when you might need to lead the conversation some more.

“You need to buff up your defence with iron heart when he powers up.”

“Huh?”

He points to the screen behind you.

“Oh! I’m so bad at remembering that’s a thing, you know? I just like to hit everyone with the big sword.” You scratch the back of your head – a habit when you’re nervous – and grin. “But thanks! I’ll try that next time – I’ve been stuck at this bit for ages.”

He nods and then there’s another pause.

“So, er, can I help you with anything in particular, or did you just want to browse, or…?” You could ramble enough for two.

He puts down the tote on the counter, hesitating before retrieving the contents. “I read online that you do repairs?”

“Yeah! Of course, this voids any warranty on the product, so if it’s still in that period we’d always advise going to the manufacturer first.”

“Mm. No, they’re out of warranty.” He pulls out two controllers. One looks crusted with a questionable substance and the other seems fine, albeit worn.

“Lemme guess – drift?” You point at the battered one.

“Yep.”

It’s a known problem with these controllers – just the amount of use over time wears them out and as a consequence your accuracy takes a hit as the joystick takes on a life of its own. It’s annoying for first person shooter games, as well as racing games – both genres you suspect this guy is into.

“And, er, what happened to this one?” You point, not quite daring to touch it yet until the mystery substance is identified.

“My daughter gave it a bath in syrup.”

“Ah.” You nod, and poke at it cautiously and find it to be horrendously sticky. The thought crosses your mind that this man looks a little young to have a daughter and there’s no wedding ring… You mentally smack yourself for prejudices.

“The other one has been drifting for a while, so I was mainly using this one until…” He shrugs.

“So, I can definitely fix this one for you.” You tap on the drifter. “Syrup one… Well, I can give it a go but I can’t make any guarantees on its survival.”

“That’s fine.”

You grab a repair form from under the counter and note down the make, model and status of the controllers. “I can do the both for 10,000 yen, if that sounds okay?”

The man nods. “Sure. How long will it take?”

“So, I do all the repair work from home where I have the proper set-up as there wasn’t any room in the store.” Mr Kyoshi was not an organized man – he loved retro games and consoles and the back room was overflowing with boxes. It wasn’t good to perform any repairs back there with all the dust, so you’d set up a dedicated space in your bedroom. “I can usually get the drift fixed in an evening, but I think I’ll need some extra time on the syrup, so it might end up being Friday. I’m probably going to have to use a combination of things to see what works…”

He frowns at the mention of Friday – probably the only controllers he owns.

“However, since we don’t want you to be without…” You crouch down below the counter and retrieve a controller from the box you keep back there for such occasions. “You can borrow this. It’s one I’ve refurbished for the shop and you can tell it’s seen a lot, but it still works great.” You slide it over to him. “And you can just bring it back when you come to collect yours.”

“Thanks.” He feels it in his hands. “Could tell I can’t wait that long, huh?”

“Hm, well, I know there’s a Morio Kart online championship coming up and that a lot of people are practicing… I might be way off here, though.”

A smile creeps up on the man’s face. “Hm. Maybe.”

You slide over the form with a pen and tap at the bottom. “Haven’t lost my touch! So, if you want to just write your name and phone number down there for me.” You grab a zip-lock bag to stick the sticky controller in – you don’t want to put that in your backpack.

“My phone number?” His face looks quizzical.

“Yeah…” You smile. “You know, so I can let you know when to pick it up?”

“Ah.” He scribbles down the two bits of information quickly.

“Great! Is there anything else I can help you with today?” He shakes his head as he puts the loaned controller in the tote bag. “Okay, have a good day.” You grin as he heads towards the door.

“Good luck,” he nods up towards the ‘game over’ screen.

--

Through extensive research (aka browsing numerous forums and checking videos), by late Thursday night you’d got the syrupy controller back to its best. It was a bit of trial and error with rubbing alcohol, a tiny toothbrush and a scraper to try and dislodge the sticky residue from every nook and cranny - the payment was probably not worth the amount of time you’d spent on the thing but you were a sucker for a cute guy. The other controller was an easy enough fix at least, one you’d done a number of times already for other clients.

You were covering the 12-8 shift in the shop on Friday – Mr Kyoshi liked to keep it open a little later ahead of the weekends, so as soon as you got in you dug out the form and rang the number the customer – one Rei Suwa – had left you.

It rang for a little too long and you were now expecting it to go to voicemail when suddenly the ringing stopped.

“Hi.” A curt greeting.

“Hi!” You answered cheerfully. “It’s Kyoshi’s Joypad here…”

A loud bang cuts you off. It sounded like a gunshot in the background. He must have one hell of a surround sound system.

“Yeah?”

“So, good news! Both the controllers are working, so if you wanna drop by…”

“What the hell, Rei?! Are you seriously on the phone right now?!” A voice screeches, before there’s another burst of gunfire. “Get to cover!”

You roll your eyes – you must’ve disturbed a Call Of Duty session with his buds.

“Thanks. I’ll be there later on today.”

“Dude!” The other voice hisses.

“Okay, bye.” But the dial tones tells you he’s already hung up. You place the phone back on the receiver, before and putting the fixed controllers underneath the desk along with the form to be collected later and get on with your shift.

--

It’s half three and you’ve been kept pretty busy. You’re sat behind the counter, finishing off the last of the stock audit when the bell rings again and you look up with your automatic greeting.

“Welcome to Kyoshi’s Joypad where we… Whoa.” You wished you hadn’t said that last part out loud.

The man standing the other side of the counter from you is in an incredibly well-fitted suit, waistcoat and red tie. His dark-hair is tied up on top of his head, revealing an undercut. His face seems similar but you can’t quite place it.

You manage to stop yourself gawking. “I mean, whoa-t can I help you with today?” You know as soon as it comes out of your mouth that it was not the smoothest save and the slight smile on the man’s face just seems to confirm it.

“I’m here to pick up the controllers…” He mumbles, and then you put two and two together. This is the same guy from the other day?! You found him attractive then, sure, but this look… Ooft.

“Oh, Rei! I’m so sorry, the suit threw me off.”

“You don’t like it?” He looks down at the fit with a frown.

“No, no! I just… It’s not what the average clientele wears in here, so I just didn’t put the two and two together. It looks good, really good…”

“I had a meeting.” That doesn’t really blend with what you heard on the phone earlier, but maybe that was a lunchbreak thing? You shouldn’t judge, you spend a good deal of your working day gaming and get away with it.

“Oh, cool. What do you do for work? I mean, you know I work here, so…”

“I guess you could say I clean up the city.”

“Ah…” You nod as if you get what he means, but you don’t. There’s an awkward silence and then you remember what he came in for. “Right, your controllers!” You bend down and retrieve them – they’re in a paper bag with the shop’s logo on. You slide the bag across the counter. “Should be as good as new.”

“Wow,” he peeks in the bag and retrieves one, then the other, looking closely. “I can’t even tell which one was the syrupy one.”

“Thanks!” You smiled. “I was pretty pleased with how it turned out too. I’ve tested them both out with a couple of games, but if something doesn’t seem right just bring them back and I’ll take a look, free of charge, of course. I like happy customers.”

“Thank you.” He retrieves the store’s controller from his suit pocket – you’re not sure how it fit in there. “And this is yours. I kept Miri away from it to make sure it didn’t come back in syrup.”

“Miri - is that your daughter’s name?” He nods. “That’s cute. How old is she?”

“Four.”

“She must be a handful.”

“Mm.” There’s a pause. “Did you beat the boss from the other day?”

“I did – thank you. Your tip did the trick. I promise I’ll remember about my status boosts from now on, or at least try.”

Someone stands behind Rei with a game in hand, ready to check out. You want to keep the conversation going, but Mr Kyoshi doesn’t pay you to flirt with handsome men – though he does bemoan why a nice young lady such as yourself is single…

Rei notices the person too. “How much do I owe you again?”

“Oh, yeah. 10,000 yen, please.” You enter the amount into the register as he passes over his card and you slide it through the machine. “Thank you. Here’s your receipt. Hope to see you again soon!”

“Thanks. Me too.” He picks up the paper bag and gives you a small wave as he leaves.

--

It’s Monday when you’re next back in the shop. The morning is very quiet and after you’ve taken the usual deliveries, you’re sat back upon the counter playing another quest when the bell rings. You immediately pause and slide off the counter, ready to greet the customer. “Welcome to… Oh, Rei. Hi!” You smile and he smiles back almost sheepishly. He’s in casual attire today and has a bag in his hand.

“Morning.”

“How can I help you today?”

“Er, I’m afraid Miri had another accident.” He places the bag on the counter and you peek inside. It’s soaked in syrup again.

“What – how?!” Your eyes widen at the sight of it.

“Blame Kazuki, he’s always giving her pancakes…”

“Kazuki, huh?” You try and ask casually.

“Yeah, my room-mate. We, er, co-parent. It’s a long story. Can you salvage it?”

“I think so. Leave it with me. It might be another two-day job, if that’s okay? I can lend you a controller again if you need two…” You grab another form and jot down the details.

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want her to drench yours either. She can just watch me.”

“It’s sweet that you guys play together.” You smile. “Can you write your number down again for me?” You’ve already filled in his name.

“Sure.” He notes it down. “How are you getting on?” He points up to the screen.

“Mm, better! It’s my own fault – I’ll admit I like playing for the storyline more than the combos.”

“No, I can understand that.” His phone chimes with an alarm from his pocket. “Ah, sorry. I need to head. You’ll ring when it’s ready?”

“Mm-hm. Speak soon.” You watch him leave, disappointed the conversation was so short today. You let out a sigh and hop back up onto the counter, resuming your game.

--

You call Rei Wednesday morning after you’ve successfully eliminated all traces of syrup again – this time it’s quiet in the background on his side. He says he’ll be by in the afternoon and, true to his word, he appears with a little girl holding his hand.

“Hi, Rei!” You smile brightly as he heads over to the counter. Miri, you presume, is bouncing on her heels and looking around the shop in wonder, squealing as she recognizes different video game characters.

You bend down and retrieve Rei’s controller, placing it on the counter before leaning over it and grin down at Miri.

“So, syrup bandit, we meet at last, huh?”

Miri grins back up at you. “Oh, you’re the pretty lady that fixes them!” Rei’s face flushes red and he stutters, but you can’t help but find it adorable. Miri’s attention span drifts and lands on the Morio Kart display demo to the side. “Do you get to play all these games all day?!”

“I sure do! Sadly, I have to let the customers have a go too otherwise my boss gets kinda mad.” You wink. “Speaking of which, you can play Morio Kart if you like.”

“Oh, can I? Can I, Papa Rei?” She tugs at Rei’s arm again with a pleading look.

“Sorry, Miri. Papa Kazuki said we needed to be back by 4 today. How about we swing by another time, and we can play when we get home, okay?”

“Okay, Papa Rei.” She nods, though her eyes stare longingly at the demo machine.

“How much do I owe you today?”

“5,000, please.” He slides over cash this time and you ring it through the register.

“Now, young lady, please can you promise me not to cover this in syrup again?”

She frowns. “But Papa Rei told me to do it so he could come see you again!” Rei looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up in that moment.

“Oh, did he?” You laugh, feeling your own cheeks flush. “Well, here’s your receipt and…” You grab a pen and write along the bottom. “..my gamer tag.”

He nods his head frantically, grabs the receipt, the controller and Miri and speedwalks to the door. “Thank you! Bye.”

“Bye, pretty lady!” Miri beams and Rei yanks her out of there.

--

When you get home later that night, you make a quick dinner before collapsing on your bed as you boot up your games console. You logged into the network, and a notification beeped. One new request from ReiSuwa1.

You hit accept and see he’s still online, playing the game you’d struggled on the other day. Coincidence or deliberate, you muse. A few minutes later, another notification comes up. ReiSuwa1 is inviting you to voice chat.

Your stomach flips as you grab your headset and put it on, before hitting accept.

There’s a beep to show you’ve been connected.

“Don’t tell me there’s been another syrup incident.”

A chuckle fills your ears.

[janicho88]

When It All Falls Apart - Chapter 12

Pairing- ex!Jensen x Padalecki Reader

Word count- 3,827

Warnings- Some language. Dealing with a breakup. Sad reader. Angst, If I missed something let me know!

A/N-We're going to hear a little bit more from Jensen, and the reader gets to know someone new a little better. A little off canon, SPN ended after 10 years. We still got all the characters in during that time though. Thank you to @writercole and @leigh70 for your help with this. You two are amazing!!

Summary-Y/N Padalecki loved acting on Supernatural.  Working alongside your older brother and your boyfriend, but after ten seasons the guys have chosen to hang up the guns.  Now the three of you are moving on to other projects, but that’s all that needs to change right?  While you have moved to Austin to be closer to your family and boyfriend, Jensen is working elsewhere.  Distance is only the start of your troubles.

Series Masterlist

When Mackenzie leaves your apartment complex, she makes her way back to Jensen’s place.  Her brother is on the couch with a glass of what she assumes is whiskey in his hand, his phone on the table in front of him.  He’s just staring at a black television screen.  

She doesn’t know if he heard her come back or not, because he hasn’t moved yet.  Walking behind him she slaps the back of his head before coming around the front of the couch.

“Ouch, what was that for?” Jensen questions, rubbing the back of his head. 

“For being a dumbass, and losing the best damn thing that has ever happened to you.” 

She picks up a pillow from the end of the couch and throws it at him, with the glass of alcohol in his hand he doesn’t react in time to knock it away.

“What has gotten into you today?  I liked yesterday’s Mack better.”

“She hadn’t just spent the last couple hours with Y/N.”

Jensen looks up at her, “you saw her?”

“I did, and considering how much you always said she meant to you, you did a piss poor job of showing it.  I don’t think I have ever seen Y/N so down and hurt.  What the hell were you thinking treating her like that?”  She ends with a shout.

“I never wanted to hurt her!” He yells back. 

“Well mission not accomplished!”  

Kenzie is pacing back and forth in front of the tv, while her brother gets up and moves to the kitchen.  She follows him after a moment and watches him fill up his glass with whiskey and down it.

“If the man you told me about yesterday, and what she said today is who my brother is turning into, I don’t think I want to know him.”

“That makes two of us.”  He pours another drink before his sister takes the glass away from him.  He takes a big drink from the bottle instead.  “I looked through my phone today, my text messages with Y/N.  There are so many I never responded to.  I didn’t even make it to checking the call log.”

“What happened to you?  This isn’t how mom raised us, and this isn’t my big brother that always used to watch out for others.”

When he doesn’t reply she continues.

“How could you just push her to the side like she doesn’t mean anything?  Yesterday, you told me you already bought her a ring.  Were you having second thoughts about asking her?  Did you want to end things?  What was going through that head of yours?  Did the new hairstyle come with a dickhead attitude?”

“No, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t mean to?  You’re not a kid that accidentally broke mom’s vase here.  She is really hurting Jay, heartbroken and living in some closet sized dump of an apartment.” 

He stares at his sister and replays the last thing she said.  Is she not at Jared’s anymore?  Grabbing his empty glass and going back to the couch, Jensen sits down in one corner and Kenzie sits in the other facing him.  

“Talk to me please,” she softly pushes. 

“For the first time in ten years I was walking onto a new set.”

“It’s not the first time you’ve been on a new set.  You were just on a movie set before this one.”

He rolls his eyes at the interruption.  “I know, but it was the first time I was coming on after being the star of my own show for so long.  The Batman movie, we were all pretty much in the same boat there.   These guys on The Boys, have been together for two years already.  Not everyone was the most welcoming at first.  Hell, one of the guys even told me, he didn’t want to like me.” 

He pauses for a moment before continuing.  “I didn’t want it to end up being like Dark Angel, where there were stupid fights over lines, or screen time, or some other idiotic thing.  So I did everything I could to try and fit in and avoid rocking the boat. I found a new friend in Karl, and we hung out outside of work. We might go golfing or hit up a bar, maybe both, sometimes Chace or Jack would join.  Then Karl would invite me along when they all went out as a group.I didn’t want to tell them no, and let them think I wasn’t a team player.”

“Okay, but what’s that have to do with how you treated Y/N?”

“When she showed up to dinner with Eric, I was afraid they might see it as calling in a favor with the boss to get my girlfriend to be around.  I don’t quite know how to explain how I saw it at the time.”

“That’s ridiculous.  What about barely talking with anyone before that?”

“We would spend a lot of time on set.  Might not always be the ones filming, but we were there. Phones had to stay in our trailers.  Some nights I was so beat that I just wanted to shower and get to sleep.  Honestly there were times, I didn’t even think to look at it. This character, he’s not exactly the best guy.  There were days or nights I would get in this awful headspace, and I just shut myself away.”

“Mom, Y/N, me, any of us could have helped and talked to you if you needed it.”

“But I got it in my head that I needed to do this on my own.  Prove I could do it just as well as the other guys they were looking at for the part.”

“Bravo, you did it.  You just became an asshole in the process.”

“I never meant to.  I got caught up in everything, and the filming process is different.  It isn’t really just one episode at a time.  Plus there are all these extra things thrown in that we’re filming.  Everything together, it was just a crazy couple of months.”

“I think you need to take some time now that you’re home, to figure out where exactly you stand, and what’s important in your life.  You treated Y/N like shit, and your family didn’t fare much better. I doubt your friends did either.  But you would be an even bigger idiot than you have been if you let that girl go without a fight.”

“After everything, there is no way she would want me back.”

His sister shrugs, getting up from the couch.  “Well this has been an interesting two days, but I need to get back to Dallas.  You need to work on removing your head from your ass.”

“Thanks, Mack,” he quips with a roll of his eyes. 

Picking up her purse she heads for the door.  “Good luck, you’re going to need it.”

“Thanks, drive safe.  Text me when you get home.”

“It would serve you right if I didn’t.”

He just glares at her.

“Alright, fine.  Love you.”

“Love you too, kid.”

With a hug she is off the front porch and over to her car.  Jensen waves as she pulls out of sight.  Shutting the front door he makes his way back to the living room thinking over everything that had been said. 

You spent the rest of your Sunday on the couch with the now empty bag of popcorn.  The Hallmark Channel didn’t last very long.  Flipping channels doesn’t get you anywhere, so you pull up Netflix and decide on Lucifer.  Rich had worked on that show before, and had given you a hard time about not checking it out yet.

Unfortunately, you end up falling asleep on the couch and your neck and back are not happy with you Monday morning.  At least today should be a fairly easy one.  You just have two early scenes and should be free after lunch.

After hair and makeup are done with you this morning, you head to wardrobe before going to your trailer to wait for your call time.   While you are going over the script there is a knock at the door.

“Come in,” you call out from the couch.  

Looking up you see Keegan walking in, seems like he is all ready for the day also.  

“Hey, I was just wondering if you wanted to run lines for the second scene?” he asks.

“Sure, you can have a seat.”

Sitting across from you he pulls out the needed pages while you flip to your own.  The scene is just the two of you talking or arguing about Cordel after he has stormed out of their parents house. It has your two characters slightly at odds.  You want to cut the ranger a little slack after everything that has happened, his brother does not. 

A short while later a PA comes to call the both of you to the Walker family house set.  Jared is talking with the director.  Violet and Kale, who play Jared’s children, are off to the side looking over their scripts, while Mitch and Molly, the elder Walkers, are seated in the family living room already in their spots.   

During a break after the second take, Keegan pulls out his phone and takes a quick video of everyone waiting for the next take.  

“Here is some of our amazing cast hard at work on episode 2.”

You wave and smile when he turns it to you.

“Are you ready for this Miss Padalecki?”

“I believe I am.  How about you?”

He turns the camera on himself before shrugging. “Guess we’ll find out.  Bye for now.”

The morning goes quickly.  Since you are finished with your scenes, you are getting ready to head out.  Jared comes over as you are locking up your trailer.

“Hey, where are you off to?”

“Heading home.  What do you have?”

“A couple scenes after lunch, then some work on the producer side.”

“Good luck, hope it goes well.”

“Thanks.  I was heading for lunch, did you want to grab some with me before you go?”

You are about to say no, but your brother looks a little down.  “Sure, sounds good.”

You follow him over to craft services and notice that once he has his food, he’s looking around for a place to sit.  Unlike the Supernatural set, those here just look at him and nod as he walks by.  No one calls out for him to join them.  The two of you sit at an empty table in the back, he looks down while he starts to eat.

“What’s going on?”

Looking up in confusion, Jared just shrugs.

“Okay, let’s try this.  Where do you usually eat lunch here?”

“Gen was here some last week so she and Tom joined me.  I’ve had some meetings over lunch other days.”

“You don’t join in with the others?”

“I’m their boss here.  I’ve tried to joke around to get them to loosen up, but it’s still early I guess.  Mitch isn’t bad, but he usually eats in his trailer so he can skype his wife.”

“Y/N, you’re still here!” you hear Keegan call out behind you.

Looking up, you notice him walking over toward your table, he pauses when he sees Jared.  

“Hey Keegan, why don’t you join us?” you call out to him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on.  Do you have more scenes this afternoon?”

“Yep, Jared and I have the brother’s confrontation scene next.  Then a flashback with the Walker family.”

“Okay, did you two need to run lines or anything?”

“I don’t want to bother Jared,” your new friend starts to say.

“It’s no bother.  I’d be happy to.  We can figure out how we want to play it before we get there,” Jared interrupts him.

You leave a short time later with those two in an animated discussion. 

Back at your apartment you decide to take advantage of the workout room.  All your extra snacks and sweets lately have your wardrobe fitting a little tight.  A swim after helps to cool you down before going back to your place. You have the next day off and give Gen a call to see if she wants to get together.  She has some meeting for a fundraiser board she is on, so you offer to come watch Tom.

It’s been a few days since your nephew has seen you.  The little man keeps you on your toes all day Tuesday.  You are playing with his toys indoors, out in the pool, and then running around the yard for a game of chase.  By the time Gen gets back you are wiped.  Tom settles down for a nap, while you spend some time with her.   Back home later that night, you head to bed early knowing the next three days will be long ones on set. 

Jared gives Jensen a call Tuesday night when he is once again hounded by Tom because Aunt Y/N didn’t bring Uncle Jensen over today.  

“Hey,” Jared greets his longtime friend.

“Hi Jare,” Jensen answers. 

“Tom wants to know when he's going to see Uncle Jensen.”

“My week is pretty open, what’s yours look like?”

“I’m on set all week. Tom has an appointment tomorrow Gen is taking him to.  She’ll be home with him Thursday, and she’ll be on set Friday afternoon so he’ll be there.”

“How about I pick him up Friday before Gen goes to work.  That way he isn’t stuck on the lot, or in your trailer.  I can take him over to the park, and bring him back to my place until one of you is done.”

“I’ll run it by Gen, but it should work.”

The two make small talk before ending the conversation.  Jared texts him later that Friday is good for them.

Wednesday and Thursday end up being longer days on set for you, and you are thankful there are only three scenes you are a part of on Friday.  They are just spread out a bit so you are still spending the whole day on set.  You see Gen arrive and go over to greet her and Tom, and are surprised when your nephew isn’t in the car.

“He’s with Jensen.  Tom has been begging to see him,” she tells you with a slight wince.

“Oh, I bet he has.  It’s good that they can spend some time together,” you respond with a small smile.  “I forgot something in my trailer, I’ll catch you later Gen.”

Back inside your trailer you take a seat on the couch.  Why are you upset about this?  Tom loves Jensen and you knew eventually your brother and him would be hanging out again.  Is it because you wish you were included in the plans like you used to be?  You just have to keep reminding yourself that you need to get used to the new way of things.

One very excited Tom is in his car seat in the back of Jensen’s truck on the way to the park.  The little boy hasn’t stopped talking yet. It helps take Jensen’s mind off of the tense exchange he had with Gen.  She is loyal and fierce, so he should have expected that.  Tom has told the adult up front all about his new lego set, the mess Sadie made in the house after she rolled in mud the other day, and the trip he took where he got to wave a sparkle lighter in his hand.

“What’s a sparkle lighter?”  Jensen asks, looking back at him while they are stopped at a light.

“A stick that my daddy put fire on and then I got to hold it while the sparkle lights shot off it.”

“Oh, you mean a sparkler.”

“Yeah, a sparkle lighter.”

“Sure bud, did you do that all by yourself?”

“Daddy helped.”

When they arrive at the park, Jensen is thankful it isn’t very busy.  Tom takes off for the swings first, when he’s tired of being pushed it’s over to the slides.  He makes sure his uncle is watching him go across the bridge on the play set to get over to the tall slide.  

Jensen is keeping a careful eye from down below to make sure he doesn’t fall.  Watching the small child, he can’t help but remember the last time he came here with you and Tom.  You were right up there with Tom making sure he got across just fine.  The first time down the slide you had to go with him, after that he wanted you up with him, but to slide down himself.  Jensen, definitely misses your company today.

When it’s time to leave the park, Tom convinces Jensen to stop for ice cream on the way back.  Looking at the time, Jensen calls in a pizza for them to pick up for dinner before they stop for ice cream.  When they reach his house, he takes Tom and the ice cream inside before coming back for the pizza.  He tells the little boy he has to eat some actual food before he can have his ice cream out of the freezer.

While they are eating Tom starts to tell Jensen about a time when you were watching him.

“Mommy and daddy weren’t home and me and Aunt Y/N got pizza and bread and cake and cheese fries and popcorn and cookies and ice cream.  I had one but she got two.”

“You had all that at once?”

“Yeah, she told me not to tell mommy though.”

This was the opening Jensen was looking for to see what was going on with you.  “How is your Aunt Y/N?”

 Tom shrugs his little shoulders. “She was crying a lot, but only when she didn’t see me there.”

“Is she still?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you see her cry anymore?”

“Not when she visits.”

“She doesn’t live with you anymore?”

“No. Why isn’t Aunt Y/N at your house?” the little boy quickly returns.

“Um.. well.. What did she tell you?”

“You were busy working.  But you aren’t now.  So can she leave her new home and come back there?  I don’t like it.  It’s really small and she has bad snacks there.  Mommy let me take goldfish over for you when you go to her new house.  So you don’t have to have the bad snacks.”

“That was very nice, thank you.  What’s Y/N’s apartment like?” Jensen tries to fish out more information.

“I don’t like playing there. Her bed is in the living room and kitchen together.  We can’t even play hide and seek.”  It doesn’t have any place to hide.”  He waves his hands around as only an exasperated four year old can.

The picture Tom is painting in Jensen’s head isn’t a great one.   Why would she leave Jared’s for a place like that?

After dinner and ice cream Jensen finds a kids movie on Netflix and hangs out in the living room with Tom.  He is out before the end of the movie and Jensen covers him with a blanket before turning off the movie and sitting there in silence.  

A knock at the front door quickly stirs him from his thoughts, he tries to get there before they wake up the little boy.  Opening the front door, Gen is on the other side.

“I’m here for Tom.”

“I figured.  He’s asleep, come on in.”

Gen silent follows him in the house, stopping in the hallway when Jensen questions her.

“How is she?”

She turns to look at her husband's best friend, and her sister-in-law’s ex. “I’m assuming you mean Y/N,” she replies after a moment.

“That would be correct.”

“Why should I tell you?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Mack and Tom both said some things. I’m worried about her.”

“Where was that worry two, three months ago?”

“I screwed up, I majorly screwed up, okay.  That doesn’t mean I don’t care about her.  Please.”

She stares at him a good minute before responding, “You hurt her bad.  She puts on a good front, but those that know her can see through it.”

“Is her apartment as bad as they both said?”

“None of us are thrilled with her current living arrangement.”

“I was surprised to hear she moved out.”

“I don’t know how many times I heard her tell Jared she didn’t want whatever happened between the two of you to come in between you and Jared.  One reason she moved out was so he could still have you over without worrying about upsetting her.”  Gen shakes her head.  “As hurt as she was…is,  she still cares about you.”

“I never meant for this to happen.  Hurting her wasn’t my intention.”

“What was your intention then?”

“I got caught up in my own head and trying to get through filming.  I just… I didn’t realize what had happened until it was too late.  She’s right, I didn’t take the initiative and call her.  Took a few weeks after the breakup  for me to realize I was still checking my phone for messages or calls from her.  I had been doing that during the…the end of our relationship, I was too wrapped up in my own things to pick up the phone and call her to see how she was doing.  I left it to her to do all the communicating.”  He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  “Hell, I still check my phone to see if there’s anything from her.  I’ve come to realize, I failed her on a number of levels.”

“You really did. It’s about time you realized it.  Now how are you going to fix it?”

“I don’t think I can.  She deserves a better man.”

Gen shakes her head.  “I agree she deserves better, or at least better than the you in Toronto.  But I know you still have her heart.  What the two of you had was something very special, and I thought it would be worth fighting for.”

“I won’t be around much the next few months.  I have a recurring role that films in New Mexico.  It’s not fair to her to try and win her back when I’m leaving again.  What if I just fall back into the same habits?”

“I don’t think you would be stupid enough to do that to her twice. Get your shit together Ackles, because you hurt her again, Jared will kick your ass.  But that’s nothing compared to what I will do.”

She leaves him with that, walks into the living room to pick up a sleeping Tom.  Jensen holds the front door open, and moves the car seat back to her car, all the while replaying what was said.  Could he try and win her back?  Does he wait until he’ll be around more?  Is Gen wrong and it’s already too late?  Does he even deserve to?

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 13

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[radioactive-earthshine]

Mega Demon: Blue and Yellow

Rating: General Audiences Category: Gen Relationships: Bart Allen & Jenni Ognats Words: 2495 On Ao3 Summary Max told Bart that he absolutely, under any circumstances, was NOT allowed to enter the Mega Demon Championship because it would be 'cheating'.

Jenni decided spending time with Bart and making memories with him while stranded in the 1990s was more important than obeying Max and enters them both in the championship. But do they really have that button mashing skills to win? Can they also evade Max's suspicions? Find out!

Excerpt

That snapped Bart out of his gloom, his eyes still flat as he leaned back into the sofa. “M’fine. It’s just the Mega Demon Championship. Really wanted to compete but Max said ‘no’ and I gotta do what Max says!”  “Why did he say no? It seems pretty harmless, and we play Mega Demon all the time! You’re good at it!” Jenni got off of the floor to sit next to her cousin, she couldn’t help herself and she ran her narrow fingers through his thick auburn hair.  “I’m not just good at Mega Demon. I’m great at it!” Bart lamented and Jenni knew there was a rant to follow. “He thinks we use our powers to play! I tried to tell him our speed is no good in videogames, but he won’t listen! Says if I enter it’s cheating because I have an unfair advantage.” Bart scoffed then turned the television off with the remote, the screen crackled with static before it dimmed. “He doesn’t get how much I haveta slow down to play!” “And entering is really important to you, isn’t it?” Jenni asked, she still had her hand in his thick hair and felt him nod.  “I can’t play basketball, football, soccer ball, baseball and no cheerleading, I got kicked out of chess since the rook incident, and golf is cruel and unusual torture.” Bart listed off his fingers. “Golf. Max wanted me to play golf! Do you have any idea how boring a game golf is?”  “I don’t know what any of those are,” Jenni admitted. “But I’ll take your word for it. Hey, what do you need to do to enter this competition?”  Bart became a flicker of yellow when he bolted to grab a newspaper from the dining room table. When he came back he had it open to the exact page that mimicked the commercial from earlier. “It’s being held at the local Blockbuster here in town this Saturday. You just need to fill out their form.”  “Saturday is only two days away!”  “Yeah, and then it will be no days away and then yesterday!” Bart folded the newspaper and Jenni watched him put it back on the table. Biting her lip she made an impulsive decision and fell into white lightning and was gone. “Grife! It’s not fair! I can’t help it if I was born like this, I feel like I’m being punished just for being a speedster! Grife!” He turned around dramatically just in time to have Jenni show back up in crackles of white. “Woah, where did you go?”  Grinning, Jenni held up the white sign-up sheet. “Blockbuster right? The place Helen took us to rent Star Trek VII right?” Bart nodded and then it clicked, Jenni watched as his eyes sparkled.

This was written for the @flashfamevents Relay Race Flash Zine. Now I provide it all for you to enjoy.

Please let me know if you enjoyed it!

I had to lock down all my fics to registered users only due to AI Scraping.

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

3

"These aren't half bad for a pastry chef." Law smirked picking up another rice ball from the night before.

You didn't respond, gnawing on your lower lip distractedly.

'I need to see you.'

What does that mean? Did something happen? Had you been caught?

"F/N." your fiancé called startling you from your thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Would you like to go back to bed?" he offered assuming your distant demeanor was a side effect of last night's events.

"What? No, I'm fine." you raised your gaze to meet his.

He looked more curious than concerned, "Care to tell me why you're about to chew your own lip off?"

You halted your nervous habit once attention was drawn to it.

"Just still a bit off from yesterday I guess." you lied.

He didn't believe you but accepted your answer for now taking a seat at the table with you.

"Was there anything you wanted to do today?" he felt weird asking.

The two of you never participated in joint activities and he had no clue what you enjoyed doing when you weren't working.

"I'm so used to being up to my eyeballs in work. Just sitting around sounds kinda good." you shrugged.

"Then sitting around it is." he declared.

You glanced at him sideways. Was he planning to spend the day with you? When you suggested sitting around you assumed he would leave you alone, it didn't really seem to be his style to lay about and watch TV.

An hour later you'd constructed a nest of blankets and pillows on the sofa with Netflix cued up. Law strolled in placing his laptop, a medical journal and a comp book on the coffee table before taking a seat on the floor.

"Comfortable?" he watched you settle and turned back to the TV picking up the remote.

You hummed as he pressed play and went about his research.

It seemed he'd had no interest in watching your shows with you, but still felt the need to keep you company. You glanced between the television and your fiancé frequently. He studied diligently, citing medical articles and highlighting passages in the journal. Eventually, he stopped to take a break joining you on the couch. Rather than watch the baking show you were now six episodes into he leaned back and closed his burning eyes. It was quiet but comfortable unlike the night before. At some point, you both fell asleep.

                                                                                                    ___________

Buzzing on your nightstand jolted you from slumber. The room was still dark as you felt around for the device, squinting when you unlocked the screen nearly blinding yourself.

2:56 AM

"Fuck." you whispered settling back and opening your texts.

Law: I won't be home tonight. The on-call is overwhelmed and we're short on nurses.

It had been ten days since your episode. Before that Law probably wouldn't have bothered to tell you he wasn't coming home, you didn't share a room, it didn't matter to you. But you both agreed to communicate more even if you weren't quite ready.

Me: Your food is in the fridge.

Law smirked and pocketed his phone lying back on the cot in the on-call room. The staff insisted that he sleep for at least an hour, so he caved just taking the time to not be standing and interacting with people. He enjoyed that you were cooking dinner when you had time and that you even bothered to save him some. Cooking seemed to soothe you and he was reaping the benefits.

Your phone buzzed again earning a groan from you. What else could Law have to say?

206.555.4524: please.

The last message had gone unanswered, you even deleted it. Now you sat up wide awake slapping your phone across your thigh.

206.555.4524: I'm there. I'll wait.

You cut the engine after parking behind the house to be a little more inconspicuous.

"There" as it was referred to, was the Newgate lake house. You'd spent many summers there with the family and snuck away to have many nights alone with Marco. His truck was hidden around back next to yours, just like old times. You couldn't help the paranoid thought of it being a trap, but Marco would never do that to you.

Gulping down a few unsteady breaths you exited your car and walked up to the back door. Before you could knock the door opened and you were yanked inside colliding with a familiar torso. The light scent of burnt mesquite and chamomile wafted across your face instantly bringing a sense of ease over you. He held you for ages burying his nose in your scalp before you realized you weren't returning the affection. Your arms hung at your sides, you hadn't made a single move to bury yourself further into the blonde. The moment was so surreal and unexpected that you didn't hear him softly calling you.

His left hand moved to tip your chin up and meet his gaze, a heavy blush staining your cheeks. How could someone look so intense and nonchalant at the same time? His sapphires smoldered soaking up your flustered expression. It was exactly the reaction he wanted even if you didn't hug him back. The look on your face always gave you away.

"I shouldn't have come here." you stepped away.

Marco frowned, "But you did come, yoi."

"It was a mistake. You're married and I'm matched. People can't see us together even if it doesn't mean anything."

That hurt.

"Don't make it sound like we were nothing." his glare pierced your very core.

"That wasn't my intention. I'm sorry," you sighed pinching the bridge of your nose, "why did you call me out here? I thought something happened."

His shoulders dropped as he let out an exasperated sigh, "She's pregnant."

Your churning stomach worked quick sending stinging bile up your throat. You ran to the kitchen and spat into the sink. Marco followed offering a comforting pat between your shoulder blades.

"I'm ok." you muttered catching your breath, "Congrats is what I should have said."

Why did you come here?

"Yeah, I guess." he rubbed his neck.

"Why call me out in the middle of the night to tell me this?" you turned leaning against the marble countertop.

"I don't think it's mine, yoi."

The front door that led directly into the kitchen swung open startling both of you.

"Trust me no one ever comes out here babe." Ace stumbled in guiding a curvy brunette.

"Shit."

[helloblobbyblobfish]

Day 4: television

Sorry this caption is one day late, my computer was so slow yesterday evening I had to shut it down.

-

Robert was dressing up for his date when his television light up by himself.

Confused, Robert looked at the screen which, rather than statics or a blank screen, was filled with blurry colors, with lots of green and purple.

It was oddly… calming. Richard found himself unbuttoning his shirt. 

He was supposed to sit, he did not know why he was so certain, but he had to sit and watch. As he was next to the table counter, he sat on the table. He NEEDED to sit fast and watch.

His date sent him many messages and even tried to call him twice, but Richard only had eyes for his TV screen.

After literal hours, the screen shut down and Richard was now uncertain of what to do without his master’s guidance. Suddenly, his phone rang.

Pissed at the idea of Beth being still wound up on him, Richard pulled it out from his pocket with annoyance, but was surprised to see it was his former friend Bud.

Hoping it was who he wanted to hear more from, despite never having actually heard his master’s voice, as far as he knew, Richard answered.

“Hello, puppet.” Blood rushed to Richard’s lower regions, and he half-moaned: “Master! Please command me.”

“Oh, you are so much better like this, puppy. Now, I need you to wash your butt as clean as possible and lube it. I’m going to put a lot of things in there tonight.”

Richard had always been a top, but he could not think of anything he would rather do than let his Master fuck him any way Master wanted. “Anything for you, Master!”

“Good, and then we shall sign papers so that we co-own everything you own, your rich pig.”

His Master was degrading him! Richard would have come had he not known only his Master decided when he could release. “Of course, Master! Anything for you!”

[noodyl-blasstal]

33... and you... and me

It's day 2 of @taznovembercelebration and today's prompt was "promise". I drew a second card and got "celebrity AU" so here's a mix of those. It's extra silly because what is taznc for if not to roll around in the ridiculousness?

You can find yesterday's here, and read this one below or on Ao3.

--

"I can't just slide into his dms and propose, you're being ridiculous." Kravitz flops back on the sofa, head in Sloane's lap. "Why'd he have to go and get famous and unobtainable?"

"Ah yes, it would be ridiculous, wouldn't it, for someone to get all famous without warning. Perhaps be some big shot that everyone wants as musical director."

Kravitz harrumphs. "I'm a big name to a very small group of people. It's not the same and you know it. Taako's on TV! Television!! He has live events! He signs things!! He has calendars, every year!!"

"You could have calendars every year if you just listened to my suggestio..."

"Sloane! I am not doing suggestive poses in my pants holding a baton. We've had this conversation an upsetting amount of times."

"Look Krav, I'm gay as hell, but I know excellent marketing when I think of it."

"Uh huh."

"But mostly, I know an excellent distraction when I think of one."

Kravitz is tumbling to the ground before he can do anything to counteract Sloane's shove. She's into the bathroom and has the door locked before he's back on his feet. Maybe he does need to take up yoga or something to help him fall and un-fall more gracefully.

"What’s going on?" Kravitz shouts through the door.

"I'm going through a tunnel, I can't hear you!" Sloane yells back.

"If you're ill you could have just said, do you need me to get you anything?"

"You can't be nice to me right now." Sloane has just enough guilt in her tone to indicate that this was, in fact, not a medical emergency.

"Sloane? What did you do?"

"What am I doING?" Sloane corrects.

"Sloane?" Kravitz tries not to let worry creep into his voice, he fails. Wait... No. No no no! Kravitz pats at his right pocket desperately, then the left just in case he stashed his phone there instead. Nothing. "Tell me you didn't?"

"What's that? Bad line, I can't hear you."

"Sloane!" The panic is there now, evident, front and centre, 100% justified.

There's no reply. Shit. Kravitz runs for his laptop, maybe if he just changes his password...

"I already changed it." Sloane hollers from the bedroom.

Kravitz changes tactic, tries for his emails.

"Sorry Krav, I changed that too."

"You don't even know what I'm doing."

"You're on your emails, you're predicable."

"Actually, I'm calling the police." Kravitz yells, petulant and stupid.

He can hear Sloane snorting with laughter from down the hall. She's never going to let him forget that one. Shit.

--

"How bad was the message you sent?"

“The message I sent? Oh, we’re not going to be talking about any messages from me today.”

“What do you mean?”

"Well, while rhapsodising about how much you want to marry Taako, how wonderful you think Taako is, how unobtainable and perfect and wonderful, you forgot to mention that you've stayed in touch. You also forgot to mention that he follows you. You forgot to mention, Kravitz, that you and Taako have been chatting."

"It's not chatting, it's just talking sometimes."

"Uh huh." Sloane narrows her eyes.

"He doesn't know who I am or anything. He probably doesn't even remember me."

Sloane clears her throat and reads off her screen. ""Nice to see that Taako's future husband is keeping it tight." Reply to a photo you sent him in which you're conducting. He does seem to have circled your arse in the screen shot he sent back."

"That's not serious. He's joking."

"And the countdown?"

"What?" Surely she didn't go through the whole conversation? There’s loads of it. So what if Taako messages him sometimes, so they video called semi-occasionally? It didn't mean anything, he'd never specifically said it meant anything.

"And I quote." Kravitz didn't like the sound of that. "Happy birthday, wandsome, 4 years 'til you're mine."

"That's... It… It doesn’t…"

"3 years 'til we can buy the cottage and run away together, handsome. Temporarily, obvi, Taako needs to stay current."

"How many screenshots do you have?" Kravitz might be able to anticipate exactly how bad this is if he knows. Maybe she searched for keywords and didn’t scroll.

"Your birthday last year: "1 year, we're nearly there, don't go falling in love with anyone else.""

"Okay, I get it. He talks to me and he remembers my birthday."

"Kravitz, you are, as ever, focusing on the wrong headline here. He remembers the promise, you know, the one you've been agonising over? Positively fretting about, in fact. "Should I remind him? Should I see if he's interested?" The answer's yes, Krav, you should see if the man who has reminded you about the ridiculous fucking promise for the last 3 years is interested in following through."

"But his boyfriend?"

"Hold on, wait, what boyfriend? Have you been messaging him even though he's with someone else?? Kravitz!"

"He's never mentioned him to me. Just, there's been a few interviews..." He tails off.

Sloane taps at her phone.

"Are you googling Taako?"

"No, I'm googling "boyfriend "Taako Tacco"" because I actually want relevant results."

Kravitz sighs and takes his place at Sloane's shoulder. Their height difference was nothing if not perfect for group research.

"My boyfriend doesn't like to be in the spotlight, we'll, apart from when he's doing it for work, he's a baller music guy, only the best for Taako, natch."

Sloane turned slowly to glance at Kravitz.

"I don't know who it is." He shrugs. "Taako didn't mention him to me, so I thought maybe it was to keep them off his back, or, you know, some kind of stunt."

"Mmm hmm. Well here's one from earlier this year, see if you can think of anyone it might be. Taako says: "I think it's pretty serious. We talked about marriage a long time ago and we check in every year. Mind you, who wouldn't want to be married to America's favourite kitchen wizard?""

"He's not wrong. Anyone would jump at the chance." Maybe his voice isn't meant to sound so dreamy, but it's Taako. He's everything Kravitz wants from a partner, funny, attentive, generous, smart, gorgeous.

Sloane all but groans. "Gross." She grimaces up at Kravitz. "Being disgusting isn't getting you out of this though, next one: "yeah, I'm sure he's the one. I've known him forever and haven't been interested in anyone else." Oh, and here’s some more, interesting: "he comes to my shows occasionally, I love it when he's in the audience, always inspires a bit of extra magic, gotta make sure he remembers how great Taako is." Haven't you been to a few of his shows, Kravitz?"

"Well obviously, I go whenever I can." He does, it's important to support your friend who you may also be in love with. It’s also really nice when Taako comps his ticket, although they agreed to do one on one off so Kravitz can support the show too.

"And you let him know you're going?"

"Well it usually comes up when we're chatting, or, you know, planning when to meet up?"

"Oh, so you've been meeting up?"

"Yeah, of course.” Kravitz hesitates. “...Only when he's in town and, you know, the times I flew out to meet him."

"Uh huh." Sloane's doing the voice she usually adopts when Kravitz is being particularly dim about something.

"It's nice, you know, to keep in touch."

"Would you say you keep in touch a normal amount, based on your other acquaintances?" There's a trap here, Kravitz can tell, but he doesn't know what it is.

"Well I talk to him less than you, and you're basically my only other friend."

"Oh don't make it sad when I'm trying to bully you."

"Sorry." Kravitz says, resting his chin on her shoulder, that might garner enough sympathy to get him out of this.

"So how often would you say you kiss, you know, when you're seeing each other a normal amount?"

Or maybe it wouldn’t get him of out this. Kravitz tries hard not to freeze up and demonstrate the level of panic flowing through him. "Ah… well, you know... The, er, the usual amount." He says, casually. Definitely casually. She won't suspect anything.

"Which issssss?"

Shit. Well, honest is the best policy. “Every time. Obviously. Kiss your homies."

"We're homies, we don't kiss."

"Would you, er... Like to?" Kravitz's throat is dry, clicking as he tries to get the words out. He really doesn’t want to have to kiss Sloane.

Sloane lurches away from him. “No! Gross. God.”

“Alright, there’s no need to be so totally disgusted about it.” He doesn’t need to be defensive about this, he doesn’t want to be defensive about this! He had one misguided attempt at kissing girls and realised very quickly that he had no interest in it, but, pride is a fickle thing, and Kravitz clearly needs to work on his.

“Are you actually upset that I, a gay woman, don’t want to kiss you, a gay man, who has absolutely no interest in me and knows that I don’t want any kind of romantic relationship with him? Also, what exactly do you think Hurley’s going to say when I tell her about this?”

“No! But…”

“Kravitz, you are very handsome, I will not stroke your ego any more than that. Back on track - you’ve been kissing Taako on the reg for at least 3 years now?”

Kravitz cringes.

“Kravitz!”

If he doesn’t reply he can’t be in trouble. That’s science.

“Kravitz AdventureZone! How long?”

“Six years.” He mumbles as quietly as he dares.

“One more time there, friend?”

“Six years.” He says more clearly, he’s not going to repeat it again.

“Six fucking years? I thought you were going out of town for work stuff!”

“I was sometimes! You didn’t ask every time.”

“I…” Sloane gives an exasperated sigh.

“Please tell me you know who his boyfriend is.”

“I just told you, Taako’s never mentioned him, I don’t know if he exists.”

“Kravitz. Engage your brain. Think about this. You have been seeing this man regularly kissing and I assume more…”

“I read about brojobs one time and just kind of assumed it was an extension of tha…”

“No, stop talking right now immediately. I refuse to hear you say anything else about boning down. You have never seen a penis before, even your own.” Sloane clamps a hand across his mouth. “Now, you’ve been seeing him regularly, kissing, more.” Sloane presses her hand down more firmly, just in case he tries to add anything else. “... and you work in music.” She removes her hand.

“I work in music.” Kravitz says quietly.

“You sure do.”

“And we message nearly every day, and video call a few times a week.”

“Uh huh.”

“And he sends me nice things and I send him nice things.”

“Yep.”

“And we joke about the promise every year.”

“Do you think maybe it’s not a joke?”

“He could have anyone!”

“I’m not convinced he wants anyone else, Krav.”

“I… I’m dating Taako?”

“Sure are, bud.”

“I. Fuck.” Kravitz sits down on the floor. “He never said.” He says, more to his feet than to Sloane. His Mums always taught him to put his head between his bent knees when he felt floaty so he could be small and heavy instead.

“Apart from all the times you talked about getting married?”

“He didn’t specify he wasn’t joking.”

“Did he specify that he was?”

“No.” Kravitz says, sulkily.

“And how about all the times you talked about moving in together?”

“We moved in together!” There, he’s being reasonable! Flawless logic.

“Yeah, but you’re not in love with me are you?”

“No.” Says Kravitz reluctant to admit defeat... Although, actually, wait. “But he doesn’t know that!”

“That you’re not in love with me?”

“No! That I’m in love with him.”

“So you haven’t told him you love him?”

“Well, I mean, I obviously tell him I love him.”

“Uh huh.” Sloane sounds like she’s about to implode.

“But like, in the normal way.”

“Uh huh.” He’s not sure he’s ever heard her voice pitched so high. “When you say normal?”

“Just like, the usual amount, that I would tell a friend who I’m in love with and also sleeping with and seeing regularly and… fuck.”

“Yes, you already established the fucking, there’s no need to boast.”

Kravitz should laugh, it’s funny, is the thing, it really is, but right now he’s rehashing 6 years worth of memories. It seems obvious, now that Sloane has laid it out for him, but how was he supposed to know? If no one clarifies then why’s he suddenly supposed to assume they’re dating and not just friends? At what point does that even happen? It’s been wonderful, is the thing, he loves that man, deeply, truly, passionately. That was the reason he’d brought up the promise in the first place. When they both hit 33, if there was no one else they wanted to marry, they’d marry each other. It had been the perfect plan when they were 10, and 15, and 20. But Taako had gone off and been famous and they saw each other less and Kravitz had just assumed that now that the world loved Taako too Taako would love someone else.

But he didn’t.

He hadn’t for the past who knows how many years, he definitely hadn’t for the last 6, because he’d picked Kravitz, chosen him to pour his time and his love into and Kravitz hadn’t even noticed properly. Or, of course he’d noticed that it was an important relationship. He’d celebrated Taako’s achievements, birthdays, candlenights; he’d bought every single one of his calendars and made him autograph them; he even made the world’s first and only copy of ‘“Got Wood?” a conductor pin up calendar’ for Taako. But no one had explicitly said they were dating. Taako hadn’t acknowledged it, well, except in the interviews… shit.

Kravitz stood up too fast, grabbed the table to steady himself. “I need to buy a ring.”

“Right now?”

“Right now! It’s nearly my birthday.”

“The promise?”

“Yes. I intend to keep it.”

-

Want to read more? Find Day 3 here.

[russenoire]

18, 25, 27

from this ask: weird questions for writers (because writers are weird)

18. choose a passage from your writing. tell me about the backstory of this moment. how you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. spicy addition: questioner provides the passage.

Teruki Hanazawa’s tousled bottle-blond mop pops in first, followed soon after by the rest of him folding itself around the open door. ‘You know something?’ ‘What?’ He blinks. Hard. Then matches Teruki’s positively perverse grin with one of his own, not entirely devoid of mirth: ‘Do enlighten me.’ ‘I just... think your space would feel so much more like an actual home with some art on these walls. Or some, mmmm… décor in here. Don’t you agree...?’ He fails to suppress a groan at this; it stretches out much longer than he would like. ‘If you’d… maybe let me help…’ No. Teruki needs to be stopped. And he’s never had much use for an abundance of stuff. What else would he keep in here, anyway? Here, under the black sofa he picked out because it was the least complicated on the show floor, an ivory sheepskin rug, ample enough to accommodate his full height and then some: the bare wood planks chill his toes painfully in winter, even with socks. Sleep finds him sprawled out on it from time to time, its wispy but dense curls like late spring breezes spun out of cotton candy against his skin. At the moment, said curls are flirting shamelessly with his fingers. There, on the far wall, a sizable flat-screen television. As a joke, Teruki actually insisted on framing it for him with a silvery rococo border that wouldn’t look out of place in a Parisian museum. It felt garish to him at first, but it’s grown on him since. That… that was enough. Except for a clock and a calendar on the wall closest to the door? These walls are otherwise empty. He doesn’t mind. From across the room, the arrangement of his limbs on the sofa obeying a logic all their own, he counters the man’s impish glee with the most antarctic deadpan he can conjure up. Teruki’s grin refuses to budge. ‘Well. We can stay here, or go someplace…’ he shrugs, ‘more home-y.’ Perhaps his well-honed death glare loses a little something with him inverted like this. Twisting his mouth instead into a resigned little smile—this time genuine, but still upside-down—he looks up at the man quite literally brightening his doorway. ‘Your call.’

so, uh, i'm a pantser when it comes to writing.

a scene *poofs* into my head; i run with it. i shape it until it feels right, or i discard it because it's not working. this moment here, where teruki cracks shigeo's door open partway and slinks around it into his genkan, just For Teh Lulz, and shigeo meets the shit-eating grin he's wearing with one that belongs on a shark? that idea, along with much of the dialogue, was the first part that sprang to mind for this chapter.

at this point in the story, shigeo has weightier concerns on his mind than yesterday's big talk at work. so weighty that he's sprawled upside down on his sofa and staring down the walls. he figures teruki's puckish, tireless cheer might help and asks him to come over.

i wanted to describe shigeo's minimalist-ass living room here. (remember his bedroom in canon? how... empty it is, compared to his brother's room? that struck me, and it didn't feel like his parents imposed that starkness upon him at all.) teruki also might have found that notable, i thought, and originally i wrote this description from his perspective as a flashback leading into the present. but i couldn't find a good justification to shift away from shigeo there, and the extra description kinda dragged this scene out. so i shed a tear and cut it. i'm proud of the language i used; perhaps i'll find another use for it someday.

framing it through shigeo's eyes instead gave me the opportunity to focus on his character more: the simple things he really likes, why they're present in his space, and why he's being kinda stubborn here. information teruki wouldn't have access to.

the rest was just polish: crawling inside shigeo's head a bit and sitting with this part of him that can be prickly but still needs company, then seasoning the language until it tasted good to my ears. (i know i've apparently written shigeo 'smarter' than he is in canon; in my AU he becomes a halfway decent student in high school with a lot of help and outside tutoring. his language in japanese is already not 'simple' so i don't treat him that way.)

25. what is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

itō ryōsuke, shigeo's senpai and office-mate, is in his sixties. he has two daughters he adores, naomi (not pronounced 'nay-oh-mee') and atsuko. one is a successful rakugo performer and a gender trailblazer. the other is an architect. neither is married, which bothers him a little bit.

27. who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? why?

reigen arataka. he's so stressful to write that i've only alluded to him thus far. i'm planning out a fic with him and i'm... dreading writing it...

i like him as a character, but not as a person: he acts out his self-hatred in ways i find deeply unpalatable, and i have too much personal experience with another someone who has to be forced to, y'know, actually respect people they love. (and winning that battle with them only teaches respect for a single person in a single circumstance. the next person they come to love and exploit will need to 'earn' their respect, too.) i don't want to swim in that headspace any longer than i need to.

[yaimlight]

Would you still be willing to write the sequel of the Time Traveler’s Boyfriend showcasing future Katsuki’s POV? I just finished the fanfic on Ao3 today and I was left literally going through all of the emotions; sobbing, laughing, giddily smiling and everything in between. I would love to read more of Bakugo and Reader’s beautiful and heartwarming future relationship. After all, they both deserve happiness after everything they’ve been through. 🥹

I’m glad you enjoyed it. The whole process was a rollercoaster for me and one of my biggest worries was I was going to mess up all the different emotions and how they effected the story and characters. So the fact you felt all that makes me stupidly happy because it means I didn’t mess up. So, thank you for sharing that.

In regards to a follow up I am more then willing, in fact I have an outline done and everything. The problem I seem to having is that I am getting distracted by a bajillion other ideas and because I’ve technically already told this story once it kind of gets moved to the bottom of my list. I do want to explore it though, see how all this affects Katsuki’s and reader-chains relationship in the future because we all know it’s going to and maybe not in a good way to start with.

Maybe one day I’ll finish it but till then here’s a little something something just for you.

Katsuki clenched his jaw, his patience quickly disappearing as Izuku carried to prattle on about everything other then what he had asked him. “Shut it nerd,” Katsuki finally snapped, the line going silent instantly. “Erm sorry Kacc…” Katsuki’s quick to cut Izuku off before he can start rambling again. “Just, is Y/N still there or not?” Silence is the only answer he gets, the damned nothingness stretching on a beat to long to be comfortable and that feeling of dread ye had been feeling since the fight yesterday cam back tenfold, making his stomach twist painfully. “She left hours ago,” Izuku finally said and Katsuki swears his heart stopped. Just for a second.

“Kacchan, what’s wrong? Do you need me to put an alert out?” Katsuki barely hears Izuku on the other end of the line, the faint sound of papers shuffling and an office door being thrown open. His mind is already elsewhere, eyes darting around the apartment for any signs of a struggle. There’s nothing though, everything where it had been that morning when he had left for the agency. The only thing out of the ordinary had been that the apartment door had been unlocked, the security alarm disabled using your code. You had been there, had to of been but then it was like you had disappeared in the blink of eye. Gone before you could even take those stupid Ground Zero high tops off that you were so opposed with.

Something clicks in Katsuki’s head then, remembering what you had been wearing when he had last seen you. Leaning against his office door you had looked so sure of yourself, practically a walking advert for him with one of his tank tops from his hero uniform and those stupid Ground Zero high tops, the black jeans doing nothing to break up the hero merch heavy outfit. He should have realised then what was about to happen but he had seen you in that same outfit so many times over the last year that he had grown careless, not forgetting what was coming but forgetting what signs he was supposed to be looking out for. How could he have been so stupid? Of course it would be now, when he was at his happiest, that everything would go to shit.

As if in cue there came a loud pop from behind him, like a bubble being burst. Katsuki swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, his grip tightening momentarily on his phone. “Gotta go,” Katsuki mumbled, hanging up on Izuku’s worried demands to know what was happening. He let the phone fall forgotten to the couch, his eyes fixed on the dark screen of the television in front of him. Katsuki could just about make you out, stood in the middle of the living room and your hands pressed over your mouth. Exactly as you had been the first time you had left him, confused and alone in his apartment and thinking he was going crazy. He wasn’t ready for this, didn’t think he ever would be because now that it had he knew he was on a timer, the clock counting down till he would be left bloody and clutching desperately at your dying body.

Katsuki screwed his eyes shut, turning his head to the side and trying push back the images that flooded his mind. The ones that still kept him up at night sometimes and left him clutching at you like you would disappear if he let go. Katsuki sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly in an attempt to keep his mounting panic at bay. He had known this day would come, had spent hours with his therapist and Eijiro going over how best to handle it but talking hadn’t really prepared him for the reality of it. You had barely given anything away before, making sure to keep information about now as scarce as possible. He had no clue what he had told you but clearly it hadn’t been everything, the version of him who had already been through this keeping things to himself for reasons Katsuki didn’t know. Had it been for your safety? For his? Maybe it had just been because he hadn’t done it before so he had done the same. What if he did tell you everything, what would happen then? Maybe if he was honest with you from the start then past him wouldn’t have to go through thinking you had died in his arms. Maybe then Katsuki wouldn’t be haunted by it every time he hears you had been hurt.

“Katsuki.” He flinched at the small and confused call of his name, his eyes squeezing closed even tighter. He doesn’t want to do this but he knows he has to, that it’s his responsibility as the one who had already been through this to explain things and answer the questions you would undoubtedly have. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders Katsuki took one last deep breath, reminding himself that he had already done this once before so he could damned we’ll do it again. Finally, feeling some semblance of capable, Katsuki turned to look at you and regretted the moment he laid eyes on you.