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thefinalcinderella · 5 months

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Tsurune Book 3 Chapter 6 - Genuine (Part 1)

Finally...finally the last chapter...

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

The kumotatewaku is a traditional Japanese pattern that resembles rising clouds. It is often used in the costumes of ancient nobles

The expression used here is 白羽の矢を立てる (literally: sticking a white feathered arrow), which is an idiom that means "selecting someone out of many people"

A chindonya is a kind of old-timey marching band that dressed in elaborate costumes to advertise for shops

Block style or kaisho style calligraphy is the regular script and the most commonly used. Every stroke is carefully executed

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In early June, the prefectural preliminaries for the National High School Kyudo Tournament, also known as the prefectural tournament, were held.

Kyudo supply stores and photo studios were set up around the venue, and the storefronts were lined with commemorative goods for the tournament. The wind was strong on this day, and the young archers were moving against it. The competition event was close-distance shooting, using thirty-six-centimeter kasumi targets with a shooting distance of twenty-eight meters.

For the boys’ individual competition on the first day, Fujiwara Shuu of Kirisaki High School once again won by landing all his arrows. Second place was Kabashima, also from Kirisaki, and third place went to Asahina from Haneina High School, showing the strength of the powerhouse schools. For the girls’ competition, Seo from Kazemai High School placed fifth.

On the second day, it was finally time for the team competition. The format was five-person teams and four shots in zasha. In the preliminaries, the time limit was eight minutes. Forty-two schools were participating in the boys’ competition, and the top eight teams with the highest number of hits in the two rounds would advance to the final tournament.

Tommy-sensei raised his voice. “Now it’s time for the team competition. Kazemai will show its true strength. Everyone, I wish you good luck!”

“Yes!”

After completing the registration process, Kaito, Kanbayashi, Seiya, Himuro, and Minato put their numbers on their right hips. Ryouhei and Nanao were reserve members.

Himuro was expressionless like he always was, but Kanbayashi gently stroked his number.

“Oh no, I might be really happy after all…”

Keyaki nudged Kanbayshi. “Don’t grin like that and get it together. I don’t wanna hear you whine.”

“Of course.”

Next to them, Ryouhei was tying his yellow-green headband.

“Today, my sister, Sae-chan, and Toujou-san are coming to support us. I’m psyched!”

“That’s great, Ryouhei,” Minato and Seiya said.

The Nanao Fan Club had updated its cheering goods and prepared fans with a frog wearing a crown. They also handed them out to support groups and parents, and when the bright green of them swayed, it looked like a chorus of frogs.

As they were about to pass through the noisy venue, people approached Minato and the others. A young prince, twins, a boy with a square face and thick eyebrows, a boy with pleasant features and a crew cut, and an antique doll.

They were Kirisaki’s Fujiwara Shuu, Sugawara Senichi and Manji, Kabashima Umetarou, Yushima Kaoru, and Kuon Takumi. The twins burst into laughter in front of so many of their rivals.

Shuu brought his face close to Minato’s right ear. Since their master Saionji’s left ear was bad, Shuu only showed this habit to Saionji and Shuu.

“Thanks for the birthday present the other day. I’ll treasure it.”

Shuu put his thumb on his yugake. A white underglove with a purple pattern could be seen beneath it.

“I’m glad I was able to give it to you on May 11th this year. I thought it would be perfect for you.”

“The kumotatewaku pattern is rare for undergloves. (1) ——See you in the finals.”

“Yeah, the finals.”

The two of them bumped yugake and returned to their teammates.

Shuu’s gaze drifted to Kuon. Kuon was in the starting lineup for the day, but he was standing separate from everyone else. Everyone could tell that he was isolated, and was not a proudly solitary existence like Shuu. A dissonant sound was wafting from Kirisaki High School.

Kuon, who didn’t care about other people’s concerns, had moved onward. In fact, he was frustrated because he didn’t do well in yesterday’s individual competition.

Manji rested his elbow on Senichi’s shoulder.

“Will we okay with Kuon? I’m more suited to be the starter.”

“It’s frustrating, but his hitting rate is usually high. The coach said there was no problem either.”

“Alright, everyone, let’s go!”

At President Kabashima’s order, Shuu and the others headed to the venue.

Meanwhile, Tommy-sensei and Masa-san were in the shade of a tree, away from the crowd.

Masa-san straightened his collar.

“Why did you remove Ryouhei and Nanao from the starting lineup? There was nothing to criticize about their results.”

“If we make it to the finals, each person would have to shoot twenty shots in total. Even if it’s difficult to shoot twenty shots and hit, how about twelve shots? The aim is to preserve stamina.”

“There’s one more thing I’d like to confirm before we get into the tournament. On the day of the entrance ceremony, I heard you say to Minato and the others, ‘I have given you white-feathered arrows.’ (2) I’m sure that you knew that saying originated from the custom of playing an arrow with white feathers in front of the house of a girl chosen as a sacrifice. Why did you purposely use it?”

“It’s to prepare them. Once a ship leaves the port, you can’t turn back even if you shout to get off.”

“Are you telling them to prepare to share the same fate? Even though those who are wounded might fail again?”

“Hohoho, I didn’t mean it in such a sad way. Youth is the greatest weapon, since they can just start over again and again. I just felt that they could make it to the new continent. The first fleet, the Kazemai High School’s boy’s kyudo team, started with six members. Takigawa-san, you’re the first-born son. When I was able to convince you, I was convinced that we had completed our mission.”

“That’s a bold opinion, typical of Tommy-sensei.”

“It’s true of all sports, but one cannot win by the strength of the athlete alone. Especially in kyudo, the character of the master comes out strongly. Everyone resembles your shooting, Takigawa-san.”

“…My shooting was said to be very similar to my grandfather’s.”

“It’s the spirit of archer that is passed on.”

“…Yes.”

Masa-san looked at the treetops swaying in the wind and laughed.

Following the opening ceremony, the yawatashi ceremony was held.

The boys’ division was called for the preliminaries, and they headed to the waiting area with Masa-san leading them. As always, the most stressful time was sitting in the chairs and waiting. When the team before them finished, the “stand up” signal was given, and they rose from their chairs and advanced to the honza. They bowed at the signal to “begin,” walked to their shooting positions and knelt down. They chose two arrows from the four they had.

First up was the oomae, Kaito. It was lovely how he never trembled when facing the target. The lovelier he became, the more stubborn he got, and he would end up saying things that were different from his true feelings. He would say, “I have no interest in you,” but would grab the other person’s arm and not let them go in the same breath. He lived and breathed kyudo. That was Kaito’s everyday. After his right hand flicked, shouts of “good” came from the stands.

The second, Kanbayashi, raised his bow. The midsummer sun encouraged growth. He absorbed more and more of what was told to him and expanded towards the blue sky. He had seniors who he admired and pursued the shooting he admired. His longing had a zeal that surpassed his anxiety. His arrow pierced the target with a grand hanare.

The third, Seiya, was quiet. Wearing a straw hat and an insect cage, he entered the forest, but stopped when he saw a field of flowers. The neat and trim flowers swayed. When he lay down and looked up at the rising clouds, he felt like he was about to float away. He heard a familiar voice and stopped returning to the sky—he hit.

It was the fourth, Himuro’s, turn. He took the bowstring with a bodhisattva’s hand and looked at the target with a bodhisattva’s eyes. His ability to make an uncurving douzukuri was probably something he was born with. It was his natural posture with no effort put into it. The frogs in the stands jumped when he hit.

The fifth was the ochi, Minato. The white-feathered arrow was proof that he had been allowed to come into contact with the gods. He didn’t resist, go against it, and accepted it as it was. His limbs, stretching vertically and horizontally, were incredibly supple. His body of sixteen, which couldn’t be wished once more after it had passed, embraced the earth, wide and endless.

The matooto sounded.

Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo, sitting in the stands, held their breath.

“The boys are amazing.”

“I feel like they have become more and more refined.”

“I heard that Narumiya and Takehaya have also been going to Saionji-sensei. Their drive is different.”

For the second shot, everyone except for Kanbayashi hit.

For the third shot, Kaito, Seiya, and Minato hit.

Keyaki’s chest swelled at the success of his fellow first-years. “Kazemai, do your best!” Shuu’s younger sister Sae and their butler Toujou cheered in a small voice.

For the fourth shot, Kaito hit with all four of his arrows and left the shooting range to applause. After him, Kanbayashi, Seiya, Himuro, and Minato all hit the target. Their result was four, two, four, three, and four for seventeen hits out of twenty. It was a very good start.

Kirisaki was the sixth team to enter the shooting range. A wall of people filled the surrounding area to catch a glimpse of the champions’ shooting.

The oomae, Kabashima, released his arrow.

Senichi, Kuon, and Yushima all hit. The ochi was Shuu.

Wash your heart and turn it into incense; revere your body and turn it into flowers. Those were Kukai’s words, meaning that it was the duty of a virtuous person to serve others without any thought. Those who had a pure heart were fragrant. Shuu knew firsthand that this wasn’t a metaphor. The feeling of euphoria he felt when he brought his face close to the owner of that scent. He heard whispers of wanting to be intoxicated, of not minding sinking to the bottom of the lake if he could have it all to himself, but those were the words of a demon. He must not fall for the sweet words of someone who looked like him.

Shuu’s evil-expelling arrow dashed forward.

The results for the two rounds were announced.

For the boys’ division, Kazemai had thirty-four hits out of forty, Kirisaki had thirty-six, and Haneina had thirty-five.

The Kazemai girls had only twenty-eight hits, so unfortunately they didn’t pass the preliminaries.

Minato and his teammates got the ticket to go to the finals.

After lunch, the finals began. In the afternoon, the wind became stronger and their hakamas fluttered violently.

“It’s time to change the lineup. Yamanouchi-kun will be second, and Kisaragi-kun will be fourth. I’m counting on you,” Tommy-sensei said.

Ryouhei and Nanao received their numbers.

Minato adjusted the position of Ryouhei’s number.

“It looks like the five of us will be standing on that stage again. A year ago, you invited me to the information session for the kyudo club. That was the first time we five met face to face.”

“I wasn’t the only one who invited you. Everyone wanted to do kyudo with Minato.”

“Now, I can draw a bow. I’ve never been happier.”

Kaito brusquely held out his right hand, and the five boys looked at each other. Passionate feelings could be conveyed without words or skin contact.

Ryouhei, Nanao, Kaito, Seiya, and Minato bumped their yugakes together.

Kazemai’s opponent was Uyoshiro High School.

They were wearing bright red headbands. They lived in an area associated with military commanders who were famous during the Sengoku period, and when they went to a competition, they wore a certain armament. It was glasses. It might seem comical from the outside, but they did it very seriously.

The group stood in the first shajo. The oomae readied his bow and fixed his eyes on the target.

The bow maker, the yugake maker, and the arrow maker were the three gods of kyudo. The archer was the one who became intimate with these materialized gods. If there was a slight doubt or confusion, the string would make a muddy sound with those negative emotions. The twill brocade woven by the trinity of gods resembled battle attire. The flowers, birds, wind, and moon on the robe were the prayers of the samurai, and the butterflies (moths) represented the parents of the silkworm, production.

The flowers scattered. The flower battle was a warrior’s honor.

The oomae’s matooto resounded.

Kazemai’s oomae, Kaito, was undaunted. The wind beat mercilessly at his face, and his douzukuri felt like it was about to collapse under the wind, but he withstood it. Patience was his natural disposition. He might seem short-tempered, but he had the conviction to never give up. To not run away from the way of the bow. He was determined to cling to it for the rest of his life.

The nimato, Ryouhei, was listening to the news of the wind. Seeing the faces of his parents and sister in the stands, he felt strongly that he wasn’t alone in this fight. It seemed that people became stupid when they were angry and when they were happy. Their brain stopped working properly. The state in which one’s mind was clear and free from all distractions was called munen musou, and he learned from the path of the blade that you couldn’t fulfill your duties if you weren’t passionate.

The naka, Seiya, had found the answer to Minato’s question some time ago.

Why did humans shed their fur? It was to continue walking.

The ancestors of humans who left the forest for the grasslands learned to walk or run long distances in search of food. Body hair had a heat insulating effect and protected the skin from UV rays, but in order to prevent the body temperature from rising too high, they chose to abandon their fur and sweat instead. Humans had great endurance. The way one breathed was important in walking the long way of the bow.

The ochimae, Nanao, was thinking. Thinking was a linguistic activity.

There were two types of word formation. One was to give a name to something that had been hidden and make its existence manifest, and the other involved the intention of first creating a word and having the concept follow. When you learned a language, you not only acquired wisdom, culture, and thinking, but also the spell of words.

Letters and patterns were magical techniques that had their own power. If you looked down on them as just a means of communication, everything would be embodied and pour down upon them. There were no magic words; words were magic. A story was a kind of magic and truth. If you write it as tsurune, it would be called tsurune. A tsurune was the beautiful sound of a bowstring.

Nanao’s sharp hanare brought forth the next wind.

The ochi, Minato, held his bow.

Just how heavy was this shot?

Just how light was this shot?

“I” was the one who gave it meaning. The god of the bow didn’t smile at those who couldn’t love themselves or others. Because humans were incarnations of the gods.

Minato forgot that he was a human and turned into the matooto.

Uyoshiro had three, three, four, two, and four for a total of sixteen hits.

Kazemai had three, four, three, four, four for a total of eighteen hits.

Minato and his team made it through the first round without incident.

The second round began.

The stands were filled with people wearing blue and yellow-green headbands. The two waves struggled, almost swallowing each other up, almost to the point of spilling over onto the yamichi.

Kazemai’s opponent was Konoe High School.

Their blue arrow feathers and headbands were their trademarks.

Only those with kyudo experience would understand the exhilarating feeling of seeing the actions of five people overlap. There were rules even for movements such as taking a step forward, sitting, and nocking an arrow into a bow, and because there were rules, it was possible to match each other. Ikiai was the embodiment of the red droplets that circulated around the body.

They shot arrows every day. The faces were almost the same. The repeated daily routines were a series of miracles. They take up the bow, hoping to grow even just a millimeter better than they were yesterday. For most people, landing a hundred hits with a hundred arrows was just a dream, and it was precisely because they couldn’t do what they wanted to do that they got absorbed in it. The sound of the arrow hitting the target was pleasant, and they wished it would happen again, but the god of hitting was a contrarian. The moment you wished it, the chance escaped. Approaching something without wanting to approach it was nothing but a dilemma for humans, who had developed enlarged brains.

Don’t think, just feel, as a martial artist once said. How long would it take to reach that state? Even if it was achieved, would it be possible to maintain it? If you kept thinking like this, it seemed that you still had a long way to go.

Kazemai’s archers faced themselves in the form of the targets.

The aggressive Kaito, the lively Ryouhei, the intelligent Seiya, the sparkling Nanao, and the pure Minato.

They highlighted and polished their inherent colors.

Their inexperience became a weapon. Even though they were told that there was darkness an inch ahead, they wouldn’t be able to understand unless they looked into it, and they wouldn’t notice it unless they fell into it. Pain was something you only knew when you suffered it, and hate was something you feared only when you possessed it. The cry of the inner soul could only be learned through experience, and words were powerless there. No matter how many words you wrote, they would never be understood by those who never experienced it. Only an archer knew the heart of an archer.

A world of just two people, the bow and the human.

The bow caught the innocent body falling.

The ecstasy a bow gave you was different from that of humans. Skin with goosebumps and surging droplets. It was a ritual to bind the soul that was about to drift away to the body. There was no sound without a container. You couldn’t make a sound with an empty shell.

Minato and the others raised their bows, spread them wide, and released their arrows. Ashibumi, douzukuri, yugamae, uchiokoshi, hikiwake, kai, hanare. They followed these eight stages and headed towards the heights.

The results of the second round were as follows.

Konoe had three, four, four, three, four, for a total of eighteen hits.

Kazemai had four, three, four, four, four, for a total of nineteen hits.

Kazemai won by a difference of one hit.

Since there was some time until the finals, Minato went out to the front.

He wasn’t feeling bad. If anything, he was focusing on calming himself so he didn’t go too fast. A dull mind and a weak body. At first glance, it might seem like a state far removed from martial arts, but eliminating the “self” was the secret to being able to freely manipulate the body. As long as “I” resided in the body, the god of the bow would not descend upon you.

To become empty.

Even if it could be understood as a concept, it was extremely difficult to embody it.

An elderly man called out to Minato.

“It’s almost time for the finals. Just like last year, the match between Kirisaki and Kazemai is a must-see.”

“Thank you very much. But the match between Kirisaki and Haneina is about to begin.”

“No, no, the match is already decided before it even began, right? Did you see the head of those students from Haneina? A chicken’s cockscomb and a horse’s tail. The training clothes they wore in their Yotube streams looked like something from an old marching band. (3) You’re wearing a clean white kyudogi and your hair is neat. It’s praiseworthy. That’s what a Japanese boy should look like.”

“…I do have short hair, and I like white kyudogi. But, if someone is serious about kyudo, I will acknowledge them as an archer no matter what they wear.”

“What’s with that way of talking? Seems like I thought too highly of you.”

The man left. Minato went outside to focus his mind, but he ended up inviting needless interference.

His yellow-green headband was fluttering. It was something a master had prepared for his disciples.

Minato took a deep breath once more.

The card of Kirisaki versus Haneina in the second round got people excited.

Asahina raised the corner of his mouth.

“Nice. It looks great.”

Eddie tied an orange headband tightly.

“I am trembling at the prospect of a worthy opponent, that I am.”

Matsuda, who had poor eyesight, placed his hand on the shoulder of the poet Kanuma. Igarashi started walking while holding flowers. People naturally gave way to them. The existence of Haneina’s kyudo club was already dramatic in itself. The five of them walked leisurely down the flowery path.

The two schools began to enter the shajo, and the spectators held their breath as they watched.

In the first shajo, Eddie raised his bow. His blond ponytail swayed and sparkled in the sunlight. A stop, an upward turn, and a sweeping stroke. His shooting was like the block style of calligraphy. (4) A work of art that changed seven ways depending on the tools, brushstrokes, style, and word selection. His stance was to never prepare practice sheets, but always treat it as though it was the real thing. He quickly drew back his brush, and the arrow flew towards the target.

The second, Matsuda, hit.

The third, Kanuma, hit.

The fourth, Igarashi, hit.

The fifth, Asahina, begun to raise his bow. His red hair stood out against the green grass. His self-confidence and warm-hearted personality brought out the bright sun. When he drew his bow, his limbs stretched to infinity. The matooto resounded.

Kirisaki also matched their pace.

The oomae, Kabashima, hit.

The nimato, Senichi, hit.

The naka, Kuon, hit.

The ochimae, Yushima, hit.

When the ochi Shuu hit, the scoring board was lined with circle marks.

No one missed their second shot as well. The sound of the matooto and the cheers of the crowd made their bodies numb, and the elation made them desire more and more matooto. They became greedier and greedier.

Kuon was confident that he would never lose to the red-headed guy. If they went on to win, he would be placed in the same picture frame as the Young Prince, Fujiwara Shuu. What a beautiful picture it would be!

He melted into the world of images.

Now, let’s sneak in.

This was Tsujimine High School.

A boy with the hood of his white hoodie pulled deeply over his head walked over. A boy with streaked hair was standing a little further away. He stole the key from the staff room and hid it in his pocket.

Nikaidou and Fuwa were in the music room. They stood in front of the piano and gently opened the lid.

Along with Fuwa’s piano melody, Nikaidou played the drums using his hands and knees. He was very into music games and could even reach an uncanny level of fast drumming in games like Kotaiko no Tatsujin.

One day, after club activities, Nikaidou was tapping a rhythm on his knees on a whim when Fuwa correctly guessed the name of the song.

“Konahanasakuya-hime.”

“…Correct.”

Since then, the sneak-in sessions, not street piano, had continued.

Konohanasakuya-hime no Mikoto, the origin of the song’s title, was the name of the most beautiful goddess in the history of Japanese mythology. Her father was Ooyamatsumi no Mikoto, and her husband was Ninigi no Mikoto, grandson of Amaterasu Oomikami. Her husband accused her of infidelity, and in order to prove her innocence, she set fire to the delivery room and gave birth to three children in the flames.

When the two of them were babies, they had a scarlet seal stamped onto their faces at a festival called Hatsuyama to pray for their healthy growth. It felt creepy thinking that they might have passed by each other somewhere.

Fuwa began to play a song. As he proceeded at a walking pace, Nikaidou stood next to him.

A fearless smile—the start of a duet.

My fingertips hit the keyboard. The melody, chords, and bass line. Nikaidou sped up the main melody while adding improvisations. There was no way Fuwa wouldn’t take up this challenge.

“Nikaidou, can you keep to my speed?”

“Hah, there’s no way I’m following you.”

“Good grief.”

Fuwa ignored Nikaidou and decided to go fast. He was crafty with techniques such as giving someone glimpses and keeping them in suspense. Fuwa always kept his distance from others. Though he had purposely drawn a line telling them not to come over, those who crossed that line were, so to speak, prey. There was no need to hold back. He would shake them, shake them, shake them until they begged for forgiveness.

Nikaidou attended piano lessons when he was a child, but quit after learning “Turkish March” and had been studying on his own ever since. On the other hand, Fuwa’s mother was a piano teacher. Knowing the difference in their abilities, Nikaidou devised a plan. He tried to find rhythms that players might not be comfortable with, such as lowering the key by a semitone or changing chords.

Fuwa made full use of his techniques. Nikaidou clicked his tongue, then reached over Fuwa’s arm and hit a high key. It was more of a fierce battle than a fun session. Sound and breathing filled the room. The music room wasn’t air conditioned in order to prevent unauthorized use. If the sound leaked out, the shame would be unbearable. They played the whole song while sweating.

“It’s not fun at all playing with you,” Fuwa muttered.

“Same here.”

“Get out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve always been an arrogant king, Koushirou.”

Nikaidou took off his white hoodie. His body was hot and he was breathing heavily. He reached into his bag to get something to wipe off his sweat and grabbed a towel and his phone.

The results of the prefectural tournament where Minato and the others were in were displayed on the screen.

“…Oh man. I think I’m gonna laugh.”

“You laughing by yourself isn’t a good thing. Alright, I’ll ask. What happened?”

“Kirisaki lost in the second round of the final tournament.”

“What!?”

Fuwa stared into Nikaidou’s large eyes.

“That’s a big upset. Who was their opponent?”

“It’s the school of the Yotubers Asahina and Eddie. Shuu-kun really is a lovely man. As expected, my special won’t let me down. I wonder if Minato-chan will entertain me as well.”

Nikaidou loosened the collar of his white shirt.

After the wind that had been blowing since the morning calmed down, an incredibly bright blue sky spread out above Shuu’s head.

Kirisaki had nineteen hits.

Haneina had twenty hits.

The powerhouse Kirisaki High School was defeated in the second round of the prefectural tournament.

Under the sunlight, the Kirisaki members calmly began cleaning up. “We all did well,” the president Kabashima exclaimed, and Yushima smiled and said, “It’s been a fulfilling three years. I’m grateful to everyone,” but Senichi and Manji couldn’t hide the heaviness of their steps. They endured the overwhelming mixture of feelings of inadequacy and jealousy toward those who had earned the smile of the goddess of victory.

There was only one person who missed in this team, and that was Kuon. Despite the weather having returned to calm, he looked as though he had inhaled a cloud of dust.

One could almost hear the crunching sound of it.

“Fujiwara-senpai, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But, still! Even if it’s to yell at me, please just say something to me.”

“I have nothing to say.”

Shuu left without saying any more.

Devastated, Kuon turned to face the person who appeared in the corner of his vision.

Minato, who was going to talk to Shuu, saw what happened.

“Kuon-kun, it’s usual for Shuu to not express his thoughts after a match. Don’t worry about it,” he told him, then immediately followed Shuu.

Kuon stared at Minato’s back and bit his lip.

Was he pitying me?

Who on earth were you talking to when you said “don’t worry about it?”

I can’t believe someone of the lower class is looking down on me!

Minato had no clue about Kuon’s delusions. He was running after someone he must not lose sight of.

He shouted the name of his brother disciple.

“Shuu!”

Shuu turned around and smiled. It was all he could to not drop his bow.

“I’m sorry, Minato. I wasn’t able to fulfill our promise to meet in the finals. It seems that I don’t have any luck with team matches.”

“That’s not true, Shuu. You’re my first bow friend—a genuine archer. We met at that kyudojo when we were little.”

“Minato.”

“Someday, we will definitely team up together.”

“…Yeah, I’m looking forward to that.”

What a cruel person.

You were the one who lit this fire under me.

God of the bow, please save me.

We are babies who don’t know anything. Although no ships nor people have arrived there, the sun is a red, blazing star that will someday turn to dust. We never witnessed the beginning and end of the story, and we believe in an empty dream that cannot be verified. Dreams are seen when one is asleep. People are still sleeping. A dream from which we can never wake. In the darkness, only my old friend knows what I did. Only you can burn me to ashes.

Shuu touched Minato’s forehead with his yugake-covered hand. His cold fingers were trembling.

He couldn’t let go of that unforgettable body warmth.

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#tsurune translation #tsurune

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0-hoony · 3 months

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seunghan as hindi songs is a NEED

seunghan as hindi songs!

chogada. seunghan is literal the human incarnate of this song i take no argument tyvm. the softcore + lovecore vibes are just so pure :( i can so see him singing this to you with all the earnestness of the world in his eyes; and imagine him pulling you in mid performance during the dance think that one rapunzel scene :((

next we got ishq wala love~! cutie coded songs for the cutiest bbg ever c'mon,, and the love triangle vibes of the movie... but no because think of him being the soft, sweet childhood friend male lead of the love triangle tm but the thing is : with him you'd also get the lowkey possessive, mysterious, quiet guy AND the sunshiney one..

moving onto a black and white one; pyaar hua ikraar hua. this is THE old timey forbidden, star crossed lovers song ,, the sharing of a single umbrella out in the rain <3 the guy being like "why is your heart afraid of love..?" and the girl answering "its saying that the road to love is difficult and that the final destination is unknown/hidden" (loosely translated) siiiiighs

one of my other fav old songs -> likhe jo khat tujhe. i mentioned in my op : true love hc for riize, seunghan is such a "writes long love letters (w cute self-written poetry,,) on perfumed paper, decorates the envelope with kisses, puts in dried flowers w the letter" kinda bf <3 the lowkey playful (dare i say coy), teasing vibes of the song fit him so well tooooo

also for your consideration, mere sapno ki raani !!! like yess girl (gn) he is the type to chase after your train in a car - probably with sohee's company - and serenade you mid journey yk ?? also the lyrics. the way he describes the female lead. it's seunghan. it's him. and again the vibes of the music really remind me of him

back to like 2018 music,...... hawayein. okay but this song was really popular at my school for the longest time and i swear i thought i'd never wanna listen to it ever again - but i happened to hear it recently and oh my god./// the softness and the yearning which i think is really well captured w the high notes and clinky music :(( the ease and smoothness really make me think of seunghan.. imagine a strangers to lovers/summer fling with him except he totally is the type to get attached and track you down after you've bid what you thought was the last farewell. prob shows up with like a rose at your door while it's raining like ".. hi."

(okay alsox2 -> radha from the same movie ._. LIKE IMAGINE js screaming out songs at the top of ur lungs w him, full on vibing almost like ur drunk and mid way he'd grab your hand and intertwine the fingers with his own uff)

special mentions : ZAALIMA. he's so in love with you and he WILL make it known to people whether they wanna know or not. + apna bana le - the malewife vibes are strong w this one <3 he'd be so down bad that everyone except u and him would know about it fr,,

notes : pushing my good old fashioned lover boy hani agenda fr !! + why do i feel like w each member the posts r getting longer.. + [m.list]

tags : @nicholasluvbot <3

[wonbin's vers] [eunseok's vers]

#order's up~! 📋⋆𐙚 #cakes.♡︎🥮#seunghan x reader #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize #seunghan #riize fluff #riize seunghan #hong seunghan #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #riize scenarios #div by v6que anddd pics by wonbuni !!!!!

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nobodysdaydreams · 1 year

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I don’t know what the word is for the kind of environment ASOUE (A Series of Unfortunate Events) and TMBS (The Mysterious Benedict Society) have, but it needs a name (quirky fantasy? Neurodivergent fiction? Idk…) but I’ve noticed enough people say they are similar, and I want to make this genre a thing. Here are some similarities I noticed that I believe describe the genre well:

• the adults are almost all neurodivergent and/or traumatized and no, they’re not handling it well. Especially the villains. • Most (if not all) of the children are either child genius or bully archetypes. Most will be neurodivergent as well. Bonus points if their neurodivergence and story arcs parallel the adults.

•People dress like they are either going to a funeral during the Great Depression, a church service on Easter Sunday, boarding school, a fancy cocktail party, or like the concept of neon/highlighter threw up on them

•everyone has a tragic backstory. Everyone. Even the quirky side kick who only has a few lines. At least one of those few lines will suggest something awful happened to them.

• Orphans

• Villain has to have that one person he/she cares about to show that maybe they do have a heart after all (aw). Examples might include an ex-girlfriend or adopted kid

•the heroes and villains have tons of cool tech and inventions that we can only dream of (e.g., mind control), but despite all these smart characters with a knack for inventing, no one can make a smart/cellular/mobile phone. It’s their one weakness. Everyone has to use landlines. Everyone. This weakness (which affects all characters in this genre, villains and heroes) is super useful, especially when a character needs to make a call, but the writers don’t want them too, one can simply have them frantically search for a phone to no avail, or have a villain cut the phone lines and there’s nothing anyone can do about it

• some characters require such bland underacting that the character’s voice and expression remain almost completely neutral throughout the whole show no matter what happens. Other characters will require the hammiest most overacted performance of a lifetime such that any minor inconvenience that befalls their character (e.g., having to wait 5 minutes) might as well be the end of the world (personal side note: the second one is a dream role for me)

•whimsical travel. Like in a trolley, blimp, hot air balloon, old timey steam train, submarine, or some contraption someone made out of spare parts

• the villain has some personal connection to the heroes, whether it’s a close connection (e.g., being their adopted uncle) or a distant one (e.g., being their mother’s ex’s sister’s former love interest)

•secret societies and organizations that are cool with employing children (or at least allowing it). It’s considered ok/necessary when the good guys do it, very bad when the bad guys do it. The kids in the bad guy organization can either be groomed victims out to grab their redemption arcs (SQ, our boy), or one dimensional bullies (looking at you Carmelita and Book Martina).

• a genius toddler/baby with a special power that can range from super strong teeth to being psychic

• Twins or triplets are not only characters in the show, but the fact that they are part of a set of multiples will be important for the plot somehow (e.g., the Benedict brothers, the quagmire triplets, the denouement triplets, whatever Jillson/Jackson are)

• There are dramatic flashbacks to character’s tragic pasts to show the audience where it all when wrong.

• Few, if any adults, are truly both mentally stable and living in reality. I know I covered this on my “neurodivergent that’s not well adjusted” bullet point, but it seems important enough to repeat

• The villains are theater kids. Whether they used to overact performances at the orphanage and now do magic tricks for their captives, or use their old theater group as henchmen(and women), they live for the dramatic arts

• the villains were at one point told (either by critics or unimpressed parents looking to adopt) that they weren’t that good at theater, which increased their motivation to either join an evil organization, or pursue a STEM or business degree to begin their own evil organization. This has increased their mental instability as they still try to incorporate the dramatic arts into their villainy and waste a lot of time that could be spent plotting things figuring out how to make their villainy more theatrical

• when the heroes try to tell people the villain is evil, no one believes them

• despite fighting literal children, the villains are not juvenile and present serious threats (murder/world domination)

• despite the previous 2 points, the villains are repeatedly defeated by orphan children with an assist from the villain’s own hubris/stupidity

• musical numbers are involved, even if they are flashback staged performances those count

•villain’s side kicks still roll with him/her despite the abuse to the point where the audience genuinely wants better for them and want more information about them and their tragic past (but their stories usually won’t really be focused on, heck they might even be written out completely. With a few exceptions of course)

• we’ve already discussed that the kids are “genius or bully” types but more broadly the characters are also “books or theater” good guys love books and libraries, bad guys love drama and the theater. We’ve covered the bad guy = theater connection, so focus on the books/reading = good guy connection. The good guys will constantly hang out around libraries, have libraries in their house, be librarians, be friends with librarians, etc. someone (either a bully or villain) is obligated to make fun of one of the good guys for reading at least once. This also implies that a theatrical character who loves reading would be perfect for an antihero or morally grey character.

• the time the story takes place is very vague, but has elements of fashion, cars, and style that suggest the 1950’s-2000’s or more generally sometime in the 20th/21st century

Feel free to add to this list

#a series of unfortunate events #asoue #asoue netflix #tmbs #mbs #tmbs disney #mbs disney #the mysterious benedict society #mysterious benedict society

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pastelaspirations · 6 months

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Ta-dahhhh, a drawing that took me too long. It would have taken me less time had I quit second-guessing everything and taking 3 hour breaks after fixing one line. BUT YEE, I ACTUALLY LIKE IT VERY MUCH. For once. (Also, shoutout to my fren, @paintedkinzy-88 for teaching me how mirrors work. It is a long story. Although, probably only "long" because of my habit of telling things 5k words longer than they needed to be-)

Now, long headcanon rambling alert. This drawing is like... the ungodly compilation of so many of my headcanons. I absolutely didn't need to stuff it full of things I believe to be true so wholeheartedly, but I d i d.

First headcanon: Ink can feel. He has the capacity to experience emotions, he just needs a little help to do it. So, he has to take his vials to experience something that many people don't even need to think about. However, this leads to ✧˖°.angst.✧˖°. Ink has a whole lot of self-doubt and he second-guesses his "emotions" all the time because, technically, his emotions are artificially induced. Therefore, by extension, does that make the emotions themselves artificial? This leads well into my second headcanon.

Second headcanon: Ink's vials are basically an allegory for antidepressants. Suppose someone has been depressed for a very, very long time and then they get on antidepressants. They might become really disoriented. Because, really, which version of themself is the truest form of them? The happy, upbeat version of them is strange and foreign after being depressed for so long. Is the happy version truly them, or was it the other, depressed version of themself that they spent so many years living as? So, as ya can see, the 3rd day prompt for Inktobertale fit beautifully with my headcanons. <3

Third headcanon: Ink experiences a strong wave of whatever range of emotions pertaining to a particular vial after he takes it. For example, yellow, he'd experience a strong wave of joy, happiness, euphoria, etc., and for red, anger, fury, outrage, etc. The little sticky note in the corner of the mirror is a reminder that it's easier to take all the vials together than to spread them out. If he takes them all together, he can experience each strong wave in immediate succession. It's exhausting and he nearly has everything taken out of him at the end, but the ordeal is less... awful than if he spread it out for half an hour taking them one by one. That's why the cup is there hehe-

The little pictures on the mirror represent happier times! :D Since taking his vials, or his "medicine," is such an uncomfortable experience, having pictures on his mirror to remind him of happier times and that he has people that care about him really helps. He can pluck up the courage to actually take the vials after glancing over at beloved faces. ;_;

The holiday picture actually has a funny backstory behind it; the three of them were celebrating Gyftmas together at Blue's house, but it was during a time Dream was still fairly new to uh, "modern day traditions." I headcanon Dream acts really old and after being stuck in stone for so long, is like... tragically so far behind the times. He uses old timey lingo, has a very bad habit of comparing his centuries old age to your common AU resident, and comes off as, "How do you do, fellow kids-" more often than he would like. As such, he didn't understand why you would "dress up" for the holidays. He freaking showed up in his normal attire and was baffled why Blue and Ink were dressed differently. They made a lot of fun of him. Ink got a new sketchbook that he's holding in the picture. <3

The other picture... of course has a backstory. I'm s o r r y, okay. It is a problem, I can't quit sneaking Errorink into whatever I do. That little picture is of a time they were hanging out together cuddling in the antivoid. Error wrote the little note on the picture to remind Ink that his emotions are just as real and valid as the rest of them, and that if anyone were to tell him otherwise, he'd fight 'em. He told him to slap it on his mirror as a reminder when he goes to take his "medicine." ;_; <3 Will I find a way to sneak this into a fic/make a new fic with this scene? Probably, but I'm choosing not to worry about it rn-

FINALLY. LAST HEADCANON, I'M SORRY- Some of you may have noticed the sneaky little Asriel hiding in the picture. >:) Even that has lore behind it! :D It comes from an AU I call Storetale that I made up in two minutes solely to excuse the blatant goat bro easter egg.

Storetale is set in a timeline where the monsters and humans live on the surface together in harmony. But oh noooo, one day, Asgore and Toriel died in a bad car crash, and they left poor Chara and Asriel alone. ;_; Not to worry though! Mettaton adopted the two and they both became child celebrities. But not on tv, mind you. Nooo, they became the mascots of Mettaton's extremely successful supermarket chain, MettaStore. The AU follows the two as they deal with their very odd claim to fame, as well as the fact of being children and the face of a multi-million gold supermarket franchise.

I like to headcanon that Ink likes to watch this AU because of how wacko and heartfelt it can be at times. He got the soap in the picture from that AU, branded Golden Flower Soap. I also like to think Ink introduced Error to that AU and he unironically got invested into it too because of the contrived problems it comes up with similar to Undernovela.

AND THERE. THAT IS ALL. This was just the ultimate compilation of all my headcanons into a singular drawing that no one would ever know unless I made this ungodly long post to explain each and every one in detail even though no one asked. ;_; I'm sorry for such the long post. If any of you brave souls read this far, thank you and I hope I managed to spread my headcanons further-

✧˖°.Bonus:✧˖°. Here is a version with alternate eyes 'cus I couldn't choose which one I liked more and then one without a blurred background. Now, you can see the Errorink background details more clearly if you would like :D

#inktobertale2023 #ink sans #utmv #inktobertale day 3 #ink!sans #my headcanons #star sanses #errorink #But only if ya squint #Like yeah it's right there in plain view #but the drawing itself isn't errorink cuddles #This is so wonderfully angsty I love it #Scratching the angst itch m m m m #Am I going to find a way to incorporate this drawing into a fic or compose a new one entirely #P r o b a b l y #By that same token; will I find a way to shove Storetale into a fic?#Also highly likely because I have gotten unhealthily attached to a glorified shitpost au that I made up in 2 minutes #Is it stupid? Yes. Do I love it to death? Also y e s

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lastleggysee · 1 year

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Beach Day with the Last Legacy M3

Because we were robbed of a canon beach episode.

Word count: 1,917

Warnings: None that I can think of, but if you notice any please let me know!

Felix didn't want to go to the beach at all, and he made his opinion well known through sarcastic comments throughout the week leading up to the event.

"If I wanted to bake myself I could just step into the oven."

"No, I love the beach. I'm especially fond of how you carry masses of sand home with you afterwards, like a second trip."

"All I'm saying is the sea beasts have a point, devouring beachgoers. I would do the same if the rancor arrived at my doorstep."

He even thought he'd be able to use sleeping in as an excuse, purposefully ignoring the sounds of his companions readying themselves for the day outside of his chamber doors. However, he was unable to carry out his plan to fruition when Sage somehow breaks through the locks (and wards) of his door, ripping the blankets from Felix's pretend-sleeping form and bringing him upright in bed. From the hallway, Felix hears Anisa yell something about having "less than an hour" before departure, and he sighs, knowing he's lost this fight.

Felix spends most of the morning choosing what books to bring along and casting anti-sunburn wards on himself. He deliberately chooses a thick, yellowed tome on ancient runes to disguise the romance novel he actually plans on reading while there (which is also conveniently beach-themed). Reluctantly, he dresses in his outfit for the day (I like to imagine his bathing suit is one of those old-timey, striped suits with a sheer black cover-up robe on top), and goes to make himself a strong cup of tea before departure.

Once arriving at the beach, Felix does not help set up a site for the day, insisting that it was Anisa or Sage’s idea in the first place, so he should be excluded from the effort on principle. This is with the exception of the umbrella, though, because Sage always stakes it in the “wrong” place. He sits under the umbrella for most of the day, enjoying his novel and sipping on the wine Anisa so generously remembered to pack for him, keeping it cool with magic. He’s not exactly relaxed, it’s still dreadfully hot out, and the chair he reclines in is not nearly as comfortable as the thick cushions he rests on at Fathom, but the day still washes easily over him, and Felix is silently grateful for the variety.

Felix has a quiet reverence for the ocean. Its vastness, its depth; it reminds him a lot of magic. The way it is both a familiar presence and unfathomable mystery, its balance of chaos and predictability; these qualities sit in a familiar juxtaposition in his mind, and Felix pleasantly watches the waves crash over the tops of his pages.

While grazing on some of the snacks Anisa packed, his back turned to the ocean, Felix felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. Before he could turn around, he felt large, strong arms envelop him, lifting him from his place on the ground. He recognized it as Sage before he even saw his face. Felix protested, threatening spells and fire and dismemberment, but Sage did not relent until Felix felt the water lapping at his ankles.

“Still want me to put you down?” Sage asked, a tinge of mischief in his voice.

“Yes, you absolute beast -” Felix started, but was cut off with a mouthful of salt water as Sage dropped him directly into the waves.

“See? S’not so bad.” Sage makes out between booming laughter, and for perhaps the first time that day Felix agrees with him.

Anisa spent most of the day before the trip preparing. This meant that she spent at least half of the day picking out exactly what could go wrong, and making plans for whatever she would be able to do about it, and preparing supplies accordingly.

First aid kit? Check. Extra sunscreen? Packed.

Weapons? Already tucked into the bottom of the picnic basket.

A spare pan and firestarter in case she finds a dolphin and finally gets the chance to try it? It was one of the first things she packed. After all, you showed up out of nowhere, there’s a chance a dolphin might as well.

Where Anisa really spent most of her time, though, was the picnic basket she prepared. Anisa genuinely believes that food is a love language, and the attention to detail she pays to each meal she prepares is a testament to this. She made little sandwiches, cut the crust off of the edges, and folded them neatly into colorful napkins. She chopped fruit and carefully packaged it in containers for herself, Felix, and Sage to snack on later. She even included some of Felix’s favorite wine (she figured anything that may sweeten his sour mood was well worth the space spent to carry it along) and some street cakes from the market for Sage. She took pride in her work and wanted to make sure she put forth every effort to make the day as perfect as possible.

She could hardly sleep the night before the trip, thinking about how long it had been since she actually had fun and enjoyed herself; much less with her group of friends in tow. It excited her, stirring butterflies in her stomach at the idea of it all, but also felt somehow strange. In her late 20s, could she still enjoy the beach like she had as a child? Could she find respite from the weights of her knightly duties upon her shoulders after carrying them for so long? Despite falling asleep later than she intended, she was the first to wake up, sipping her tea on the balcony at Fathom with a tentative anticipation for the day.

At the beach, Anisa sets up most of the site, unpacking all of her hard work and laying it out on the sand. She sits and watches the waves for a long while at first, remembering times in her youth where she’d sat on similar beaches with her mother. Anisa likes the wildness of the waves, the sounds of other beachgoers around her, and the scent of salt in the air that always seems to work its way into her skin before the day is over.

She wades into the water at Sage’s insistence (meaning, Sage yelling her name at a surprising volume from his place in the water), enjoying the cool feel of the waves against her feet and legs as she adjusts to the temperature difference. Feeling the steady pull and crash of the water against her knees, she feels a joy rise in her chest that she realizes she hasn’t felt in a long time. Anisa splashes Sage with water when she reaches him, but aside from that one act of playfulness she spends the majority of her time swimming alone and enjoying herself in the water.

After a while in the water, Anisa reclines in the sun on one of the towels she brought, resting in the warmth of the sun and idly snacking on some of the fruit she brought. She hears Felix muttering to himself over the novel he’s reading, along with the sound of gulls and other beachgoers, but she allows it to all wash over her over the sound of the waves. She needed this, she thinks.

Raising another piece of fruit to her lips, she decides that she’ll make Sage be the one to pack and carry all the supplies back.

Sage was objectively the one most excited to go to the beach; probably because he was the one who objectively did the least amount of preparation for the event. He’s always been a “go with the flow” sort of guy, so when the invitation presented itself he took it, no questions asked and no sense of responsibility attached.

Sage used to hate the beach. As a child, he used to fish from it (and steal fish from the other fishermen there) to feed himself and Tulsi. There was a time when the salty air and rhythmic crashing of waves caused similar waves of adrenaline to roll throughout his body. Nonetheless, he has just as many pleasant memories at the beach - swimming, drinking, and spending days in the sun before he joined the Starsworn. If he tries, he can still recall some drunken evenings with Lucan and other Griefers on the beach despite the haze his alcohol consumption at the time placed over his memories.

The morning of the day, Sage rolled out of bed, feeling surprisingly well-rested and ready for the day ahead of him. Having long since misplaced (or did one of his companions misplace it for him?) his admittedly tight leather swimsuit, he opts to dress himself in a simple pair of shorts and his telltale red coat. Of course, Sage still has at least two knives hidden with him for the day ahead, but he leaves his sword at Fathom.

He passes Anisa in the hallway and tells her to calm down, that today was supposed to be about relaxation, and is promptly i(playfully) hit upside the head with one of her umbrellas. Sage listens to her mutter to herself about Felix still lazing in bed, though, and makes it his business to take at least this off of her plate and wake Felix up.

When he arrives at the beach, he immediately runs into the water. He enjoys the feeling of the sun on his skin, the way it warms him completely from the top of his head to his feet. He enjoys the feel of the current, its pull against his body, knowing that he’ll still feel it long after he’s departed from the beach as he lies in bed that night. Pleasant memories of his childhood spent at the beach float to the surface of his mind as he floats on the surface of the water, more relaxed than he’s felt in weeks.

Of course, this relaxation is short-lived when Anisa decides to take a dip in the water, but the playful interaction is welcome as Sage swings his arm across the surface of the water to splash her.

Looking back to shore, he notices Felix still in the same spot he’d been in all day. Sage knew Felix wasn’t a fan of fun, but he finds it absolutely ridiculous the way Felix will spend this one day outside of Fathom with his nose buried in a book.

“Do you think he’s always been so uptight?” Sage asks, golden eyes still fixed on Felix.

Anisa scoffs. “I think Escell must’ve given him textbooks and an abacus to play with as a child.”

It’s at this moment that Sage decides that if Felix won’t have any fun on his own, maybe he could use a little help. He slings Felix over one of his shoulders and brings him out into the water, laughing all the way despite his protests.

When the day is finally over, Sage makes a big show of complaining as Anisa insists that he be the one to re-pack and carry all of their supplies back. Sage protests at first, even threatening to the others that he would simply spend the night at the beach rather than to do any of that, but he eventually agrees.

Over a series of grunts, expletives, and some admittedly poor attempts at folding, Sage repeats an exasperated question.

“Annie, how in the hells did you manage to pack all this into one stupid basket?”

#last legacy #fictif last legacy #sage lesath #felix iskandar escellun #anisa anka #last legacy sage #last legacy anisa #last legacy felix #beach episode

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 2 months

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Another headcanon, hand in hand with the first.. the curse of a hypnotic ability.

Vox uses his his hypnotic gaze with varying degrees of subtlety, from a quiet suggestion during a show or press conference, to a full on bludgeon of direct command if needed to push a product or idea.

Alastor, the radio demon, came into possession of a hypnotic voice upon arriving in hell. At first it was something that simply happened, something barely controlled and slipping into each conversation no matter how he tried to override it. It was not like the static, everpresent, but it definitely could be felt... a sinuous tasteless crackle of Suggestion, of Want, and on the rare occasion he needed it in an emergency... of Desperation.

It left an itchy uncertainty behind his eyelids, tingling through his skin, to never be truly sure that the connections he made in the early days were genuine. Except Vox of course, when they had been friends each had been delighted to find their abilities nullified by the other... a camaraderie that lasted until that damnable moth arrived with his slavvering lustpickled brain.

Still, until he had the power leashed and tightly controlled to use as a weapon If needed, and now whenever it chose to appear... Alastor had been careful in the application. Too strong and even the most generic command could bind too deeply into the subject's mind.

He does prefer to ise his charm, his personable polite mannerisms and of course the mindfully masterful excessive violence of his trade to enact his power struggles qith overlords and sinners alike.

The weight of the voice was helpful in tearing down the cruel, the sinners who targeted the weak, but in the end he preferred to not use it where and when possible.

It caused extreme mistrust when people learned of it. He hid it for a reason. But perhaps one day when called out for.mesmerising the populace.into loving him, Vox blows a fuse and refutes that it was cute of the radio demo , the demon with the hypnotic voice, to criticise Vox for simply being blatant about his use of a wellknown ability.

Taunting that perhaps the other hid it to avoid being accused of luring his so called friends in, because it was the only way an old timey prick could get people on his side with so little to offer.

And, as he had always feared, it changed things.

Not with Niffty of course, she was a delightful ball of hellfire who didn't care about his peculiarities much as he did the same courtesy for her, but knew they had an unspoken bond. Besides, if Alastor had helped her drift off to sleep after nightmares with his Special Story Voice on her bad nights in hell... well, that was okay with her.

Husker was especially vocal about it, again claiming that Alastor could not be trusted to any and all who would listen to his ramblings. It was getting grating, but he had thus far resisted the urge to yank the proverbial chain about it... even if his patience was razorwire thin. The crux of the gambler's ire was the insistence that Alastor must have cheated in the card game for Husk's soul... for, from his perspective, there was simply no other way the Radio Demon could have beaten a consummate gamer such as he.

When Alastor tries to counter that perhaps he won because Husker was a degenerate gambler who took insane risks beyond what was good for him, and was consistently self-marinated in enough alcohol to flood the desert, he was dismissed sharply with a shout to not try talking his way outta it. And, as silly as it was... that was a sharp little blow to his pride.

Angel Dust was possibly the most surprisingly hostile at first, the spider demanding to know what kind of deal he needed to make with Alastor (who he'd kinda thought was a friend at this point, but let's be fair its not like the people he cares for haven't fucked him over ten ways to sunday before, so maybe he was wrong) would need for Alastor to use his voice to convince Val to break the pornstars contract. If he could do it without killing the guy, why did he just let Angel suffer? Was this funny to him? Did he not understand what the moth did to Angel, and had others do to him, every single fucking day? His tone distraught and eyes full of angry tears.

Alastor had attempted to explain that there was a reason he couldn't. That the vile picture box, Vox had managed to use his own visual ability on the other two Vees already, specifically to ensure his ability would never take hold on them. A suggestion to ward off suggestion if you will.

That seemed to mollify the other momentarily. 'Wait, does that mean ya tried already?' Angel had asked, and Alastor turned his head away, frowning at the memories. There had been a rather sharp shock of psychic feedback when he'd tried, a clear little booby trap left by Vox. He nods, his fingers twitching at the recollection of a burning that ran through his body like electricity, tugging at his nerves cruelly and unable to be settled, only endured.

And then the other asks, what they always ask, given that they were in hell... and everyone has a past. Angel asks if Alastor can help him bury the memories deeper, the bad days, so that he can sleep at night... or, at least, trick his mind into floating away when things got too much?

Alastor tactfully turns this down, the words needed to explain how deeply it would bury the personality before him to hide that pain and trauma, too complex on his tongue. And he gets a bottle hurled at his head instead... his shadow tendrils reach for it, but pause, and the whole room stills as the glass shatters against his ever-present smile.

He does not say he is sorry, but the shocked look on Angel's face, the choked cry of Charlie, and the blood now dripping down his chin... well, he hoped they understood. "If that is all..." he had said, casually, and slipped into shadow.

Vaggie had always been wary of him, but now is ever-present and within earshot of the Overlord when he even suggests he might be about to speak with Charlie alone. Not that he would ever need to charm her... perhaps help soothe her, like he did Niffty when she became manically unable to sleep for the river of thoughts running through her mind.

The Ex-orcist is always a solid prescence around him, he sees the eye on him. The implied threat in her stance whenever they share a room, the mild distrust in her expression before she bites into a meal he has prepared, or the sharp way her eyes re-read documents before Charlie signs them. She never voices her threat, her distrust... but it is a tangible thing.

Alsastor had always wondered if his voice would have even worked on the ex-angel, not to mention... if it could work on the Princess of Hell. Hellborn and Angels, they were something... different. The best he'd managed was to turn the head of a rather persistent Goetia suitor, once in a bit of a panic, with his voice... and it'd been a bit of a struggle. It would be unlikely to twist a Sin, much less Lucifer...

Charlie didn't treat him any different, at first. Unfortunately, her eventual response was almost violently optimistic... and felt just as devastating, when she stutteringly tried to bring Alastor's newly outed ability into her plans for rehabilitation. Haltingly asking if, maybe, perhaps, could Alastor um... could he consider using his ability to help ease some of the newer guests through their first few weeks? Like, with the withdrawals and the flashbacks, the nightmares? Help shore up their resolve? With their permission of course!

And why had that hurt so sharply? It was simply something for him to say yes or no to, a proposal... he normally loved such things. The twisting of words into a chain between two sinners... but this felt, hmm, distasteful was the word that came to mind. As if he was only useful now that someone needed his ability; a little issue he'd tried to quash decades ago before starting his tirade against the other Overlords to become one. Ah, such a circuitous path he trod.

Seeing the burning plea in her eyes, he felt his insides twisting, wondering how to diffuse this without losing his place in the hotel or its hierarchy. Simply settling for a 'I will consider your proposal...' as he strode away, trying desperately to ignore how his long-dead heart writhed in his chest and a sickened sensation spread coldly through his veins.

Lucifer though, of all the unexpected people to commisserate, it just had to be that overpuffed little cockrel. At first, the King of Hell had been insufferably infuriating, joking loudly that clearly Alastor's appeal was overblown and his only en-deer-ing factor was his ability to trick people into doing his bidding. It was grating.

However, over the coming days, even the insularly-minded King couldn't help but notice the increased censorship and scrutiny the demon bastard was under. Had started to (ugh) empathise... with Alastor over the deer only being sought out for his ability, and watching on as the sinner found increasingly convoluted means in which to turn down requests without infuriating the other party. It hit a little close to home for the fallen angel...

After all, it sucks when the only thing anyone ever wanted you for was what you brought to the table and not you, as a person. Or angel. Pretty sure that was what the musical pissing contest they'd gotten into that first time they ever met had been about, after all.

The downside to Lucifer's attempt to communicate this newfound not-animosity, was the pre-existing I-want-you-dead-and-custody-of-our-daughter relationship the pair had engendered from day dot. So he awkwardly tried to build that bridge through Charlie, just a few awkward meals and meetings that they both consciensciously tried not to kill each other in, and it was enough of an olive twig that they could have a passing discussion without rennovations being required.

Curiosity did get the best of Lucifer one day, and he did eventually ask Alastor if he'd ever been able to use his ability on Charlie or other hellborn. That had gone over as well as a firework in an antiques shop. Still, he got an answer... most hellborn were vulnerable, but no attempts on Charlie so far to test that.

The King offers a brief and extremely specific deal to Alastor to try seeing if it could influence ex-angels or those of his power rank... and there is a moment when it appears that the Radio Demon is interested. But it passes with a sharp look in those shrewd red eyes, an aborted movement to his throat and what had possibly been a trick of the light... because it had seemed like there was something there, but he could just be sleep-deprived.

That had been an uncomfortable week for Alastor.

He had surmised, based on the increased hostility from the Vees towards his radio broadcast in particular, that perhaps this had all been a fun little ploy from Vox to force Alastor to capitulate to his incessant requests to join the Vees. Possibly the only ones who would have him now...

Even Carmilla had sent a rather clipped message over with one of her underlings that Alastor need not attend the nextt Overlord meeting. He was not ignorant of her caution, and the why. In her place, he might do the same... at least when Vox was starting his nonsense, it was obvious. Alastor could theoretically 'get you' in a single conversation.

Frustrating. The loathing roiled in his body, growing daily, along with a thickening twist of anger, of murderous bloodlust and self-detestation. Even in the afterlife with thousands of souls dangling on his chains, still there was a way for him to be set apart and seen as an object of fear and hatred and disgust and untrustworthiness simply from something inherent. Something he had no control over.

To be feared for who you were and what you had done, that was simply the well-deserved prize of his Overlord station and something to be revelled in. But this was erring into deeply hidden memories of his time alive, and all the cruelty humans can have for someone different.

There was, of course, an option he had considered before... but it had seemed an over-dramatic response when it was dismissed previously. However, with recent events, and the never-ending suspicion shadowing his every movement, word and step... he would never be able to fulfil his duties as the hotelier (or the other less-voluntary requests placed upon him by the constraints of his deal).

The final straw came an evening after a truly grating day of suspicious and frightened eyes, a decreased viewership for his broadcast, and the little smear campaign Vox was running nonstop on various platforms. It was all just about to make him snap and go on a jaunty little evisceration spree...

And then, that last grain of temperance slid to the bottom of the hourglass when someone DARED to even infer that Niffty was enthralled to him against his will. One moment they had been talking, niffty grinning wildly as she spoke about her day, the surprise of finding even MORE vermin in the cellars! (Of course there were, Alastor was creating them to keep her occupied).

When she'd gestured for him to come down so she could whisper in his ear, it was nothing exceptionally exciting, just mentioning that she might have seen a video of Vox tripping over his own feet and cracking his screen on the hard head of Velvette during a press conference, that Angel had been watching on his phone that morning.

Alastor had said he also had a secret for her, and leaned in to whisper that actually, he'd seen Vox fall face-first down a flight of stairs once because Alastor had winked at him. Apparently from the outside, Niffty had gone deathly still with her eye blown and oddly blank for a full few seconds before the little maidling burst into hysterical laughter, reanimating immediately.

He'd been slammed in the chest by the handle of a familiar spear, and then Angel Dust was scooping a now-confused Niffty from him. Husk behind him, glaring down with a tight expression; as Vaggie spun the spear to face point-forwards at the spot his dead heart sluggishly trembled with almost-afterlife. It was baffling, before his brain caught up, seeing such hostility... and not knowing why.

He normally jested to prod, to prick, to frustrate and laugh at their annoyed groans. This was different. This was genuine and unabashed anger, disgust, distrust... so nakedly presented, it was like an active blow.

Charlie tried to intercede, calling for calm, as Niffty struggled to get down. To get to Alastor.

"Niff, no, he's just gonna do... that to ya again." Angel Dust mutters, his additional arms appearing to help curl the little maid in a cage of protective limbs. She writhed and protested.

"What did you say to her, you manipulative freak?" Vaggie snarls, her patience tested, and the tip of the spear jabbing through the layers of clothes sharply enough to draw blood. "I didn't think you'd even go as far as-... I thought you liked her as she is?!"

"Wait, don't let him talk. He's just gonna make us back down..." Husk added, eyes cold as he angles himself so he can spread a wing between Alastor's gaze and the wriggling Niffty.

"You think I-...?" he tried to explain, anyway. Not Niffty. Hells, not even Husker when he was being insolent. The words choked off as the blade sunk in just a bit further.

These fools and their hasty judgements. Always assuming, never asking. Just like his life, and look how that had panned out! His claws grasped the carpet below, fighting to withhold the automatic response of an overlord transformation. Eyes flickering with radio dials, antlers trying to snap out and bones cracking; it could be suppressed with effort.

"Whoa, guys, stop it! I don't think he was hurting Niffty or-... or saying anything, let's just calm down!" Charlie begs, getting desperate as she tries to pull Vaggie away without hurting her girlfriend or twisting the blade in any way.

"Ï̸̳̺͕͎̣͕̤̩͓̊̍͐͋̊̃̌̈́̔̒͆̊͘͜͜ ̶̛͓̥̬̅́̓̎w̷͚̤̦͙̖͒̓̊̾̑́͝ǫ̵͓̫̰̹̽͛͒͆̿͌̂͑̔͊͝ủ̶̧͙͚̦͚͖̳̭̦̫͎́̈́̾̃͊̊̿̂͊̕̕͜͠l̷̨̥̰̗͕͖͂̍͊̈́͒̓̎̌̅̀͆̾̃̾͘d̵̰̻͒͌̈̊̏̋ ̵̡̯͖̣̳̑̾̀̔͋N̶̫̦̩͐̃̋̿̄̓̀̀̀͛́̄͑̾͝E̸̹̗͔͍̗̜͌̿̐̋́̇͗̎͋̽͘̚V̴͍̋̈́̄̋̀̈́̿E̸̜̒̋͒̒̌̈̑̉͛̍͂͌̕̕ͅR̶̢̜̤͍̙͖͐͒͌̈́̀͑̂̑͝ ̶̯̰̫͇̺͔̗̣̼̟̪͖͉̟̓ͅh̷̡̡̧̠͈̳̥̣̒̕u̷̢̡̨͔͍̝͈̞͂̋̊̈́̈͐̌̍̈͛̆̔͋̚r̴͙̥̭͎͔͊̄̾̑̒̆̔̈́̈́͛̈͌̚ͅẗ̸̡͖̖͎̺̜̞̖̫́͊̐̓̄̋̽̀͛̅͘ͅͅͅ ̴͕̲͈̭̙͐̎̇͊N̸͈͉͎̺̂̔̀̃̍̔̓̾̓͑̊̀į̸̛̰̝̩͍̩̱̟̦̬̣̠̣͈͍̀̀̈́̈̊̾̇͊͐͝͝f̷̧̤̝̙͉͕̱̘̜͍̩̳͇̰̂̅͗͛̒̋̐͗̐f̴͍̹̘̱̭̬͐̒̌̔̓̕͜t̷̛̛͇̏̊͒̓̆̆̒̓̊̾͗y̷̨̧̦̻̮͓̲͆̀͜͝ͅ,̵̧̛̣̤̳̳͈͎̝̑͒̒̈́͛̿̔̋́̌̕͜ͅ ̶̙̯̞̩̳͓̺̼̿̔̀̊͐͘ͅỵ̵̢͓̲̙̺̙̤͇͔̠͓̟͋̈́͗͜͝ơ̷͇̲̮̫̄̊̋́̊̈́̓̍u̵̢̦̗̘͚̍̔̎̓͂̋͂̉̈́̐̊̆̐͋͘ ̴̢̧̻̥̙͓̘͕̹̞̱͑͗̄̅͊̊͒͠͝ͅs̴̳̎̾ǐ̵̢̥̥̞̭̘̟̦̘͔̼̼̹̔͑̃̿͠m̵̩͉͕͓͖͖͛̓̈͊̈͛̈̈͛̈́̇͛͠p̷͉͎͉͔̝͓̠̤̣̰̼̬̭̹̲̄͊̔̈̆̎̉l̶̛̲͖͍̫̮̏͊̉̀͗̔̂͛̃̚e̸̛̗͈̼̠͉̝̺̬̫̙̭͗̒̉̀̆̓̌̔ͅ-̸̬͈̹̖̮̊͊͗͜m̸͍̩͇̈̏̇̈́̎͛̀́̀i̴͙͆͘n̴̛̛͈͇̪̳̮̊͒͆d̷̡̲͈͎̙̥̲̥̒̋͆͊̌̈̍̊̔̚͝e̷̡̧͓̞̥̬̭̯͙̮̰͛͋̊̈́͛̅̽̈̇̕̕d̴͈͇̖̖̦̲͇͉͚͍͖̀̅̈́̚͜ ̶̧̛̰̮̪̰͍͍͙̺͇͕̣̎͊̿̓̾́̿̾̾̒̿̕͘͜͜f̷̝́͗̒͐̊͝ọ̸̮̗̦̰̜̬̣͚̇̈̇̄͜ô̶̡̡̯̭̠̝͖͕͍̳̞͓͍̑͌̑̌̋͠l̵͔͇̤̊͂̈̓̈́̾́̅̓̔͌̒͝ͅs̶͇͓̬͔̝̝̥̪̟͎͂̓̌̆͗̉͒͋̅͘̕!̶̢̢̡̛̛̹͓̘̮̖͕̏͆̇̉̅̚̕͜" he snarls, all shrieking radio static and coiling rage.

That gets their attention, and just enough breathing space for the Overlord to push back from the impaling speartip, to sink into his shadows. He ignores Charlie's calls to come back, fleeing to his rooms in desperation and a humiliation he hasn't felt since he was alive.

Within the twisting labyrinthine confines of his own room, secreted in a bathroom, Lucifer is the first to find him. Of course it would be the irritatingly familiar ex-archangel. Who else could swoop through the bayou and detect magical signatures well enough to find him?

"Fuck, Al, what did you do?" the King gasps, sorrow and horror at war on his features. Sure, the radio guy was a prick, but this was... something else. Charlie had told him what happened, and that Vaggie had used her angelic blade, so she thought Allan (wait, Alucard? Alice? Al... something) might need a patch-up from the one and only.

Charlie was settling things down now, with Niffty adamantly denying Alastor did anything to her, and they were being super mean. She did get a time out form Lucifer for threatening to impale Vagatha with her spear for hurting Alastor. Sure, she was an adult... but they all needed 10 minutes in the Calm Down Corner from time to time.

Sprawled across the bathroom tiles, haphazardly covered in leaves from the outside foliage and seeping blood, was Alastor. His expression bordering on manic, shadow lunging at the King protectively as he approached, and mouth glowing with sharp, cruel glowing green stitches. The Radio Demon's eyes flickered between dials and his normal red, sharp claws scoring his face as they clasped his cheeks about the ever present and now glowing grin.

His eyes roved the rapidly healing marks before they began to fade, sighting the equally angry green X over the announcer's throat. He knew, the moment he saw it, what Alastor had done... but this, well, fuck. This was someone driven beyond snapping by their own inherent powers.

Can't say he'd never been there, but sadly... had never had the option to bind his own abilities away. Except with, you know, the bone-deep depression that sapped his every ion of energy for decades at a time.

"Well, Charlie's gonna be really mad at you... but let's see what we can do about this, Angela." he says, pushing past the shadow without any real effort, scooping the lanky fucker up and treading the unstable swampy ground back to the room portion of the bedroom.

He did what he could to at least settle the self-inflicted binding, which wasn't much, that was under Alastor's control... and tried not to shudder at the absolute lack of response he received from the normally adversarial demon when Lucifer actually had to touch his chest to heal the puncture there.

They sat in silence for a long, long time, both staring beyond the room as the day spiralled into night and back again. Charlie came in quietly at one point, but Lucifer sends her away. This was... a lot for someone as gentle as she was.

Somewhere below, she is yelling. Something is cracking, splintering; possibly that one wall everyone insisted on using as a door. He is proud of her, in a distant way, a real Princess of Hell when she needs to be.

"That's our girl..." he huffs, trying to goad the other into speaking and receiving no response. This was going to take a while.

When he snapped awake a few hours later to find Niffty sprawled over the sleeping Alastor, he doesn't bother to wake either, just conjures a blanket.

----------

A few days past the incident, and it was as if nothing happened.

Alastor walked, talk and spoke without any sign of breaking so deeply. He could feel Charlie and Lucifer's eyes on him, and the deliberate avoidance from the other residents. Whether from shame or guilt or seething resentment at Charlie yelling at them, he's not sure.

There were some half-hearted apologies, some begrudging muttering about overreacting.

All he knows for certain, is that no one outside of Niffty and the Morningstars really understood what he had done.

That was fine.

He was fine.

----------

...until he wasn't.

-----------

It wasn't until the shield shatters above the hotel in a truly dramatic fashion, that the Hazbin team and assorted cannibals realised just how difficult the battle was going to be. Things had been going swell up to that point... well, as well as a handful of sinners and hellborn against the might of angels could go.

Alastor dodges and weaves, goading and cajoling his enemy, keeping him trained on the Demon and away from the crowd. His exorcists thinning out by the moment as Cannibals feasted and residents rallied.

Railguns boomed, sharpened cards sliced through the air, someone was yelling and quite a number of people were howling. Whether in delight or anguish was unclear, as he was busy.

Adam was more formidable than anticipated, however, and the moment that his staff was destroyed Alastor understood things had gone from abysmal to apocalyptic in short order. In the split second as his static cracked into his normal speech, the reaction time lagged enough for that egotistical first man to land a sharp blow he could not avoid.

The other goaded his anticipated prey, advancing on the Radio Demon, downed and certain that the graced blade had rent his ribcage in two. In a panic, he could feel his mind trying desperately to reach for his Voice, a last ditch effort to at least distract the Angel for a second to engender his own exit.

An internal vibration... and the sharp, instantaneous sting of it striking the magical threads at his throat, his lips. The smile never fell, it could not, but it twitched.

He threw out his best one-liner and dissolved into shadow before he could be destroyed utterly.

--------

Husk felt his collar shudder and phase out momentarily, the sensation like static down his spine, and if Cherri Bomb hadn't been paying enough attention to tackle the cat he'd be a shishkabob.

"Head in the game, Whiskers." she laughed, Angel helping them both up while firing wildly with his alternate arms.

"You good?" Angel asks, smiling as Husker sheered an angel's head off using the tipped cards.

"I... yeah, just for a sec there I thought... my collar, it kinda just shuddered. I thought it was gonna break."

"Oh... you don't think... ?"

"Nah, he's got that Voice Voodoo thing, maybe he can get inta Adam's head and make 'em all stop." Husker shrugged, uncertain and deciding to ignore it in favour of survivng the next few minutes.

"On ya left!" Cherri yells, hurling something explosive behind Husk and cackling as pieces of Exterminator rained down in dripping golden rain.

----------

Of course, the one time he actually needed the damn thing, the one time it would have been acceptable to use... it was gone.

He never could do anything right, he laments alone in the radio tower. Painting a trail of misery and self-loathing.

Why hadd he bothered to assauge the worries of gnats like the residents? Why had he fought for them?

It was all so meaningless.

It was almost enough to tempt him into taking Vox's offer of joinging the Vees... and it became more persuasive every hour he sat there alone, unable to move and untended. At least Vox was obsessive enough to never leave him alone and unsurveilled for long after a battle like this. Or ever, really.

A telltale crackle as the hatch screeched open. Ah, speak of the devil...

----------

Sir Pentioussss was no longer among them, but Adam was defeated.

In the moments after, the gaping silence, the world felt too big and too small and suffocating in both extremes. Charlie let her anguish out in song, comforted by those around her as they brought her back to the here and now.

It was only once the hotel was mid-rebuild that someone noticed the frantic Niffty (still coated in the blood of several dozen angels) searching everywhere for Alastor. Husk waved it off, stating he could feel the collar in place, so the fucker had to be alive somewhere.

Angel then reminded him about that moment in battle, the cat had almost forgotten given everything else happening around them. Charlie dropped a heavy beam she'd been lifting, only just avoiding making her father a few inches shorter through his own agility.

"WHAT? Why didn't you say anything? He could be really hurt!" She tugged at her hair as her emotions started to roil internally.

"Like I said, collar's still there... so he's alright. Or alive at least. Legs and I think he used his Voice to get away from that First Guy, 'cause it was almost immediately after that that Adam came swooping down to have a go at you..." Husk shrugs again, going for indifferent, but his hackles seemed raised. If only a little.

"BUT HE DOESN'T HAVE HIS- mmmph!!!" Charlie started, before Lucifer clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Ha hah, Charlie, I don't think that's something he'd be comfortable with us sharing. So maybe let's just go look for him, and check that smug strawberry motherfucker is alive, okay?" the hostility felt a little forced, as he strongarmed his daughter away. "Right, now where would the idiot go if he was hiding? Not his room, it's in like, 100 pieces... hmmm, is there a place you can eat crying orphans around here? I think that'd be his style..."

"Daaaaaaad!" Charlie half-giggled, rolling her eyes. He was doing this for her benefit, of course, and it sort of worked. "Actually, what about his tower?"

"Yeah, that sounds like him... but where'd it end up?" Husk asked, glancing about.

Angel twists himself around, then points somewhere off in the distance. "Hey is that it? Looks about right, but there's like, blue sparks coming off it..."

"Well, no time like the present to at least have a look..." Lucifer shrugs, launching into the air with Charlie and heading towards the site. From above, he couldn't help but notice that Vagatha was frantically attempting to reign in the speeding red blur of Niffty as the other beelined for the collapsed structure.

------

Electricity crackles in all directions, singing his skin and setting the few nerves left untouched by his other wound, ablaze with anguish.

"We didn't have to come to this," the voice almost pleads. "You can still be part of us, I can make the video of your little fuck up with Adam disappear... all you have to do is put aside your fucking pride and accept my offer, Al. C'mon, just take my hand and we'll go get you healed up... it won't be anywhere near as bad as you're imagining. What say we don't have you do any collabs with Valentino for, say, the first year or so... that's reasonable, right?"

The words are like the tide, relentless and punctuated by rushes of static and the buzz of electricity. His head pounds, but the other Overlord was starting to wear him down... at least... huh, at least Vox had come looking. For all Charlotte spouted about friendship and togetherness, she was not here.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue? You haven't even tried to use your Voice on me yet..." Vox pauses to consider, it's functionally useless against the other but they both tended to get a little excited during fights knowing it wouldn't affect the enemy overlord at all. "Am I not good enough for you? Hang on, did that Angel fuck you up more than I thought? Is this working on you now?"

Funnily enough, that swirling eye was making itself rather prominent in Alastor's fading thoughts. The very notion that it might be hypnosis working was enough to make his gorge rise, heart thundering in his own ears and a flicker of his overlord form crackled to the forefront.

"HAH! You cannot be serious, this is the best fucking day of my afterlife!" Vox crows, realising what he wanted for decades was now literally in reach, as he crowds the other Overlord in. Kneeling over Alastor's slumped form, hand cupping his chin so tenderly as he forces the other to gaze right into his eyes. "It's okay, just... sleep for a bit and when you wake up we'll make a deal, and you'll be a Vee. Trust me. It's for the best... that's it, let me in and it won't hurt anymore."

Damn it all, the suggestion feels like sinking into a warm bath. Distantly he wonders if this is how his own power feels when exerted against another.. and then the world becomes fuzzy, quiet, and he doesn't respond to the feeling of those taloned metallic hands on his arms.

Clarity snaps back like a cold bucket of water straight to the face as Vox is slammed against a wall by a majestic looking wing. Followed up immediately by Charlie lunging for the Overlord, claws extended.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

Ah, if he'd had the energy to laugh he would have. In disbelief or relief, even Alastor was unsure.

"Shit, Smiles looks fucked up!" comes the unfortunately true but otherwise unhelpful input from Angel Dust. "Hang on, why's Vox here?"

"Probably fishing for Alastor to join his team again, he's always doin' that." Husker reponds, grunting as he seems to be the only thing holding back Niffty right now. She's got a knife, if his eyes are still working right, and is trying valiantly to end the television.

"Yeah, he's right you're pretty fucked up." Lucifer adds, hand over the injury as he let out a low whistle. "Hey, so I'm gonna go ahead and guess he used that weird grace guitar of his... so this might sting a bit, just hold on."

He covered them both with his wings as the roof of the small space peeled free with the growing form within.

Static crackled, popped and sent chills up the spine of those who heard it as the ex-archangel wrestled the spark of divinity right out of the gash before healing it. Somewhere in the background, Vox was rising to his overlord form, swiping at the others and being driven back.

Vaggie was forcing the other out of the small area using her spear, ironically, and he tried to laugh but all that came out was a croak. Without his staff, the laugh track would likely come out distorted and distressing to the others at such a short range.

"That'll do until we get back to the hotel proper and we get you a shower. I know you have that whole cannibal mystique shit going on, but you reek like a dozen types of blood and gore, and a bit like Heaven but gone off... I think that's the last bit of Adam on you." Lucifer says, wiping his hands on the once-pristine white shirt and grabbing the demon's flagging attention.

"...thank you, your majesty." he conceded, sititng up without the world spinning for the first time in what felt like aeons. He tries to straighten his clothing, but decides that at this point they are beyond repair and gives up. It is not as if those gathered are likely to run to the press.

"Vaggie!" comes the anguished cry as the ex-orcist was struck violently by a whipping cable as thick as her arm.

"Stooping to hitting women now, Podcast? Have you no class?" he infuses strength he doesn't really have into his voice. Stretching out a tendril to snatch Vagatha from the air, and set her down.

He starts to writhe into his own Overlord form, feeling it fight him back as his partially healed body protested the snapping of bones and surging power. Swatting at Vox to force him away from the others, before someone got hurt.

A dazed Angel Dust wobbled into the arms of Charlie, eyes swirling as the spell snaps.

Alastor growls then, frustrated that he had no current ability to nullify the other overlord's powers. Thinking rationally on it, he should have at least tried to Voxproof the others in a similar manner to that of the Vees. Why had it come to things before he came to a common sense conclusion?

A cable wraps about his arm delivering sharp volts right into his spine. He plunges a clawed hand deep into the other's chest, tearing and gouging where he could to reach for a still humanoid heart where it pumped frenetically.

"Okay, I've had about enough of this. We've all had a long day, so you two need to calm down, right about now." Lucifer called, getting between the battling forms and outright basting them in bright angelic light. Vox, unused to being around such things, crumples to his Demon form with a curse. Alastor, on the other hand, feels a flare in his chest and shrinks slowly down until he lands on his knees.

"Box, was it? I'd go now, if I were you. We need to fix up the hotel and get our ducks in a row... heh. Buh-bye."

Succinctly dismissed, the other overlord stares in disbelief, then hurtles himself away in electrical form towards a nearby powerline.

"Are all Overlords such dramatic babies?" the King goads, sideyeing the other. "Or just you two? That Camero lady seems like she wouldn't need this level of babysitting..."

If looks could kill, Lucifer would be deepfried.

And then Charlie was there, sobbing into the overlord's shoulder and squeezing with not insignificant strength. "I thought you were d-d-deaaaaaaaaad!" she wailed, emotions fraught after already losing Pentious and then this whole mess.

"There there dear, I promise I'm still very much in one piece." he assured, ignoring Lucifer's snort and the obvious glance to his nearly bisected attire. "Nothing a quick shower won't fix, a-... oof!"

And there was Niffty, like a small cannonball of hysterical sobbing in his other side. "Sir, you're okay!"

'Always, Niffty. Deep breath, dear." Petting her head seemed to soothe her slightly.

"Hey uh, since we're like celebratin' you living through all this crap with us, I kinda wanna take the chance to say sorry about the whole... other day with Niffty. " Angel said, rubbing his arm sheepishly. "It's just... Vox uses his thing to make people do what he wants, and then Val he uh... well, I think you know about his venom, right? Just got panicked about it. But I shouldn't have..."

Husk grumbles as he's elbowed sharply in the side. "Yeah yeah, I'm sorry too. I hate ya got my soul on your strings, but like... I never saw you use yer Voice for anything that didn't warrant it. And sometimes if Niffty needed it, or..." he mumbles something, and refuses to look at Alastor at all.

There had been a few times when Husker needed a Soothing Bedtime Story of his own to help him through the worst of his detoxing. The drinking at the moment was a lot, but not the excess he'd been strung out on before the Radio Demon had put him on his employ. Because when you could drink with an Overlord's tolerance, and healing factor, it can be hard to revert. They never overtly talked about it and Alastor always assumed that Husk had forgotten.

"I accept your remorse, of course... but rest assured that the matter is dealt with." he replies, waving off the excess of emotion and helping to pry the starting-to-bruise grip Charlie had about him off with the support of Vaggie.

"I'm also sorry." Vaggie says, short and clipped.

"Noted." he nods. "Niffty my deer, would you mind giving Charlie one of your extra special hugs, I believe she might be in need?"

And just like that, the two snap together like magnets, resolving their emotions together and leaving the Radio Demon free.

"Yeah, so what the fuck does that mean, exactly?" Angel asks, squinting at the overlord.

"I wouldn't worry about it too mu-..." Alastor deflects, but then there is Lucifer. Face as severe as it is smug.

"The fucking idiot panicked after you guys reacted over him whispering to Natalie there, and used his power to lock that voice hypnosis thing he does away. Which was STUPID and RECKLESS especially when you consider that we were going to war with Heaven in like a week!"

"Wha-... how the fuck do you even do that?" Husk scowls, paws curling up in a genuine gesture of 'are you serious?'.

He considers sinking into shadow and slipping away from all this sickening emtional bonding and honesty, preferably before anyone starts singing about friendship. His overtaxed nerves would not manage that today. But decides that it would only stretch the inevitable...

"Why, like this, dear Husker." He smiles, head tilting as his eyes flared to radio dials and the stitches appeared glowing green against the ever-present smile, at his throat in a violent x. "It's easier than you think."

"Shit."

Angel just winces.

"Okay, so how do we like, undo that? Can you do it, Sir?" Vaggie turns to Lucifer.

"I can, but he has to want me to or they'll just remanifest later. That's the funky part of using your own powers to bind your powers." he shrugs. "Also, can we do this back at the hotel? It's getting late and we've had a pretty weird day."

"Yes, that would be ideal. Does anyone have a weak stomach? Shadow travel can take some like that the first time." Alastor asks, his shade swirling on the ground and pooling in inky darkness. He actually lets out a rather deer like sound of startlement when Lucifer bonks him on the head with that blasted cane.

"Oh no you don't. No using your powers until I've fixed you up, or you'll make it worse. I'm just going to portal us all back."

His mind was stuck back in the moment of being actively bonked by the king of hell and how absolutely absurd it was in the moment.

"Fine." His ears folded down, annoyed.

He pointedly ignored Charlie's gasp of delight at the movement.

"Oh hey, Smiles, this is yours, right?" Angel says, holding up two halves of the microphone in his hands. "Vox was... he was tryna take it with him when we were forcing him out, but Vaggie knocked it outta his grasp. Not sure if it was like, broken before but it kinda is now."

"Thank you, I was not aware that Vox had attempted to pilfer it. He did not break it, he doesn't have the power to do so or he would have done it decades ago... it was bisected by that loud buffoon leading the exterminators."

"Okay, add that to the list of shit I can fix because I'm the motherfucking King of Hell and really good at what I do." Lucifer brags, opening a portal. "Everyone get your butts through. Anyone who can't take two steps on their own gets carried... and it will be bridal style."

Alastor had never put so much concentration into walking a mere five paces before in his life, but managed to make it through the portal before sinking onto a lounge chair. He had questions about why there were lounge chairs in the half-built location... but they could wait.

"Hey Smiles, I was wondering," and he tenses for the query as Angel Dust drops onto the couch beside him. Space between them, but still a tad closer than he really felt comfortable with. "that thing you mentioned Vox doing to Val and Vel to stop you doing your Voice thing with them... you think you could like, do that for us? When Vox got in our heads today it was... it was so weird, I mean Val's venom does certain stuff but not like that. This was more like... felt like you were kind of moving into the passenger seat as he took the wheel, ya know?"

"Felt super gross, not a fan." Vaggie supplied. That also answered his question about ex-angels...

"...I believe I may be able to, yes. If you and the others are comfortable enough knowing I have such an ability." It was a pointed dig, he knew, but after everything... it felt fair to ask.

"Hey, look we totally fucked up on that, and we're sorry. But you ain't done anything to hurt us yet, lot of posturing and you probably need like, a daily hug therapy or whatevs for all of... this," Angel gestures at the whole of Alastor, confusing the demon further. "But you never made us do nothing with that power of yours, and I can't say I wouldn't have been tempted if I had it. And it's part of you, we never meant for you to like... go and sew it up or whatever the hell that is."

"I can feel you building up a storm of a speech about second chances, Charlotte, do take a deep breath."

"Oh Al, I mean yes I am and we should absolutely try that hug therapy idea with the residents but please let my dad remove the strings. You do weird creepy shit sometimes, but you're OUR Radio Demon and we trust you..."

The first reply gets caught in an uncharacteristic wad of emotion deep inside his throat, and he has to clear it away before trying again. "...very well, if you are sure this will not devolve into suspicion and finger pointing again, I will request his Lowness's aid in removing the binding."

"Finally, some common fucking sense from yo- WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?"

"Apologies, I didn't realise you couldn't hear me all the way down there."

"Oh you fucke-...!"

"DAD! He's just riling you up to deflect, can you please just finish healing him so I can stop worrying and go have a shower?" Charlie sighed.

"Of course Char-Char. Hey, why don't you all go shower and when we're finished here, we can try making pancakes! I think the kitchens are finished... if not, there's always magic!" Lucifer grins.

"I... I know it's silly but I kind of want to wait until everyone's okay first then I'll go. Oh, I know! Let me fix your microphone, Alastor, so I can help!"

"...as you wish, Charlotte. I am certain that you will succeed."

"A shower sounds so good right now..." Angel groans.

"Hn." Husk half-agrees, wanting to be clean... but at what cost for the feline sinner?

"Niffty, if Husk tries to evade showering, you know what to do." Alastor grins, eyeing the now-nervous cat.

"You wouldn't dare..."

"I would, and so would dear Niffty."

"Can I have your attention for like a minute? Trying to unfasten a binding here..." Lucifer interrupts, braving the glare as he turns the sinner towards him and prods his cheek until the threads manifest. He traces them with his finger and it's uncomfortable for everyone... but seconds later, the green turned to golden light and then dissipated.

"That should do it, but uh... you might want to test it. Somehow."

"Oooh, ooooooh pick me!" Niffty yells, bouncing up and down.

"As you wish, Niffty would you please put down your blade and come here?" he tries, the familiar texture layering over the words. He watches in surprise as Niffty does so, and then bounces onto his lap.

He releases the compulsion easily. "Thank you for that, Niffty."

"Anytime, sir!"

Charlie claps her hands together, Vaggie already pushing her across the floor towards her room for a well-deserved shower. "Alastor, did you see? I fixed the staff!!!"

"Excellent work, Charlotte, I would expect nothing less! Do hold onto that a moment while we all get spruced up for some well deserved food..."

Relieved things were back to normalish, the hotel inhabitants start to disperse.

"Hey, while we're in the process of fixing things you've managed to get yourself into without thinking, any chance you'll tell me who the soul collar you're wearing belongs to?" Lucifer adds a tad too casually, and easily ducks the couch thrown at him, as the others pause in various states of surprise and shock.

"What?"

"Who?"

"how the fuc-?!"

"You inta pet play, Smiles?"

"How could you hide this from me, I could have helpe-... wait, what did you just say, Angel?"

"You heard me, Princess."

"That was a low blow your majesty, but I suppose that's all you can manage give your stature..."

"Oh you motherfucke-..."

Charlie sighs, covering her eyes. "Here we go again..."

#hazbin hotel #alastor #lucifer #vox #angel dust #husk #niffty #headcanon that got away from me

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