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mediumgayitalian · 2 days

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“Hello, twerp.”

Kayla grunts at him. She is focused, intently, on something small enough to be covered up by her hands and curtaining hair; Nico decides it is likely some kind of explosive. There is a reason she, Banned From Arts ‘n’ Crafts For Criminal Reasons, is sneaking into the Hermes’ cabin’s time slot and hiding behind Julia.

Instead of confirming that she is, indeed, planning to blow up at least one of her brothers’ bunks in their sleep tonight, because of Plausible Deniability, Nico swings a leg over the picnic table bench, settling in next to her. She spares a second of attention to blow a raspberry at him, seemingly unprovoked. Nico reaches calmly over, plucks a pair of scissors from Connor’s hands, which he allows because of who he is as a person, and snips a piece of her hair. In response she pulls a notebook from her pocket and puts a little tick mark next to Nico’s name.

“So,” Nico says, choosing to ignore that. “I have a Question.”

“Ten dollars.”

“I’m not paying you, you little shit.”

“Then wonder in silence.”

Nico digs two wrinkled fives from his shoe and slams them on the table, scowling. Kayla pockets them.

“Proceed.”

Nico glares at her, noting her twitching mouth, and remembers that he does, in fact, need her help, and her brother is, in fact, his best friend, so challenging her to a duel to the death is a bad idea on both counts.

(Nonwithstanding the part where she has deadly accuracy with any projectile from almost any semi-reasonable distance. And he has, like, a sword. So.)

“Your brother,” he starts, and he does not need to clarify which one, “is always trying to…feed me.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “he is internally a seventy year old Southern woman. He does that.”

“Fruits.”

“Hm.”

“Oranges, specifically. Like, every single meal.”

“…Ah.”

It is a very knowing ah, Kayla’s little noise, and in fact she sets her project aside. (It is, in fact, an explosive.) She turns slightly on the bench to face him, lips pursed, hands folded. She blinks at him for several moments. Nico holds her gaze, remembering he is out ten dollars.

“My dear brother,” she begins, “my lovely, kind-hearted, smiley, morning person brother, is neurotic.”

Nico waits. This is, apparently, the end of her sentence, as she does not continue.

“I am aware,” he says slowly. “I have been present during every rant about Hollywood inaccuracies about medical sciences.”

She nods sagely. “This is true. You have. You are, however, by virtue of his cripplingly low self esteem and fervent belief that his mere existence is a Literal Actual Curse, spared from much of his most…colourful…contingencies.”

“Contingencies,” Nico repeats.

Kayla nods again.

“Yes. You see, dear future brother-in-law —”

“Cease,” Nico snaps, reddening.

“— our lovely William, also known as your Special Guy, according to Nico With Severe Blood Loss.” continues Kayla, not ceasing, “is under the impression that you, like all people, have a Limit.”

“…A Limit.”

“Yes. A point or level beyond which something does not or may not extend or pass.”

“I know what a godsdamn limit is, Kayla.”

“You seemed confused.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Openly snickering to herself, she moves on.

“He feeds you oranges because he regularly paces around the cabin in the middle of the night stressing about your vitamin levels,” she explains, finally. “He doesn’t know how to tell you that like a normal person because he’s afraid he’s going to weird you out. Ergo.” She makes a flippant gesture with her hands. “Citrus.”

“Why is he so godsdamn cute,” Nico mutters to himself, then remembers to throw out a hasty, “Thank you,” before scrambling away from the table, ignoring the gathered snickers, and beelining for the the Demeter cabin. “Gods.”

It is empty, thankfully, when he strolls in, except for Miranda in the front gardens, who holds up a finger as he gets closer and whispers to a struggling seedling.

“Hey,” she says after a moment, smiling up at him. “What’s up?”

“I need,” he starts. He purses his lips, rocking back on his heels. His hands make some kind of motion. He’s not sure what, exactly, he didn’t give them permission. “I need.”

Miranda, thankfully, has had years of experience communicating with non-speaking entities, and as such is relatively fluent in Nico. She dusts off her hands, patting the spot beside her. Nico sits as indicated.

“Try a deep breath first,” she instructs. “When your brain is back up and running, try again.”

“It’s running. It’s running a lot.”

“Oh. In that case, might I suggest a small shout of frustration?”

“You may.”

He clears his throat, resting his hands on his diaphragm to Maximize the Output, as he has been previously instructed, and yells. A passing satyr jumps a full five feet in the air and flees. Nico grimaces, calling apologies after them.

“They’re never going to like me,” he grumbles.

Miranda pats his head. “There, there. One issue at a time.”

“Solace,” he says at her invitation, gesturing again. “Oranges.”

“…Ah.”

“He is. You know. Right?”

“I must confess I do not.”

He takes a moment to collect himself. Or, well, he tries to. He’s had an easier time trying to wrangle errant souls surfing along the Styx, but whatever. He literally owns his brain. It Shall submit to him, or he’ll get a new one. Watch.

“Will is…intensely thoughtful.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Miranda agrees. “Once he brushed past me on the way to dinner and felt that I was going to get a cold, so he took the food I got and exchanged it for soup and veggies and Gatorade and stuff. He forgot to actually tell me that I was about to get a cold, at the time, but it was really nice of him in hindsight.”

Nico makes another loud, strangled bleating noise. Thankfully, no satyrs are harmed.

“He is so!”

“There, there,” Miranda says again. “You’ll get to full sentences soon, I’m sure of it.”

He takes a few moments to have a minor crisis in the peace and tranquility of Friendship. It’s this new thing he’s been trying. Will tells him it’s usually called ‘trust’ and ‘vulnerability’. It is mortifying for the most part but in small doses is kind of cool. Mostly.

“Who takes care of Will?“

“He doesn’t really get sick. Apollo genes and all that.”

“No, like. Emotionally.”

“Oh.” Miranda frowns thoughtfully. “Um. Chiron, maybe? I’m not actually sure.”

“It needs to be me,” Nico stresses. “He always takes care of me, and I want to, like, repay him. Not transactionally,”Nico rushes to clarify, “but, like, mutual care-ily.”

“I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes,” Miranda says sagely. “You must Show Him. That you are Invested in your Relationship.”

“Yes!” Nico cries, gripping her by the elbows. She meets his gaze head on, eyes wide and wizened. “Yes, exactly. Relationship Investment. You’re so smart.”

Miranda preens. “Thank you.” She stands, brushing off her jeans — fruitlessly, she’s got grass stains on top of grass stains on every piece of clothing she owns — and offering Nico a hand. Together they stand and observe the various shrubs, trees, and vines surrounding the cabin, hands on their hips.

Nico narrows his eyes. “Should I just get him oranges?”

“I still don’t fully understand the orange thing. But Will likes peaches.” She leans up and plucks one off of the largest tree, holding it out to Nico. “They make him think of home.”

Nico takes the peach and inspects it. It is, of course, impeccable — thick and heavy, skin soft and unblemished, full enough with juice and flavour to be fragrant even from the arm’s length Nico holds it. This is the kind of peach that wins fairs. This is the kind of peach that sits, prized, in a market, watching as mothers and hipsters claw at each other. This is the kind of peach that immediately upon first touch strikes within you such an intense urge to chuck it at the nearest hard surface and watch it splat into a beautiful explosion of Squelch that Nico has to, hastily, set it down and out of immediate reach.

“It’s perfect,” he declares.

“Don’t throw it at him,” Miranda advises, eyeing the fruit herself.

“Shan’t,” Nico promises, and it doubles at a warning to his brain because he can’t lie to Miranda, obviously, so his brain better Check Itself. There will be no peach throwing. Peach holding, only, and peach giving.

He waves goodbye to Miranda as he hustles off, headed for the bustling infirmary. There have been no great emergencies today — there would be a lot more of Will’s echoed screeching if this were the case — and many people who have walked in have walked out, minutes later, scowling, so now is a good a time as any. He could of course wait until Will is done his shift and they meet by Cabin Seven, like usual, but this is a Pressing Issue. Will can no longer continue to believe that Nico has a Limit, as Kayla had so unhelpfully explained. Nico is Limitless. He is a sine function. He is an eternal abyss. He is the final end of Chiron’s patience, if the horse is to be believed.

Also, the peach is really really tempting and Nico honestly does not have all that much control over his brain. It usually kind of does as it pleases. That’s why he has so many Situations.

“Solace,” he shouts, banging open the screen door loud enough to make everyone inside jump, “GET the hell over here.”

“I. Am.” Will holds up a patient’s arm, which has been hastily butterfly-clamped closed and is now being stitched. “Um. Is it urgent?”

Nico snaps his mouth shut. “No.” He stalks over to where Will is sitting, still bewildered, on his favourite stool, and stands with his arms crossed behind him. He nods at the injured camper, clearing his throat. “Proceed.”

“…Okay.”

Because Will is a Professional, his gaze remains focused on the gaping wound he is fixing. Because no one else at this camp is, everyone else chooses to gawk. Nico lets the fires of Hell enter his eyes, like Father showed him, and glares them all into subservience.

“Alright,” Will says, several minutes later, patting the patient’s knee with a smile. “I’m gonna wrap this, Jen, and you gotta keep it dry, okay? Have ambrosia twice a day like I told you and come see me at the end of the week.”

“There’ll be no scar?” the young girl hedges.

“Not if you follow my instructions,” Will promises. “Although you’ll be just as beautiful with a scar, kiddo, I promise. Ask your mother.”

Jen looks at him doubtfully, but Will is one of those people who’s unbelievably hard to distrust. It’s infuriating, if you’re Nico and committed to the whole goth/emo lifestyle. Probably comforting if you’re a normal person.

She leaves, and it is abruptly very quiet in the infirmary, which is crazy because it is abruptly never quiet at camp unless people are dead, usually, but no one is dead, and people are too godsdamn nosy to flinch away from Nico’s glare, or maybe they’re not scared of him anymore, and hey, isn’t that something. The world is so busy, all the time. Things keep happening. Who’s fault is that, again?

“Nico?” Will asks, rocking back on his heels. His hands are suddenly clean of blood and grime and his scrubs have been swapped out. They stand, also, at the other end of the infirmary, right outside of the on-call room. He looks up, and conversations have resumed, and Will is watching him, intently, bright eyes slightly too wide, front teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, Ace bandage winding, unwinding, winding.

“This is for you,” Nico blurts, and shoves the peach at him.

Will blinks. “Oh.” He stares at the peach, a moment, before a smile erupts on his face. “Oh! Thank you!”

He takes the peach, gently, from Nico’s hands, and holds it close to his chest, wide hands gentle so as not to bruise, smile gone close-mouthed, giddy. The rocking gets every so slightly faster, and the slight breeze from the open screen door ruffles his frizzy hair, and his nose is scrunched, just slightly, enough to wrinkle his dotted feathers, and Nico’s mouth is very, very dry.

“I do not,” he tries, and it grinds along his paper-parched throat, near silent, “I do not have Limits, William.”

The rocking stills. Nico mourns it.

“…Sorry?”

“Limits,” Nico repeats. “I do not have them. I am Limitless. Purge the thought.”

“You have limits,” Will says, alarmed. “Um, we had that talk, right? About pushing yourself and why that is generally regarded as a bad plan.”

“That was you shouting at me in between nectar shots and frantic mothering, actually, but that’s not what I meant.”

Will doesn’t answer, only tilting his head.

“You’re neurotic,” Nico attempts to explain, and as could be expected by literally anyone with a brain this goes poorly, and he rushes to amend. “I mean! Well, you are neurotic — but! There is a but! Stop looking at me like that! You are neurotic but!”

“This is a very bad friendship break up if that is what you are trying,” says Will in a small voice, and Nico resolves to kick his own ass later tonight to Atone.

“I like it,” he hurries to explain. “You and your — neuroses. All of you, I like it. There is no Limit. Capital L. You’re groovy. On — point. Fleek? What do the kids say. I don’t —”

“Oh,” Will breathes, thankfully putting Nico out of his misery, “oh, this is about the oranges.”

Nico nods miserably.

“The oranges are —” Will cuts himself off, staring down at his shoes. “Um, scurvy freaks me out.”

“…Scurvy?”

“It — collagen synthesis is an active process? In your body? And scurvy makes it degrade really quickly. Which kind of tears your body apart by reopening scars. On top of other things. And you — were on a ship, you know. For a while. And you sweat a lot. And you don’t take the multivitamins I give you.”

“Because they’re gross,” Nico says, breathless, “and I’m not — sweaty.”

Wherever sunlight touches Will’s skin he tends to glow, slightly, and his freckles fluoresce the longer his hand takes to traverse the space between them, past the open window, resting, lightly, on Nico’s wrist.

“You are,” he says, gently. “You have — really low magnesium and potassium levels. Just, all the time.” He glances down at the inside of Nico’s wrist. “Right now, actually. Will you eat a banana if I go get you one?”

Will will go get a banana, and Nico will follow him, and they will sit, somewhere, probably the big rock by the lake, as Nico eats it, and Will will eat his peach, and Nico will watch his throat bob, and Will will talk, hands gesturing, peach juice everywhere, and they will stay there, probably, way past sunset, right till curfew, and then they will sprint, as they usually do, to avoid the harpies, and they will go to Nico’s cabin, first, because they always do, and Will will snag an orange as they run past the fruit trees by the Demeter cabin, and he will press it into Nico’s hands, firmly, smiling as he says goodnight, and running back to his own cabin. Where he will, according to Kayla, pace, and worry. Where he will rant about Limits, and how close Nico is to approaching them.

“Will,” says Nico seriously, grabbing his hands. Will’s eyes snap to his, wide, wider than usual, and they are so blue, so so blue, are things usually this blue? He’s startled by it every time. “Will, I am a sine function.”

“I don’t understand,” he admits.

Nico nods. “That’s okay! Just — peaches.” He reaches out and pats the fruit, curling Will’s fingers around them. “For you. Okay?”

Will glances down at the peach. He glances back up at Nico. He looks down, finally, at their hands, twined around the fruit, and holds there, one, two, three seconds.

“Oh,” he says, finally. “Oh, you don’t — oh.”

“Peaches,” Nico repeats, “oranges.” He pulls one hand free and draws a line between them. “You get it?”

“I get it,” Will says, softly. He looks up and smiles, small, private; too-big front teeth just barely peeling out. “You never reach your approached value.”

“I really don’t even get that close.”

“I’m kind of losing the metaphor, here.”

“Okay.”

Nico squeezes their hands together. Will squeezes back, shifting his weight.

“I’m still gonna — you still gotta get your vitamin C.”

“More oranges?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He rubs his finger over the backs of Will’s knuckles; he shivers. Nico meets his eyes and he smiles, widely, hurting his cheeks, and Will smiles back, and he rocks, and Nico is an abyss, and he is falling, falling, falling. “I like oranges.”

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liveontelevision · 1 day

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Hello hello! If you are still taking requests I've been dying for an Alastor x reader where the reader was married to him when he was alive, and she outlives him quite a while before they reunite in hell, only for him to nearly die again when the angels attack. I love your work!

I've been wanting to do this prompt for a hot minute, sorry it took so long Anon :')

But here's a good long fluffy, angsty, fic to balance out how much of an ass Alastor is in Suffer lol

Curiosity Killed the Cat | Reader x Alastor

What caught your eye first, was how much whiskey he could down before losing his composure. You found yourself in awe, watching this charismatic stranger go round after round, only to end up on the dance floor with more energy than you had when you were sober. Truly a spectacle. Why don't you go tell him that?

"Excuse me-" You say in a sing-song voice, slipping by the stranger to beckon another drink your way. You may or may not have brushed your body against him in some sort of attempt to get his attention. It went unnoticed, but that's alright, that trick didn't usually work on the ones who had one too many drinks.

You decide the next best action is to sit at the seat next to him, despite there being multiple unoccupied stools at the bar. That’s something he has to question, right?

Of course not. You spent far too long trying to get his attention in any way, and he's either humming a song to himself or chatting with the plump, noisy, owner who would come by. They seemed to be close friends.. but she definitely wasn't his type. She looks like one to cause trouble.

You get a good scope of his character. He came in wearing a pristine trenchcoat, shielding an expensive-looking vest and tie combo. But, by now the tie had come undone and was draped across his neck. The heat of the whiskey might've gotten to him, he left his top few buttons precariously opened. You didn't mind that one bit. Next thing you spot; slightly messed hair and smudged glasses- bingo.

"Hey, birdy-" you finally muster some courage to get his attention. "-may I?" You pull out a handkerchief you usually have on hand, in case handsome strangers with glasses need a quick clean. It took you a good half hour to finally speak up, but he's looking you up and down as if you had just walked in. It takes a moment, but you see him finally decide you aren't a threat. He sits silently. Taking another swig of his drink, he looks at you with a smile. Does he want you to.. no harm in trying.

You bite at your lip, hesitantly reach out to his face, and carefully pluck the glasses from the bridge of his nose. He shuts his eyes as you do so. A man hasn't made you blush in quite some time. You decide to blame the drinks. Luckily, you have a task to keep your mind preoccupied. You're carefully swiping any smudges clear from the lenses when you hear his voice for the first time. Or so you thought.

"Mimzy, dear, do tell me who this little kitten here is. A regular?" You're assuming he's speaking about you, he's gesturing in your direction with his empty glass. The owner of the speak-easy, who you now know as Mimzy, trots behind the bar to top off his drink.

"For sure! What do ya say, kid, you're here.. on most weekends, ain't ya?" She turns to you, and you take a moment to confirm. You didn't think she'd notice, you don't come here that often. That's what you tell yourself at least.

"Got an eye on her tonight, Al? Sounds like someone's not goin' home alone~" She teases him with a quick jab, and he's quick to roll his eyes.

"Now now, she's been perched here for quite a while and has barely said a word to me, I doubt she's getting any more than a free drink." He sounds snarky, yet.. familiar..

"Al… as in Alastor? That radio host fellow? Well, I’ll be damned! I wasn't expecting a celebrity such as yourself to frequent little joints like this one." You comment, finally joining the conversation. You hear a throat being cleared dramatically and turn to the owner behind the bar. You laugh nervously.

"Not that- it's still a good bar- I.. Sorry." Good recovery. Your attention is taken to the hand outstretched to you, and you instinctively lean away from it.

"Kitten-" He beckons his hand, and you follow his eyes to his glasses that were still in your grasp. You let yet another nervous laugh and quickly pass them over. He slips them on with a satisfied hum.

"If I remember correctly, Al-" you attempt to mock the nickname you picked up from Mimzy. "- You have a broadcast tomorrow morning, no? You really think drinking like a sailor tonight is the best idea?" You weren’t concerned, really. You wanted to tease him a bit longer.

"Props to you for knowing my schedule." You realize how strange that might've sounded and quickly finish your drink to prevent any more embarrassing thoughts from slipping from your lips. "Are you implying I can't handle my liquor, dear?" He scoffs, beckoning the bartender over. He has them refill your glass.

"I'm sure you can, birdy, but you've been pounding down more drinks than I can count." You respond. You weren't one to flirt effectively. That, or he just happens to see right through your nerves.

"So, you've been counting, hm?" You realize you had outed yourself to watching him all night. You curse yourself quietly, hoping the music filling the room will cover your frustration. "Appreciate the concern, but I promise you, I'm more than capable of doing my job. No matter the circumstances."

While he seemed to be reading you quite easily, you had picked a few things up yourself. For one, he watches everything. And he seems to only drop his intel when he needs to. Or to mock you. And two, he's a bit of a narcissist.. quite an ego on this one. But that could work in your favor tonight.

"Well, fine then. I'll be up bright and early to listen to your broadcast. I doubt you can get through it with a hangover. Especially considering how much you've been drinking." You state proudly. He lets out a chuckle, and despite how quiet it is, you can't help but appreciate his sultry laugh.

"Is that a challenge, kitten?" He purrs -ha- leaning his chin into his hand and slouching his body towards the bar.

"I mean if it is, there must be stakes." You say it as a matter of fact. "Let's say.. you cover my bill next time if I catch you slip up."

"Hm. Seems fair. You better be listening close, though, I'm very good at what I do." He enunciates his final sentence and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment, you consider this could be a bad idea.

"And when I win, what will be my prize?" He asks. You let out a little giggle at his cockiness.

"I'll tell you my name." He cocks his head to the side, an intrigue hitting him. Did he really manage to get this far without a proper introduction?

"I see your little detective game going on, I'll give you that. You are quite the observer. But you won't find my name just by looking." You say smugly. That's true for a number of reasons.

"I suppose you did leave that information out, hm?" He let's his eyes drop, as if he was trying to piece it together with what little information he had.

"I must say, you've got me hooked, kitten." He lets out a sigh, leaning back in his chair and finishing off yet another drink.

"Deal?" You hum, holding your hand out to him. He smirks, taking it into his own, not expecting a firm shake, but receiving one. He went on to press a quick kiss to your knuckles.

"Deal."

You went home alone after that night, but it was likely for the best. You were sure you'd see him next time, anyway.

Now that you had to tell him your name.

You thought for sure he'd at least stumble through a sentence, but no. He went through the entire show, even an interview with some big shot, and spoke perfect English. He talked like he'd never had a drop of booze his entire life and got a full night's sleep, which you both knew was far from the truth. You almost dreaded the next encounter, but at least you didn't wager anything too crazy. Sure, he'll see you differently after this, but if this were to go any further - what are you on about? You only met him once and listened to him on the radio occasionally at best. He's a perfect stranger to you. Let's not get too excited.

You find yourself seated in the same spot as before, shrinking into your seat and downing a few drinks to build your courage. You told him your mark. An awkward introduction, first and last name, made you feel like a new student at a children's school. He perks up, which is what you expected.

"Ah! So you're the famed physician! It's almost silly of you to call me a celebrity, you're the talk of the town, kitten." You groan, of course, he recognizes you. Everyone in this damned small town knows your name, your family.

You were one of the first women to complete their studies and practice medicine from your hometown. But to attend such high schooling in this time, your family had to be well off. And you were, in fact, well off. When it came to your love life, men were either disgusted by your pursuit of knowledge or took it like some fetish. You haven't approached anyone for years.. not like this, at least.

"You know, I spoke with your father a few-" You groan at the mention of him, cutting Alastor off mid-sentence.

"Don't be a fool, I heard the little interview on your show.. Can't say that was my favorite broadcast." Alastor had a certain segment where he would chat with some of the richer and more.. stuck up.. men in society. It wasn’t titled as such, you just noticed the trend of guests being pompous and wealthy. And your father was the perfect fit for that.

You didn't know this at the time, but Alastor was suddenly hit with some mixed emotions. There was more than one reason as to why your father was chosen to be on his broadcast. Alastor used his interviews to initiate close ties, and make powerful allies. If they weren't complying how he hoped, he would usually cut ties. Permanently.

Your father was definitely not a reasonable man, in fact, you made it a point to avoid him when you returned home. But did he deserve death?

"I didn't expect just the sight of me walking the streets to be as interesting as it is." You mumbled, leaning forward on the counter and drinking something much stronger than you expected. But the mentions of your father called for a hard hitter.

"You didn't?" He asked bluntly, twirling the liquor in his glass. You hum in agreement. Gossip spreads like wildfire here.

"Well, you've picked up some interesting feats. If you were hoping to go unseen, I would've put some more thought into my rags." He gestured to your clothing. It was definitely of higher quality, but it was something you were used to wearing while attending your school in a high-class city. You felt a bit embarrassed, placing your hands in your lap to subtly hide your body.

"And a beautiful doctor like yourself just 'walking the streets'? Some might be concerned for your safety." You tilt your head to the side at his words. Your confusion makes him smirk.

"I'm sure you're aware, kitten, but there seems to be a killer on the loose." He seems far too excited for the subject at hand, and it's almost noticeable.

"Hm. Guess I shouldn't be going out alone and talking to strange men, should I?" You say with a smile.

"I suppose you shouldn't." He shrugs off your words, getting another drink. You didn't even see him finish the previous one. "Though I must say, I'm glad you did. You've been quite the conversationalist." It's barely flirting, but it seems to leave you blushing a bit.

You went on to chat throughout the night, your drunken rambling turned to complaints about your father, and morbid details about what you'd learned in medical school. Both topics that you didn't realize intrigued Alastor to a personal extent. Later on, the rambles started to become incomprehensible. He decides it would be best for you to leave, considering you were refusing to do so and thoroughly embarrassing yourself in the process.

A giggling, stumbling mess, you were carefully lifted from your seat and brought to your feet with his assistance. He helped you out to the streetside, calling a taxi and bringing you into the backseat gently. He then went ahead and paid the driver, and turned at his heels to head back inside.

As he was reaching for the bar's door, a loud call forced him to turn back to the cab.

"Buddy, she's too sloshed to give me an address. You know where she lives?" Shit. Alastor looks to the bar’s door, then to the cab, where he spots you leaning your head against the window in the backseat. He sighs.

After insisting the driver keep the fair, Alastor brought you back out. He kept you standing with a hand on your lower back, as you gripped onto his shirt, far too small to reach your arm over his towering figure. He was cringing at the sight of his clothes becoming disheveled.

"Alright, kitten, where are you staying? I doubt you'd appreciate me taking you to your family home.." He was talking in a hushed voice, in the hopes that you'd have enough conscious to respond, but knew that likely wasn't the case. He looks around the area as if the answer would be in plain sight. He lets out a sigh of defeat when it clearly wasn't.

"Didn't even get to finish my drink.." He mumbles, pulling you closer to keep you stable enough to walk a few blocks.

There, sat a charming little motel. However, calling it charming was.. optimistic. Your memory, to this day, is in small flashes. Only certain things come to mind when trying to picture what went on.

You remember Alastor talking to the older gentleman at the desk. It seemed like they were acquaintances. Maybe they've done business in the past.

You remember him giving up after finding that the room he booked was on the second floor. Unwilling to deal with the staircase, he hoisted you up quite easily. You definitely remember that. How such a slender man can hold you in his arms with no strain.

You remember the room, it was cleaner than you expected. He seated you on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you to remove your heels. He didn't seem to go much farther than that. He could've removed your entire wardrobe with your state of mind, and you'd be none the wiser. How awful it must be, to live in a world where a man not making a pass, surprises you.

As far as you know, you drifted to sleep almost right after. You're pretty sure he wrapped you in the blankets, and you remember the faint touch of hair being brushed from your face. His hand was far colder than you would have expected.

Being in your occupation, you don't exactly have time to confront all the horrific sights you've seen. So, your body deals with those emotions in other ways. A common occurrence, you were plagued with a number of night terrors. Something seems different in tonight's regularly scheduled program, though. A radio static overwhelms your senses, and any horrifying disfigurations that were taunting you seem to fade into nothing. A yellow grin and glowing red eyes are the last thing you can see.

You woke up the next morning with an excruciating headache, an ache in your stomach, and sore feet. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you barely care about the makeup that you'd smudged beyond repair. You try to recall your dreams, which usually stay vivid in your mind for most of the morning, but.. there's nothing. And despite the killer hangover, you feel more awake than you have in ages.

The panic settled in after you ran your hands across the unfamiliar sheets. With a soft gasp, you observe yourself. Still fully clothed, you spot your heels set next to the door. You look around the room next, and you almost feel relieved, seeing Alastor seated in a lounge chair in the corner of the room. He had his nose in a book. It was better than seeing him lying on the other side of the bed.. wait, was it?

You let out a pathetic little sound, your voice too weak to form any coherent words. He sets the book on his lap, and your sad attempt at a greeting seems to catch his attention.

"Good morning to you, too, kitten. Sleep well?" You were sure he drank as much as last night. If not, more. How dare he look so put together?

"Morning. I-um.. I suppose I did.. I-I hate to ask, but did... did we-" you stammer out, and he quickly holds his hands up in defense.

"Heavens no, dear, I wouldn't dare defile a woman who can't handle her whiskey." You scoff at his insult but still feel disarmed by his reaction.

"So then.. the motel room?" You question. He cocks his head to the side, only now realizing that your memory must've gone from the previous night.

"Ah, so you really can't handle your whiskey.. Well, not to fret, dear. You weren't telling me where you were staying, and Mimzy seemed keen on me taking you elsewhere." In actuality, she was trying to play matchmaker. Thanks for trying, Mimzy.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, Alastor, I hate that you bought a room just for me.. I can pay you back." You sit up, running your hands through your mess of hair and letting out a pained groan.

"I'm sure you can, but I simply can't accept." He stands, tucking the book under his arm and walking to your bedside. You swing your legs over the edge, only to notice how close he seems to hover over you. You look up and realize how statuesque he was. You hadn't seen him in daylight. And his height is much more intimating when he stands.

"It was my pleasure, getting to witness you thoroughly embarrass yourself." He bends at the hips, a taunting smile across his face. You try to recall anything embarrassing you might've done the night before, but you can barely recall a thing. That did little to ease your mind.

"You'll have to tell me about it one day." You grumble, standing with his assistance. He offered to escort you home, and you happily accepted.

The two of you stand on your small porch. It's a quaint duplex you've been renting, you go on about how how the family who lives here travels for the summer and was more than happy to offer their home to such a sweet thing.

"Well, since you insist that I can't handle my liquor, it might be a better idea to find each other.. somewhere other than a joint..." you say sheepishly, your eyes wandering to anywhere but his gaze. When he steps closer, you finally fix your wide eyes on him.

"You don't want me to court you, kitten. You're a lovely, educated, pretty little thing, you'll be wasting your time, unfortunately." He doesn't sound insulting, he says it very truthfully. It only makes you want to see more. To ask him to come in, and stick around awhile. But you're aware he has a broadcast coming up soon. You wonder if he would've stayed by your side if you slept through it.

"I'll be the judge of that. Besides, getting coffee doesn't waste too much time." You decide to stand your ground. You aren't sure why he's refusing if he thinks all that of you. You see him look you up and down, then let out a sigh.

"Hm. I suppose. I'll be back here tomorrow morning since you're so insistent. Just remember I warned you-" He says playfully as he makes his way down the stairs.

"Curiosity killed the cat, my dear!" He calls out before giving another heart-melting smile. You nervously bite your lip and watch him walk off through the cracked door. Like a damned puppy, you couldn't help but watch him walk off. You quickly shut the door, after realizing how hard you were smiling.

This was supposed to be for fun. You were just supposed to be some extra company on occasions. And he knew you came with your perks. You were an heir to a decent fortune, it only made sense for him to befriend you. You were knowledgeable and smart, he could definitely benefit from your skills if he needs to do so. There were plenty of ways Alastor could use you if necessary.

But with every little dance, every little coffee, or walk home from the bar, it was making him nervous. Of course, he would never call it that, he's too disgusted by the pangs in his chest he gets around you. Unfiltered, yet still delicate and professional. Incredibly intelligent, yet still makes the silliest mistakes. You were flawed. You came from such a slob of a man, and the fact that you are so kind despite that amazes him more than you realize. You are more than willing to stand for your beliefs. For one of the first times in his life, Alastor admired someone.

He's not sure what conversations led to him agreeing to cook yet another dinner in your home, but here he was; standing at your door with a bag of groceries.

"Oh- you didn't need to do all that, you're always free to use anything in the kitchen." You greet him as he comes inside, where he sets the bag at a nearby counter space. You reach up and pull his trenchcoat off his shoulders, which he willingly surrenders to. It was a little action you took, taking his coat for him when he would stop by. He's come to expect it. You hang it up on the rack nearby.

"Nonsense, I'm sure you have plenty to work with, but I'm following a special recipe tonight." He insisted, already unpacking things, setting up pots and pans, and rolling up his sleeves. He pulled an apron from the bag last, and the sight of him all prepped for cooking leaves you weak in the knees. You want to see this every night. You want him in your kitchen every mealtime. You shake the desires from your head, pushing aside the dreams of domesticity that have been plaguing your mind recently.

"Can I help with anything?" You chime in, peeking around the corner to smile at him through the doorway. He shakes his head.

"If you feel the need to help, you're more than welcome to get the table set, but I am quite in my element here, kitten. So, not to worry." You were mostly listening to him, but one part of you kept your focus on his skillful knife practice, watching him chop vegetables in a nearly professional manner.

"Kitten? The table?" His words and his moving on to something else snapped you from your funk.

"Oh! Of course, yes." You stumble a bit but do as he instructs. It wasn't anything special, but the space was more than enough to give the ambiance of a good date.

Damn, this man could cook. He's cooked for you before, but something you couldn't quite put a finger on left you swooning at the sight of the still-steaming gumbo in front of you.

"Damn, you can cook." You're muttering, between bites. You almost can't taste all its decadence, digging in before letting it fully cool.

"Slow down, dear, we have all night." He says softly, despite bringing a spoonful to his own lips. You catch yourself staring at the sight of him eating beside you, enthralled by his enthusiastic hums.

"So where did this come from? I'm a bit suspicious of the finery if I'm honest." You place your elbows on the table, perching your chin on top of your hands. He scoffs in response.

"How rude. All my meals are of the highest quality. I simply haven't made this in quite a while, I thought tonight would be a good time to do so." He replies.

"A recipe for special occasions, hm? Would you consider this.. a special occasion?" You tease, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow. He looks confused, letting his eyes wander in thought for a moment. Was this a special occasion? Is there any specific reason he wanted to bring his own mother's recipe to some girl he's befriended? He pushes the thought aside, planning on mocking you like usual.

"Any night with you is plenty special, kitten." He hums, popping another spoonful into his mouth. He doesn't see your face turning red, but his oblivious flirting always leaves you flushed.

"In that case, when are you inviting me to your own home? I won't lie and say I'm not curious, Al." You set your finished plate aside and notice his eye twitch. You've been staring at him long enough to notice even his smallest ticks.

"Someday. I've a bit of a mess to go through before considering bringing any guests over." He brushes clean his already pristine top, as you stand and take his empty plate to the kitchen. With a sigh, you take yourself over to the sink to do a quick clean. It's the least you could do after such a lovely meal.

"If you say so." You try your best to sound calm, but you're slightly hurt by his constant rejection of letting you into his personal life. It wasn't all the time, but there were clearly things he refused to talk about. You want nothing more than to know him.

Lost in your mildly upsetting thoughts, you recklessly take one of his knives the wrong way, the blade slicing surprisingly easily down your finger. The shock takes you back more than the actual pain. These are far too nice for everyday cooking.

Letting out a quiet curse, you feel his hand brush over your own, his shadow casting over your entirety. "Such a clutz." You hear, his voice causing you to tense. You let him guide your hand under the water to rinse it, effectively caging you in place.

"Be careful, will you? These are my nicer tools." Interesting way to say it, but you were too focused on the fact that you could feel his breath heating the back of your neck. You simply nod, before turning the water off with your free hand. You turn your body around, leaning your back against the edge of the countertop and effectively facing Alastor. His hands stay planted on either side of you, making it a bit of a tight squeeze. You weren't sure what you were trying to accomplish here, but here you are. Neither of you seem to be moving away, though. He drops his head to look into your eyes. You're lost in them.

You reach your arms upwards, holding them around his neck as best you can, and you feel him willingly lean within your grasp. The moment is heated, you feel his breath against your lips as you pull him impossibly closer. His breath is quick, almost shaky. You've never seen this side of him. You'd never associate Alastor with the term nervous.

Nearly closing the gap, you feel a hand come to your throat and fingers gently holding your jaw. With a quick turn, he places a soft kiss on your cheek. It lingers for a moment, and even if it wasn't what you were expecting, you're gasping beneath his affection. The room seems to cool down for a moment. He steps away silently, pulling his things all together.

You may have made a mistake.

"Oh, Al- I'm sorry I didn't think.. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, i-if that's what happened there." Your words quicken, suddenly becoming anxious that you may have upset him.

"No, don't fret." He waves his hand dismissively, his back still turned to you as he keeps himself busy with a bit of tidying. "I'd be an idiot to not expect that, eventually." He almost sounds insulting, a little cocky.

"Why's that? Are you used to women just throwing themselves at you?" You tease but keep yourself from his eyeline.

"Well, yes- but, you've been especially touchy recently. And you seem to be acting like I make you.. nervous. Fidgety." His little observations leave you a bit embarrassed.

"It's not nervous.. exactly. Never mind that, though.. Does.. that interest you..? At all?" It takes you a while to get the question out and it still comes across shaky. You're response is silence. Fill it.

"H-How about a drink before you head off, hm?" You quickly shuffle to your liquor cart, looking for anything to drown out your essential confession.

"It does." You freeze in place, missing the cup entirely with your first pour. That was an answer neither of you were really expecting. You finally turn to him, seeing that he had looked away just as you did.

"So, that means-" you want him to elaborate. You want to hear him say all the things you've been dreaming of. That he wants to spend his free time with you, hold your hand, and kiss it with more than just a greeting in mind. To call you anything other than kitten. Well.. that last part you didn't mind as much.

"I've not prepared myself for such a conversation, but I.. enjoy your company. And your brains.. and you certainly aren't terrible to look at." He said he didn't prepare himself, and it was pretty obvious. This wasn't his usual taunting, his usually eloquent beats. He's pausing between phrases, to come up with the best words on hand.

"Jee, thanks." You roll your eyes, your smile still shining.

"I suppose you leave me speechless, kitten." You leave a radio host, a man who talks for a living and is quite good at it, speechless. This time, he sees the freshly pink hues across your cheek. He lets out a devious chuckle, one you recognize when he's about to do something you'd consider nefarious. He starts to approach you, his clean shoes clicking against the wooden floors being the only sound. You knew you weren't in danger, but you find yourself walking backward until you hit the table. Continuing to lean away from him, he towers over you, only following your avoidance until you are straining to stand upwards.

"Well?" You let out, your words barely a whisper. "Are you going to kiss me or not?"

That seems to shock him a bit, you see his shoulders tense just slightly. You watch him contemplate his next action. He let his hand snake around your waist, not exactly to pull you closer, but his touch still left you weak. With a soft kiss on your lips, he gave you no time to truly enjoy it.

"I hate to repeat myself, but I warned you, kitten. Curious little things like yourself deserve.. more." After processing his words, you're still melting to his touch despite how fleeting it was. He steps away.

"W-What- No! I thought you said you were interested! And that kiss- W-What were-" You throw a bit of a tantrum, but quickly calm yourself. "I don't understand, help me understand. Please.." You sound a bit defeated. He sighs, clearly pained that this conversation has to continue.

"Hm.. I don't believe I'm able to give you everything you need. But, you deserve everything you need. It's as simple as that." He's pausing between words, and his expression shows that he's still not exactly satisfied with how it came out.

You shrank in place and held your arms, your mind trying to scrap together any little hints to what he means. Maybe something he's mentioned in the past. But as elusive as ever, it still just doesn't make sense to you. He catches a glimpse of your upset appearance, then takes in the rest of your state a bit longer. You can feel his eyes on you, forcing you to nervously bite at your lip.

"Okay. Let's forget all that, then." You said softly, smiling the best you can and waving your hand dismissively. He obviously knows that you wouldn't lose these feelings as quickly as he'd hoped. He'd reassure you, you'll get over it.

But you couldn't. You tried, you did. You went on other dates, considering how many men were throwing themselves at you in the right bars. You kept your distance for a bit but still saw him at Mimzy's bar on the weekends. Despite all your potential suitors, you still only seemed to look forward to those nights with Alastor. You'd go as far as to complain about some unruly men to him. His disgusted reactions were a comfort.

You kept trying to pry his real reasoning as to why he wouldn't be with you. He'd admit to not being trustworthy, which you would always dismiss. He'd go on about the other men that would be a much better fit, and all with good reasoning, but you still wouldn't stop pestering him. Then, after a few too many drinks, he finally let slip his disinterest in intimacy. And from everything he's told you, this seemed different. It wasn't an excuse or an avoidance, it was the truth.

"So, you don't find me physically attractive?" You ask him, swirling your half-empty cup.

"It's not that, I assure you. I'd just prefer to shower you in other affections, I suppose." He seems a bit unfiltered tonight, still avoiding your eyes.

"Other affections, hm? Like what, birdy?" You were already enraptured. But you were kicking yourself for getting your hopes up at all. You can see his immediate regret in his words.

"Kitten-"

"Please? I'm just curious." You say sincerely, placing your hand over top of his. You hesitate for a moment, but he seems to not mind the touch.

"Well.. I'd like to buy you the finest things. Any book you're slightly interested in, any frock that draws your eyes, any accessories that would bring out your natural beauty- you deserve it. I want to keep you proudly on my arm throughout the streets, showing everyone that you belong to me. I'd like to cook you every meal, until the day I die." His drunken rants leave an obvious sparkle in your eyes.

"Well that all sounds lovely to me.." you say softly, twisting and turning his hand until your fingers are comfortably interlocked with his. "Simply put, you're not interested in sex?” He was taken aback by your bold words, looking around as if he were nervous someone would hear. “I’ve read about it before, there’s an interesting essay that describes this sort of phenomenon. I'll have to lend it to you.” Your calmness surprises him.

“Well.. Thank you. That puts an end to that, then. Go on and find a man who can properly bed you.” He tries to act just as calm, but his voice still seems a bit frustrated by the idea. You make an act out of tapping your chin and humming in thought.

“No, I’d much rather spend my time with you.” You say bluntly. He quickly chimes in.

“But, I-”

“Alastor, I’ve never met someone as arrogant as you.” You let out a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “If you’ll have me, however you want that is, I’d love nothing more than to spend my days with you.” You speak slowly, almost mockingly, trying to get this damned point across after so long.

He’s still quiet, opening his mouth to respond, then letting his lips shut again. He smiles at you. You couldn't ask for a better response. It was the sweetest smile you've ever seen from him, no sign of teasing or mocking you, no hidden intent, and just slightly bashful. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, in a sweet sign of acceptance.

Things went on after that without a hitch. Mostly. There were some kinks to work out, sure, but you were absolutely head over heels for him. No one’s ever brought you this much joy, and having this more intimate side of him, despite its physicalities, was more than you could ever hope for. He’d finally let you into his home after a while. It was near spotless and he was more than willing to show off the space to you. You wondered why he felt the need to stall this for so long. But you’re together now, hardly anything else matters.

As the summer came to an end, and you had to find somewhere else, you were invited to stay with Alastor. After walking freely around town, as promised, with his arm around yours, gossip spread as it always does. Another talk of the town, two unwed youths in the same place, sharing the same bed assumedly. It made you two snicker at the rumors. Living with him was heaven.

Following through his previous statements, he showered you in compliments, cooked every meal for you, and spent as much of his free time with you as he could. He offered little physical affection, little pecks here and there, and had no issue with sharing his bed. It wasn't long before you popped the question. Neither of you were really interested in the big fancy wedding idea, he was even comprehended by the marriage itself, but if anyone could wear down his nerves, it was you. That being said, Alastor did get you a ring that you were sure cost far too much. He brought up the idea of eloping. A little vacation just for the two of you. It sounded perfect.

“Birdy~ You let out in a sing-song tone, opening the door to your shared home. Every time you’d walk up to the house, you’d slow down, taking in your flawless reality every day. You’d hold your hand out to yourself, looking at the still newly polished ring, then finally entering your perfect home.

Although, it wasn’t perfect today.

You call out his name, no response. You know he should be home, so you peak around corners to no avail. You checked tables and counters, no note to be seen.

After setting down your bag, slipping your heels off, and hanging your coat after your quick search, you head to your room to at least change for the evening. You and Alastor usually go visit Mimzy on these nights, an unspoken routine.

On the way to your room, your tights hit a wet splotch on the floor. With a groan of disgust, you finally realize what you had stepped in.

Blood.

Of course, you’d recognize blood. It trailed from the door in front of you.

Alastor assured you this was his office and showed it to you on occasion. The door was always open when he wasn't home, and although you never felt the need to intrude on his personal space, something was clearly wrong. You swung open the door.

“No.”

You cover your mouth after your quiet refusal. You're silent, unwilling to believe what you're seeing. Your darling husband-to-be, kneeling over a stained and still wet corpse wrapped in canvas. His hands are covered in blood. Actually, his entire body is covered in blood.

How he managed to get in and out of the house without making an entire mess was a thought that managed to cross your mind in your state of shock. You glance up for a second to notice one of the heavy bookshelves pushed aside, a sort of patio doorway leading to the swampy area behind the house.

You look at the door, then to Alastor. Who’s giving you a wide-eyed face that pains your chest.

Say something, Alastor. Say something that’ll make this all okay. You're a deer in headlights.

He notices your eyes dart to the right, then back to him, staring for a moment longer. One thing is on your mind without his reassurance. You’re in danger.

Run.

You book it down the hall, clearly going to the exit. Both your feet soaked in blood at this point are tracking through the house. The moment was such a blur, that you hardly remember how far you got before feeling the pain of hitting the floor. You look down after scrambling onto your back, seeing Alastor’s hand wrap around your ankle.

“Hold on! You’re covered in blood, you’re a mess, just-” He sounds deranged. Who is this man? Surely not the one who’s been treating you so well all this time. He sounds anxious and angry. You’re face is stained with tears as he essentially drags you across the floor briefly, not considering his heightened adrenaline in these moments. You kick. You scream.

“Listen to me!” He grabs you by your arms, giving you a good shake. That seems to calm you down.. or at least quiet you down. You’re staring at him wide-eyed, your breath rapid. He has your attention, yet he’s not sure what to say. A pained expression grows on his face. You’re leaving him speechless, again.

“Let’s.. clean you up.” He scoops you up, and maybe it's the shock that leaves you so lenient. Or maybe it's all the good times blurring what you've witnessed. When you come to, you’re sitting in the bath, Alastor by your side, and running a sponge across your arm, thoroughly staining the water with blood. The sight brings a gasp from your lips, that feels like the first breath you've taken in hours.

“A-Alastor-” You let out weakly, your frightened expression now burned into his mind. “Was that real..?”

“It was-” He lets out a pained sigh, seeing if he could soften the truth. It's not possible. “-It was.” no words can save him from this.

“W-Why..?”

“He was rather unpleasant. A man with too much money, who wasted most of his time on hitting his women staff. He had his chance to make things right, I assure you, this is always the last resort.” That doesn't help for obvious reasons. You pull away from his gentle washing.

“Always? You've done this before?” Your voice squeaks as it comes out. You don't want to know the details. But you can't stop the words from spilling from your lips. He stands and rings the sponge out into the sink, watching the red-tinted water swirl down the drain.

“Yes.”

“How many times have you-” You stop yourself finally. You don't want the answer to that one. You don't want the answer to any of these questions. Unconsciously, your mind still seems to piece together every strange thing he’s done and said to you.

Your half-sentence is replied to with silence. He goes on to finish cleaning you up, helping you in and out of the tub, and drying you as best he can. He wraps you in his own robe and brings you to the bedroom. You’re mortified when you notice him guiding you by your shoulders to avoid the bloody footprints still on the ground.

Some time passes. You sit empty-minded on the edge of the bed, your eyes gazing down into nothing. Alastor leans against the vanity across the small room from you. He runs his hands through his hair, pausing and clenching some strands in his fists before moving on.

“I can..get all your belongings together, find you a place to stay. I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.” He finally says, breaking the silence and your endless train of thought. His offer seems reasonable, but you still feel hurt.

“You want me to leave?” You ask quietly, gripping the edges of the robe and shrinking into yourself. He’s shocked by your response, you can hear it in his voice.

“You want to stay?” He asks in response.

“I.. I love you.” You say weakly. It stings to say it out loud. And even more so to hear it. “Will you hurt me? I-If I go to the police? If I rat you out..?” What are you doing? You can’t ask a murderer that. Your mind is running on fear, especially after what you just said. You feel his hand lightly lift your face to his, flinching slightly considering you hadn't noticed him approaching you.

“I would never hurt you. I’d spend my days rotting in a jail cell if it meant you’re safe..and happy. I love you, kitten.” You aren’t used to seeing this face. It’s almost emotionless. You start to picture this face carrying out his murderous intentions. But there's a crack in his psychopathic mask. There's a hint of softness and anguish at the sight of you.

“I don't.. I don't want to leave.” You take a hold of his hand, still shaking and clearly unsure of your words. You hear a soft hiss leave his lips, clearly trying to conceal his reaction to the unexpected. “I don’t want you to be in jail- or.. I suppose I don't want you to be caught..?” You groan, holding tightly onto his hand. “I’m so confused, Alastor. I want things to be normal. I want to go back to when you cooked for me, and.. And go back to planning- o-our elopement…” You let out weakly. He doesn't respond at first, you force your eyes up to meet his. He looks heartbroken at the sight of you.

“I just want to pretend that none of this happened..Please, stop this. F-for me, please don't do this anymore.” Your voice becomes a whisper. His hesitation only makes it all worse. He responds once he feels your grip on him loosen.

“Okay- okay. I’ll clean up this mess, and- I’ll stop. For you.” You manage to give him a weak smile, before resting your head against his chest. After holding you for a moment he settles you into bed after you had essentially fallen asleep in his arms. He does as promised. Mostly. He cleans up the mess at least.

The next morning, you wake up and hope everything that happened before a nightmare. But, you feel his robe still wrapped around you, then notice Alastor’s side of the bed empty. It's real then. It was too vivid. And if it's real.. Then he’s stopping. Because of you. It’s almost touching.

You go on about your day, and he greets you as if nothing is wrong, making your breakfast as usual. He’s chipper and goes on to chat about his plans for today. He’s pretending that nothing went on. How often has he done this? Convincingly pretend that he didn't take a life less than twelve hours ago?

It takes you a few days. A few months.. years, actually. To accept what he had done. You never forgave him, but you accepted it. You had to go on and enjoy your newly wedded life together, didn't you? Alastor had a broadcast to work on, an audience to appease, and you had to work as a physician, helping locals from within their homes. Besides, he stopped the murders after you caught him that one awful night, didn't he?

Didn't he?

Police are at your door. A nightmare of a sight. You open it, putting on your best face. It wasn't as easy as it used to be, but your smile still convinced the public. Leaning against the open door and batting your lashes you greet them sweetly. your face instantly fell to their words. You almost hoped that he had gotten caught. But he didn't.

He's dead.

“Shot in the woods, ma’am. A hunter mistook him for a deer in the dark.” you'd recall these words later, but for now, your ears were ringing and your mind was absent. You thanked them and shut the door.

You can't recall how loudly you screamed and sobbed, or for how long that went on. You need to be held. You need him to hold you and that only pains you more. You mourned for days, canceling appointments, and not answering any guests who were there to offer empty condolences. You rotted in his home. He was so young. You were both so young, there was so much to look forward to in your future. It's all gone now.

The first place you went to was Mimzy's bar. A few months had passed, and all your good liquor had run out. Plus, a familiar face could be a good change of pace right now.

“Oh, hun!” An immediate greeting at the door, Mimzy brings you to the bar. It's a late night on a workday, it was essentially empty. “I'm so sorry for your loss. Everyone in town is worried bout ya! I'm sure you don't wanna hear this, but how are you doin'?” She was right. You didn't want to hear that. You hated that question.

“Fine.” You say squeakly. It was the first word you had spoken in weeks, you realize. She slides you your drink and you immediately down it. She tops it off just for it to be finished off even faster than the last.

“Slow down, hun.” She says, sliding a glass of water to you next. When you drink it thoughtlessly, the absence of alcohol has you scrunching your nose. “I'm sure this isn't the best time, but.. I got somethin’ for ya.” She disappears into some backroom before reapproaching you and your barely touched glass of water. She places an enveloped letter in your hand. Your name written in neat cursive fills its front and your hands start to shake.

“It's from Al. He wanted me to give this to ya. If he ever.. well, if this ever happened.” as she's speaking, you've already opened it and begun reading.

It was instructions. And a large wad of cash. Above the instructions, A small blurb about how sorry he was, how much he loved you, and prayed that you'd never have to read this. Then a list of how to thoroughly clean and dispose of all evidence in his shed.

“Did you know?” you ask Mimzy, your hands crinkling on each side of the letter. She nods. “He never stopped, did he?” You say in a hushed tone, mainly in disbelief to yourself.

“Well- not exactly, no. he was finishing somethin' up in the forest that one night.” Mimzy talks as if she's practiced this conversation. He must've kept her up to date with all this.

“He told me he would stop. He said he was doing it for me-” You grip at your heart, letting out a shaky breath.

“What important is that he loved ya, right? He was an equal opportunity killer, hun, he only did what he had to. It was for the greater good, ya know?” Mimzy was speaking far too calmly about this. you let out a flurry of curses, shoving the crumpled-up instructions into your purse before standing at the bar.

“You're all fucking psychopaths!” You yell out to the empty bar and leave the building in a huff.

You needed to leave town. The two people you were closest to were both criminals. And being in this house was only hurting you more. You packed as much as you could, hand hovering over the phone to call for a taxi. You freeze in place. Then see your ring. You look at it for a moment, the light giving it a beautiful shine. With a defeated sigh, you set your bags aside and pull the instructions back out from your purse, straightening it out as best you could.

After finishing a very thorough cleaning, and questioning your actions through it all, you did everything on the list. You burned the letter alongside some other items that he told you to dispose of. You still aren't sure why you did it. He was never caught before and he must have cleaned up his job in the forest before getting shot. Maybe it was for the best. Let his radio persona live on. Let it be the last nice thing you ever do for him. You finally leave that hellhole behind.

You went on to live another sixty years, quite a feat if you must admit. You weren't much of a religious person, so passing in your sleep and waking up in the streets of Pentagram City, was a bit of a shock. After accepting the idea of an afterlife, you put the little details together. You were sure after all that went down in your youth, you would end up here. And if you're here, then maybe..

There are more important things right now. Lucky for you, you fell right in the middle of a bustling street. You scramble to your feet and quickly escape the speeding cars. Why were there cars in Hell? Why did it look so much like a big city you would visit at some point, how is it so human? There was so much to question, but you were desperate to find any sort of sanctuary.

You weren't sure why your first thought was to find the nearest bar, but something seemed to bring you in. You're almost disappointed in yourself for stepping into a club decorated as a 20s speakeasy. But it was familiar- nostalgic. A shrill voice draws your attention.

"Oh my stars! Get over here, doll!" The shriek brings your attention to the bar, where a slightly familiar face greets you. “What are ya gawkin’ at? It’s me! Mimzy? Get that tail over here!” Mimzy owns a club even in Hell? You approach her after some more beckoning.

"Long time no see! How long you been in?" She goes on. You observe her appearance as she speaks. She looks almost the same. The red eyes and sharp teeth were definitely new. You realize you hadn't had the chance to take in your own appearance, but clearly, it must've been similar enough for her to recognize you. Still questioning your position, you finally process her words.

"Oh- I just arrived actually. Lucky me to walk straight into your bar, hm?" You lean against the counter as she pours you a drink, a flurry of trauma and nostalgia turns to confusion.

"Wow! You had quite a life after old Al got you outta town, didn't ya?” She teased. You let out a nervous chuckle. Good old Al. You haven't thought about him in years. You were so young, so head over heels for this man you barely knew. You somehow managed to suppress all the bad times as you aged. Mimzy notices your face droop a bit.

"I suppose I did.." a brief smile meets the wedding band still on your hand.

"Well? Finally gonna reunite? Ooh! How romantic! You'll have to update me, sweetie!" Mimzy bats at you, letting out an excited giggle. You quickly shake your head, not processing any other way to respond.

"I-I can't- I mean.. Not after everything he’s done.” Your hands clench at even the thought.

“Sorry to break it to ya, but we’re all for a reason. You got plenty of time to forgive him, with the whole eternal punishment of it all.” Mimzy’s tone drops to a more serious one as if she’s heard that line before. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to rot in Hell with someone they love, you should see what he’s up to!” Her tone seems to immediately switch to something more chipper.

“Still, I uh.. I shouldn't. He’s been dead for so long, I’m sure he’s got some other dame cleaning up his messes.” Excuses. You didn't want to see him, because this is his fault. You're here because you helped clean up his space after his unfortunate death. Even when you had no idea, he relied on you. He trusted you to carry this burden for the rest of your life. Your rage was suppressed when you heard Mimzy's voice chime back in.

"Nope! He's been busy with uh.. his work. Still wears the ring, though~" She hums, tapping her finger to emphasize her words. You look down at your own hand. Why did you still wear yours, again? You never remarried, but mainly because of the trust issues that were instilled in you for the rest of your life. Maybe it wouldn't be a terrible idea..

“N-No, I just cant..” You let out louder than you meant to. Mimzy shrugs off your panic. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare room, would you, Mimzy?”

Mimzy did in fact have a spare room. You stayed in one of the ratty rooms about the bar, alongside some of the demons that rented the rooms for their own business. You realized, after finding a mirror, that you were portrayed with some feline features, nothing too disfiguring. Once you saw your new form, Alastor’s voice, every single time he beckoned you with kitten, rang throughout your mind. You couldn't bring yourself to look at yourself for the first few months. This was Hell after all. Eternal punishment can manifest in several ways.

Mimzy was still a clear supporter of Alastor, so she had a radio set up in your room already. No matter how hard you tried, you realize pretty early on that Alastor had some power over the radios that force his broadcasts to be the only thing streaming. You heard it all. The screams of souls being torn apart, his constant gossiping and cruel words making fun of other demons.

But damn, if it didn't feel like living again. Waking up every morning to the sound of his voice on the radio, before you can truly decipher what he’s talking about, it almost feels like a normal life. But then you hear the pain in those demons that he’s mercilessly tearing up. Sometimes, you see Mimzy cheering at the radio like some sports game is being narrated. You try to avoid her when she’s doing that.

Things were comfortable for many years. As comfortable as Hell can be, at least. Alastor became a distant part of your daily routine, you'd hear his broadcasts all the time, but only in addition to the other bustling city noises. It all seemed to cancel out after a while. You worked with Mimzy, picking up at the bar when she had to run off. In exchange, you stayed in that room indefinitely. You two seemed to become friends again, despite your living history. It became clear to you that what happened when you were alive really didn't matter down here. You all made the same degree of mistakes and you all learned that you’re here for the same reasons.

You went through extermination days as best you could, only having one face-to-face interaction. That day, you were already on the verge of death from falling debris and trying to escape a specifically insistent exorcist. She had you cornered. You shut your eyes, wincing at the upcoming angelic weapon you saw her raise at you. Only feeling a slight sting across the bridge of your nose and cheek, you open your eyes to see her flying back towards the portal to heaven. You can't believe you got that lucky. You’re still in disbelief at the entire scenario, but unlike most wounds down here, your face was permanently scarred. It was small, barely noticeable! Mimzy says.

But you knew not everyone had this much luck on extermination day. After noticing the silence on the streets, during the most recent extermination, you nervously left the bar. Everything was empty. The portal had opened closer to that hotel you’d heard of. And the exorcists were going straight to it. You scoffed, walking back into the bar. They’d finish off those demons there quickly, so you still wanted to hide. As you barred yourself up in your room, you remembered Mimzy telling you about her visit to that hotel. About why she visited the hotel. Alastor's there. You try to not panic. It’s been decades, why are you worried about him? Besides you know how powerful he is, you've picked up his whole radio demon shtick from others. He’ll be fine.

Then why are you so restless?

A loud knocking at your door shakes your entire core. You keep yourself hauled up in the corner of your room, covering your ears and squeezing your eyes shut. You still hear a voice call your name from the other side of the door.

“You gotta come see this! The angels are gone!” It's Mimzy. it's far earlier than usual, you were almost worried it was some new tactic they picked up. You crack the door open just slightly, and her small frame pummeled the door open. She paces your room, rambling words that you barely catch, and she shoves her phone to your face. You have to take it from her shaking hands to get a glimpse. It's hard to see, but it's very obviously footage of Alastor fighting Adam. His body is warped through the drone’s camera, and you watch him fade away into nothingness after one blow. There was no audio, You couldn't hear what happened. Considering you weren't familiar with his shadow antics, you had no idea what actually happened to him.

“You gotta find out if he's okay! I can't go back to that hotel, you gotta do it!” she sounds frantic, taking her phone back. “What? Absolutely not! I'm sure he's fine.” You wave your hand dismissively, despite the hesitance in your voice. Everyone's in Hell for the same reasons. Your mind goes back and forth on the possibility of forgiveness.. of mending burned bridges.

“The videos from a few hours ago, those angels are gone! Ooh.. He's just gotta be okay..” You didn't realize how much Mimzy actually appreciated Alastor. Whether it be the protection he offers or their actual friendship, you aren't sure. But she's clearly worried about him. You just aren't ready.

Mimzy spent the next few days begging you to go down there and find him. And you refused every time. She mentioned going to Cannibal Town to visit his "Gal Pal" and even she hadn't heard from him. He's disappeared before, just recently too, You're sure it was just like his last seven-year absence. Even if you were getting a bit worried, you'd never admit it. There were no broadcasts, there was no public trash-talking from the Vees, it was just.. quiet.

“Didn't you love him?” You stare at Mimzy, in disbelief that she just said that.

“Excuse me?” That seemed to strike a nerve. And maybe she meant to do that.

“I remember you two in my bar, you were two peas in a pod! I've never seen him like that with any gal, hun. That's not somethin' that just goes away.” Mimzy takes your hand from across the bar. “Please, go check on him. Maybe it'll be like a final hurrah, but I just gotta know if he's okay.” You look around the room as if someone would offer to go in your place. But she's right. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't missing his broadcasts. You let out a dejected sigh.

“Okay.. okay! Fine.” You huff. An immediate change in attitude, Mimzy lets out an excited exclamation and pours the two of you drinks, to celebrate her pushy victory.

You take in a deep breath, looking around the new hotel's exterior. It was much larger than the previous one and more lavish. You hesitate before knocking on the door. A series of whispered voices, then scrambling feet, follow the door opening. It's the princess of Hell. You weren't expecting Alastor to greet you, but you still feel a bit disappointed.

“Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Ho-” You quickly interrupt.

“No! Nono, sorry.” You laugh Nervously. “I'm not here for the whole.. redemption thing. Is.. uh…” You peek around her shoulder, seeing a few demons you recognize from the commercial, but no Alastor.

“Is the radio demon here..?” You finally ask quietly. Charlie still seems a little hurt from the interruption, but just because you're not interested in redemption doesn't mean she won't try to convince you.

“Alastor? Sure! He's been in his tower since we reopened.. So, he's probably up there.” She explains, pulling you into the building despite your refusal. “I can go get him for you! What's your name? I'll tell him who-”

"That's actually okay! I was sent to check up on him, so.. if he's alive, then that's all I need to hear!” Mimzy will just have to be satisfied with that. You're chickening out. If they're saying he's fine, then that's good enough for you. The longer you're here, the more anxious you're becoming. You're worried he could pop out of nowhere. Which is a legitimate concern apparently.

“Charlie!” A greeting comes from behind the blonde, and you see a red-clawed hand engulf her shoulder. “Already a new resident? How exciting! What unfortunate sinner has found themselves here as a last resort.. today…”

You know that voice. Of course, you know that voice. He looks fairly similar to how he did when he was alive, the hair was new. Ditto the antlers. A deer? They turned him into a deer down here? You almost want to laugh. Maybe being in Hell for so long has turned your sense of humor that crude. You're staring with wide eyes. He whispers your name so quietly that all you can really take in is his lips forming the word.

“Hey, Al! She was just looking for you! I think she might be worried, right?”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up-

“I.. was! But I see he’s clearly fine now, so! I should get back to Mimzy’s-”

“Mimzy? You're with that trainwreck?” a low voice comes from the bar, interrupting the conversation. The cat demon behind the counter scoffs at you. “Nice ears.” They fold down involuntarily from embarrassment.

“Kitten.” You immediately turn at the sound of Alastor’s voice, shivers thoroughly covering your body. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but it clamps shut. His eyes widen for a moment, looking around the room to see how almost every resident had gathered to witness the new face. You start to back away to the door.

“This may not have been the best idea.. T-thank you, princess, it was nice meeting you.” with a blink of your eye, Alastor’s arm is around your shoulder.

“Why of course! Thank you for visiting! I'll escort you out!” His chipper attitude startles you, and you feel almost insulted by his eagerness to have you leave.

“Oh! Well.. come back anytime! Our doors are always open!” You hear Charlie call out as Alastor takes you outside the building. Before you even have a chance to protest, you're suddenly in a recording room. Your mouth is still open ready to scold him, but instead, you examine the dizzying change in scenery. Your eyes finally drop to Alastor, who had taken both your shoulders and let his head drop from your view. He startles to mumble.

“W-What are you-”

“Why didn't you tell me you were here?” His head finally lifts and you catch his perplexed expression. Pained eyes paired with a strained smile, it's almost frightening.

“W-Well, I.. it was just-”

“When did you arrive?”

“A few.. decades ago..?”

“Decades?” His voice goes low and static. You pull away from his grasp as his voice changes. “You shouldn't be here. There has to be a mistake.” His voice returns to normal, and he starts to pace the room. Mumbling more nonsense to himself, he starts gripping at his hair.

You watch this for a while, before finally approaching him. You take hold of his arm, effectively stopping him in place. Pulling down his arm, you feel the grasp on his hair loosen.

“Calm down. You're pulling your hair out, again.” You say softly, brushing his hand clean of stray hairs he had torn out. Reaching forward you attempt to brush his hair back into place. Your hand pauses, hovering just by his cheek. You want to hold him. He seems to follow your hand when you decide to quickly distance yourself.

His eyes look bloodshot and demonic. How could you still possibly be getting lost in them?

“You shouldn't be here, kitten. You’re here because of me.” You flinch at his words, despite how true they are, you manage to feel some underlying guilt.

“Yeah.. Mimzy just wanted to know if you were alright. And you seem just fine. I should go.” You say bluntly, taking hold of your arms and going towards the door.

“Why didn't you find me?” His words cause you to stop.

“Sorry, you weren't exactly the first thing on my mind when I woke up in Hell.”

“Kitten, I-” His voice seems to drop the radio static. It sounds entirely too familiar.

“-don't call me that.” You snap, biting at your lip unconsciously.

“I'm sorry.” He finally says. “It was.. irresponsible of me to lie to you. I made a mistake.” He sounds more embarrassed to admit he messed up. His ego makes you scoff.

“Yes, it was irresponsible. It was downright cruel, Alastor. I had to live with the burden of your murders and had to die with the consequences.” You turn back to face him, a rage that had been boiling for decades finally spilling over. “I did so much good after you died. It has to be your fault I'm here. I never told the cops, I followed your ridiculous instructions, and it was the worst decision of my life! And now I'm paying for it. For being too far in love to realize that you were just using me!” You've had this conversation in your head so many times, that you have no issue saying exactly what you want.

“No!" He stops himself before he can shout anything else. "I assure you, that isn't the case at all. I love you more than I can put into words, kitten, can't we just-” Alastor reaches his hand out to you and you quickly lean away. You spot the ring on his finger.

“Love? You used me to make sure your record stayed clean! That's not love.” You hiss.

“I did it to protect you. I gave you everything you needed to remove yourself from the situation if anything were to happen to me. You said you went on to do good, and I believe you. That was because of me! The letter and the money were both for your safety- I was helping you.” He isn’t exactly shouting, but his tone is certainly sending chills down your spine.

“You don't get to take credit for my life! I should have never come!” You fling your arms up, turning back to the door. He grabs your arm and turns you back to him, a tight grip on your shoulders. He opens his mouth to seemingly scold you, and you're ready to bite back. You notice him scanning over your facial features, and his expression seems to falter.

“What happened to you?” He runs a clawed finger delicately across the scar on your cheek. It had faded but was still visible. You wince at his touch, which makes him pull his hand back.

“Oh, don't act like you care.” You mumble.

“Of course, I care.” His soft response forces a pained groan from your lips.

“All these sweet words you’re saying.. I-I don’t know what to think with that ridiculous smile.. I can't take you seriously!” Your voice is beginning to crack, losing the strength to have this go on.

“About that-”

“I hate you.” He flinches at your words, Out of everything you’ve said, you don't understand why that seems to silence him. He grips onto his chest, his coat and shirt scrunching into his fist. You watch him drop his head, bracing himself on his desk that he had stumbled to. You’re sure he’s being dramatic. Hamming it up to get some sort of pity. A sigh passes your lips.

“Um.. Alastor… I didn't mean to-” His act only fools you a little bit. You wonder if you’ve let out too much steam. If he really-

Before you can finish any other thoughts, he collapses to the floor.

“Fuck-” You quickly move to his side, flipping him to his back and helping him at least prop himself up against a wall. “Should I get-”

“Don't tell the others.” He breathes out, putting his hand up dismissively. With the wave of his hand, you see the blood across his palm. Your eyes follow the source to a continuously growing stain on his top. The sight of blood didn't seem to bother you after everything. “Just help me up.”

“O-Okay.” You do as he says, helping him stand. Almost feeling like an instinct, you pull his coat off of his shoulders. He struggles to keep up with the movement but still gives in. He quickly loses his strength and stumbles to the small couch nearby. You almost enjoy watching him stubbornly refuse your help.

“I.. might require.. some assistance.” He says it so softly you almost want to ask him to repeat himself. Even if you understood him just fine.

“You're asking for help?” You correct him, placing your hands on your hips.

“I don't need help.” He snaps. You would've been offended if you knew he was just to flustered to admit it.

“Then what do you need?” You sit beside him on the couch, placing your hand on his blood-stained shirt. He immediately winces.

“For.. you to stitch this up.” You start unbuttoning his shirt, your hands grazing the fluff of his chest with a mild curiosity. You finally get the full scope of a completely untreated slash that would've surely killed any human if left untreated. But for an almost immortal demon, it was just a painful nuisance. Very painful.

“From your fight with… You want me to help you stitch this up?” You ask because that it seems near impossible to do so, even with someone of your medical history. It's wide and seems to be covered with specks of gold. It feels like small shards of glass when you swipe your hand over him.

“.. yes.” He says quietly. You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him. He’s reckless, too stubborn to have looked at the wound because of its reminder of his defeat. And you know that's exactly why it got this bad. No matter how small, Alastor sees the smile growing on you.

“I missed your smile.” He says softly.

“Please stop saying things like that.. You're confusing me.” You make sure to speak your words quietly as if you don't want them to be heard. A small demonic creature rushes to your side, holding a tray up with the essentials to properly treat the slash. It stays perfectly still once in your reach.

You went to work, after some proper scolding, trying your best to keep the process as painless as possible. Every so often, you wonder why you are being so careful with him. He doesn't deserve your tenderness. Your thoughts are stopped when you see his hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you away. His face is scrunched, a hiss passing by his tormented smile. You must've hit the wrong spot while lost in thought. Your eyes fall to his ring, again.

“Why did you keep this on?” You ask, examining his hand that’s still engulfing your wrist.

“It reminds me of you. And yours?” His voice is hushed, still recovering from the pain. You realize he has a full view of your own hand, your wedding band sitting just as clear to him.

“It.. reminds me of what you did to me.” You hear a quiet groan in response to your words, and he releases your arm, gripping the couch in its stead. You keep going.

“I'll admit, I was worried about you.. after the battle with Adam. Maybe it was Mimzy getting me all worked up..” You finally admit. You don’t want him to think you’ve spent your whole life and death hating him. But why would it matter either way?

“I can't be killed, you had nothing to worry about.” He replies, not willing to comment on your sudden vulnerability. Not in this position. All you can do is laugh at him. He's clearly talking out his ass.

“Looks like you got pretty close to it.” You scoff. His ears flatten, and he looks away like a stubborn child.

You finish up after an hour. It felt much longer. The silence with quiet quips mixed in, the surprisingly intimate moment, it was suffocatingly uncomfortable.

“I didn't want to come here. I was perfectly content in being in Hell. I didn't expect this form of torture.” You say, setting everything back onto the little tray presented to you. That little demon had been standing there this whole time. You notice it started shaking a while ago.

“Come now, you're being dramatic. You chose to find me, did you not?” He says, sitting a bit taller with the regained strength.

“I'm not being dramatic! You try to avoid Mimzy's constant nagging! I hear your voice everywhere, see all the ads for this hotel, and they made me a damn cat, Alastor!” You feel yourself starting to lose your composure, gripping your hair and letting out a pained laughter. “H-how unfair is that..?” You let out a weak chuckle, feeling tears well in your eyes. He pulls your hand away from your hair, brushing his thumb across your ring as he holds you for a moment longer.

“Completely unfair. Your appearance may be.. unappealing … to you, but your face is still the same. Your eyes still bright as usual, your smile just as sweet.” His sincerity is muddling your thoughts. Those thoughts that warn you he’s hurt you before. And now he’s a cruel overlord, he’ll hurt you again tenfold. You feel his thumb drag along your lip after realizing you had leaned in towards him.

“Still biting your lip, hm?” His static fades again, and you wince at the raw skin he's brushing over. Old habits apparently don’t die hard.

“N-nervous tick, I guess..” His closeness leaves you a bit breathless.

“Do I make you nervous?” His tone confuses you. There’s an underlying sense of worry, a genuine concern for your well-being. But you’re still distracted by his strange smile. You don’t have much time to think any further about it before you’re startled by gentle lips against yours. It’s quick but is more than enough to let out a flood of feelings you’ve been suppressing since the day you left your hometown. He looks at you with a sly smile on his face.

“I’m still mad at you.” You say quietly.

“I know.” He kisses you, again.

“Y-You don’t have to-” He interrupts you with another kiss.

“I know.” Still holding your face you barely take in his next words with a clear head. “I miss you.” Another kiss, just to throw you off this time, “I miss having you at my side.

Stay.. please.”

There was no way you would drop everything to live with a man you were barely married to in life. That didn't stop you from seeing him more, though. You were actually.. kind of glad to see him. To patch things up, even just a little. You’d visit, sneaking around at first to avoid any interaction from the other residents of the hotel. They were all more than intimidating to you. Especially considering one of them was the king of Hell. Alastor was more than happy to keep you away from him, though.

You updated Mimzy on how he was when you left that first night, but you left out the unimportant bits.. Like the giant angelic slash across his chest. You didn’t need Alastor to tell you that you shouldn't be going around spreading that information. A true accomplice. When Mimzy noticed you were visiting him to the point where you couldn't cover the bar when she needed you to, she was more than happy to kick you out. You knew exactly what she was doing. She didn't want you homeless, but you were essentially left with nowhere to go. Except for the hotel.

It wasn’t the worst thing to happen.. Things almost seemed normal. Alastor had lots of sucking up to do, even though he wouldn't call it that. He was definitely working at it. Making you breakfast like before, treating you like even higher royalty than he ever could while alive. He has the power to do so now and he fully intends to use it. And it’s working.. A little bit.

Okay, a lot.

You’re shocked that he still seems the same after becoming the powerful overlord he is. You’d love to convince yourself that none of that mattered, his status in Hell or what happened when you were alive. That you could just forget mortality to look forward to the potential future facing you. It’s easier said than done.

You're still struggling with your nightmares. Even more so in Hell, likely another form of punishment. Something about the hotel seemed to subdue some of them actually. As if the air were clearer here. It only helped most nights, though. Whenever you woke up in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, clutching at your heart, there was only one thing to calm you. The radio at your nightstand would play a specific song. One that Mimzy was fond of, so you heard it most nights at her bar on Earth. Whenever you heard that, you knew he was there. He was waiting for you.

"Birdy?" You knock on his door, which seems to open slowly just from your touch. Alastor is sitting contently in front of his firepit. This wasn't the first time you've found him in the middle of the night.

"Another one, my love?" He tilts his head up slightly, the book he had in his hand shutting immediately. You nod your head slowly, already approaching him. Your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders is dragging across the ground. You give him a look he recognizes, and he nods at the implications. Without caution, you let out a tired whimper and plop into his lap. He pulls the blanket over your entirety.

Getting completely comfortable, he adjusts his arms to pull his book back to his eyeline. With your head nuzzled against his shoulder, you're too tired to conceal your little habit of purring. He doesn't mind, though. He loves it.

♡♡♡

Another big boy for ya 🫶

Human Alastor is really fun to write for, I had to do some research tho lol

I tried to keep Alastor's sexuality in mind, so I hope I represented it well. That's always something that makes me nervous when writing for Al 😬

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 2 days

Text

Alastor - [ CATCH IT ON CAMERA ]

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This was originally a silly little fluff piece that turned into….well, this. I hope you all got the vibe from the song cause it doesn't get more straightforward than that…

WARNINGS: [ MDNI ] + [ NSFW ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ BUBBLY READER ] + [ IMPLIED SMUT ]

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Taking a polaroid picture with Alastor!!

That was the goal when you stroll into his room with the brightest smile as he sits reading alone late one night.

Your lover doesn't initially suspect what you're up to.

He’s very content with reading as you go about your antics as quietly as possible.

Alastor was perfectly unbothered by your presence at first, used to your soft giggles filling the room and quietly enjoying the jovial aura you emit.

It's only when he hears a distinct ‘click’ of a camera that he stiffens in his seat.

The sharp and quiet sound caused his ears to twitch, claws digging into the leather cover of the book he held, and his red eyes peered over the edge to see the source of the interruption.

You peer back up at him, smiling softly from your spot on the carpeted floor.

The tiny polaroid camera in your dainty hands holds his attention, probably combusting into flames in another universe by the look on his face, but you grasp it tight in hopes it'll stay intact.

“What's that infernal thing doing here?” he snarls quietly, attempting to stay calm as your eyes soften on him, silently begging the stag to be kind.

Though his patience is thin, he withholds his hateful rant about technology to hear you out.

“A little imp sold it to me, and I just couldn't say no, Allie! It takes wonderful pictures too and…and I've always wanted one..” your voice trembled a little, afraid he'd outright scold you.

Alastor seriously considered doing so until he spotted the array of Polaroid prints you'd already taken and left to dry on the carpet.

You had some of yourself. Posing freely in each one, and every frame he laid his eyes on was strangely adorable, with a few mildly scandalous, in his opinion.

Alastor then caught sight of the few you'd taken of him, all off-guard shots, clearly taken at a distance as if not to disturb him.

Those, in particular, had your lipstick print on them, tender kisses you'd placed there as a silly add-on of affection for him, and his tail twitched in amusement at the minuscule detail.

“Let me see it, darling,” he held a clawed hand out, book now resting in his lap, and his posture more relaxed than a moment ago.

Hesitant at first, you hand him the camera, silently hoping he'd refrain from destroying it. You are pleasantly surprised when he shows no indication of doing so.

“Hmm..”

Alastor inspected the device thoroughly, eyes narrowed as he searched for any signs of the Vees’ technology, but there was no evidence of their tampering whenever he looked.

He still took the precaution of asking you directly, “It's not one of their devices, is it?”

You shift to sit on your knees, not having to ask who he's referring to, “No. Not that I know of…” you answer truthfully.

Alastor hums, seeing no trace of deceit in your expression and having no reason not to believe you; he hands the camera back.

You take it with a gracious smile, absolutely over the moon that he let you have it back, “You may keep it… but any picture you take is only shown to me. Have I made myself clear, dear?”

You nod eagerly, happy to have the camera back and not bothered by his stipulation.

”Okay, Allie!” You chirp, contently fiddling with it again, giggling as you take more silly pictures of yourself.

Alastor watches as you do, following your body as you roll around the floor leisurely, posing provocatively here and there.

It almost annoys him how good you look, acting childish and carefree, barely trying to keep his attention, and moderately unaware of how badly he wanted yours.

The book in his lap was no longer enjoyable, lacking the entertainment you provided, and his focus was permanently on you.

If only you'd put that dammed camera down….

Alastor narrowed his eyes, smile tightening as you rolled onto your back to take a particularly racey photograph of yourself, sporting a rather lewd expression he'd only seen you make amid pleasure he induced.

His eye twitched as you snapped the picture, unable to look away as you stuck your tongue out and winked seductively, tilting your head to get a better angle and inadvertently directing your face towards him.

The stag grunted an obscenity as you eyed him innocently from below, head cocking to the side in curiosity as to why he seemed so stiff.

“Am I bothering you?” Your gaze softens, twinges of shyness seething in at the thought of annoying the overlord, and you braced yourself for him to answer with a curt ‘yes.’

That answer never came.

Alastor remained silent, staring intently at you before reaching a hand out to caress one side of your face.

His touch was cold, a chilled contrast to the heat rising on your cheeks as his claws trailed down your skin, stopping once he reached the curve of your jaw.

Your lips slightly opened, a soft gasp escaping them as his sharp nails ghosted over you. He gripped your chin and chuckled as your instinct to relax in his hold kicked in.

“You're not bothering me at all, dear. I have a request in mind. That's all.” he lowered his voice, unconsciously lessening its static as you hummed quietly in response.

Your eyes fluttered closed, face nuzzling into his palm as you rolled to lay on your front, leaving the camera on the floor near your waist. Your feet kicked up, lace stocking-clad legs lazily swinging as he cupped your face gently, careful not to scratch your soft skin with his claws.

For a brutal overlord to be so tender was unfathomable to most, but you counted yourself lucky to have encountered one.

You basked in his touch for a moment, slowly lifting your gaze to his heavily clouded one, “Is it somethin’ I can help with, Allie?” you asked him quietly, giving a small smile as he scratched his nails under your chin affectionately.

Alastor chuckled, seeing your blush intensify at his gesture, a reaction he'd yet to tire of bringing out of you.

“Yes, you can help, but you'll have to promise to keep it a secret between us, little one. Can you do that?”

His deliberate cooing made your heart melt, every bone in your body buzzing with delight as he coaxed you into secrecy.

“Okay…I won't tell a soul. I promise..” you nearly whine, dying of anticipation and needing much more physical touch than he was giving you now.

“Come to me then, darling,” he barely finishes the command before you slide onto his lap with a giddy smile.

You settle down on him comfortably, straddling his lower half and unafraid to relax against his chest.

Alastor grunts as your body meets his, momentarily distracted by the pressure you impose on his hardening cock, but quickly averts his attention back to his previous train of thought as you tug at the lapels of his pristine overcoat impatiently.

You pout while he raises a brow at you, clearly unamused by your bratty gesture, “I wanna know now…” your expression turns sour, a dramatic showcase he can't help but laugh at before snapping his fingers to conjure the item you left on the floor.

“I'd like to take a picture with you, dear,” he explains causally, and you blank at the statement, having to process the bizarre concept of the Radio Demon of all beings wanting to associate himself with a camera…

Willingly at that…

“R-really,” you squeak out, confused but gradually excited by the prospect.

Alastor peered at the camera in his hand, pricking the newly printed photo you took a moment ago from the bottom slot, holding the picture up to admire its details.

You blushed seeing him study your downright slutty behavior taken in one snapshot.

Though you were a little embarrassed, he seemed amused rather than disgusted.

“I'd like to recapture you making this exact face. You wouldn't mind posing like that for me again, right little doe?”

He articulates the demand as a light-hearted question, fixed grin shifting to a closed smile as he hummed lowly at your timid nod of agreement seconds later.

Your silent compliance isn't enough for the stag, his hips rutting up into you forcefully to prompt a verbal answer, and you give it through a trembling moan.

“N-no, I don't mind at all…”

The pitch in your voice rises, shocks of pleasure igniting in your core from the feeling of his prominent hard-on brushing against your clothed slit.

An immediate patch of your slick forms on the thin fabric that keeps your mound hidden.

Alastor snakes an arm around your waist, holding you close with a toothy grin reappearing on his face, sharp teeth grazing your ear as he whispers into it.

“You’ll put on a show for me, yes?” you nod quickly, unable to help yourself from grinding down on him for more friction,

“Yes..” you purr, helpless as ever, when a deep laughter thunders in his chest at your reflexive response.

“Then smile, my dear! I don't want to miss a single second of your darling reactions..” he held you still as his free hand lifted the camera, capturing the split second his head shifted downward, finding the most sensitive area on your neck and marking it with ease.

You shivered against him, feeling the smirk on his lips as the crisp click of the camera’s flash going off mixed with your startled moan.

He‘d certainly have a grand time with you and your new little trinket.

And you'd accomplished much more than achieving your goal of getting one picture with him…

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

Sometimes, I think I'm incapable of writing fluff. It's almost a curse at this point…

NO TAGS: 🚫

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

The song in this edit used to annoy the shit out of me but ill let it slide this ONE time cause its Alastor…. Credits to creator ❤️

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hartfelt #human alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor fanfiction #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin #hazbin hotel smut

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lovelytsunoda · 1 day

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F1 DRIVERS AS CHARACTERS FROM MAGIC MIKE

aka the best shitpost that has ever shitposted from lovelytsunoda on tumblr

JENSON BUTTON as DALLAS

He’s been around the block a few times. The seasoned veteran that holds our group together. Semi-retired, Jenson is now the touring MC and the owner of the club where our favourite boys perform. He’s still got it though, and that’s evident by the women that hang off him like shirtless white dudes are going out of style and they’re desperate to grab the last one. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and just how to please a woman. Looks incredible in a cowboy hat.

LEWIS HAMILTON as MIKE

He's got dreams, visions of a life where he can put his male stripper days behind him. Despite himself, he takes a new young talent under his wing, while he prepares to leave and create a humble new life for himself. Ladies everywhere know his name, and he's always the title performer. The other dancers are jealous of his street cred and wish they could all be him. There will never be another Lewis.

LANDO NORRIS as ADAM

He’s young, he’s eager and he’s attracted by the idea of swimming dollar bills and all the chicks he could possibly want. Lando Norris is green in the gills and needs someone to take him under their wing. Enter Lewis Hamilton. Lewis teaches the kid everything he knows, and eventually The Kid becomes a bigger star than he is.

CARLOS SAINZ JR. as BIG DICK RICHIE

Do I really need to explain this one? Ladies man with two sides: romantic and scandalous. Insecure about the size of his package, as it tends to scare the ladies away. Lover of MILFs. The ideas man of the group, tired of doing the same routines over and over again. No fashion sense at all. when he finally gets laid, you know damn well everybody is going to hear about it (and it might be with a middle aged mom).

CHARLES LECLERC as TITO

He's like a hyperactive puppy with a heart of gold. Brings a certain kind of swagger to the stage, but is easily distracted offstage. Has tried (and failed) to create different products and startups, but thinks whatever hairbrained idea he has come up with next is the one. Wants to go on Shark Tank. I love him your honour.

FERNANDO ALONSO as TARZAN

He's been in the game longer than some of the younger dancers have been alive. Nobody is sure why, but the ladies love him. A sweet and gentle soul who would do anything to go back in time and settle down with the one who got away, Fernando has more depth than expected.

OSCAR PIASTRI as KEN

Thinks they should 'stop giving women what men think they want' and start 'asking women what they want'. Certified sweetheart, the ladies love him. Will give you a lap dance while serenading you with love songs that stopped being popular in 1986. The baby of the group, sometimes it takes a few tries to be taken seriously. And did I mention women love him?

VALTTERI BOTTAS as TOBIAS

He may not be a good stripper, but he's the number one supporter (and the driver, and the DJ). When Jenson fucks off to Monaco, it's Valtteri who takes over as MC. Will totally win an impromptu drag race because he is just that bitch.

YUKI TSUNODA as ANDRE (magic mike xxl)

Certified sweetheart. Will put on his little fedora and suit jacket and make up a song about how wonderful you are. Because sometimes, the shy girls in the audience need a bit of love and attention as well. Even if his music career were to take off, he'd probably still keep stripping because he loves making pretty girls smile.

#f1 x Reader #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #f1 #f1 smut #jenson button x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz jr x reader #charles leclerc x reader #fernando alonso x reader #oscar piastri x reader #valtteri bottas x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader

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crossfandomslut · 2 days

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At Peace in Your Fire (pt2)

Summary: Y/n goes into the the Cauldron, and ends up in Velaris. A strange place with a sentient house and hopefully some new friends. Y/n much navigate what being fae means for her now.

Pairing: Future Eris x Reader ! Eris is in this chapter y'all! It's not much haha I'm dragging it out !

Word Count: 4,900

Notes: I'm so glad people liked the first chapter and I hope you stick with me to see where this story goes ! I wanted to get to know the reader a bit more, and have interactions with the other characters to add depth to the story and who the reader is so that she's not just some rando haha Please comment your thoughts and opinions, I love hearing what you liked about it so I can try to make each chapter better than the last ! Hugs <3

Find part 1 here

Her life flashed before her eyes as the Cauldron scanned through her every memory, as if in search of an answer, but she didn’t know what the question was. All she felt was cold. As the Cauldron raked through images of their mother and her neglect as Feyre and Y/n did whatever they could to get her attention. Even if she was yelling at them, it was better than being ignored. It took Y/n a long time to realize that Nesta wasn’t ‘lucky’ for having all their mothers’ attention. The cold continued to settle into her bones as she watched her mother get sick and their father fall deep into depression after losing his fortune. Flashes of what she had to do with the baker’s son to feed the family some weeks, of Feyre being taken away by Tamlin, of Nesta looking so hopeless as they searched for their sister, and finally of tonight, being taken from their home in the night, the pain of her sister’s faces and the fear that shot through her as her toes touched the Cauldron’s edge. Deeper and deeper the water soaked through her too thin nightgown, into her skin, and settled in her bones. the water the warm when she first touched it, but as she felt herself drift further toward the bottom, an icy cold took over her senses.

At last, a flicker of warmth ran through her as memories played of watching Feyre, Nesta, and Elain try to fit into the too small bed of the cabin as Y/n curled up right in front of the fireplace, laughing at her sisters bickering for space and urging Nesta to move her cold feet away from them. Eventually, her sisters stopped bickering and they too started laughing. Those were the glowing moments of joy they were able to find in the darkest times. The warmth in her body spread as the next memory played; the four of them dancing around a bonfire in the late Summer, early Autumn. Laughing and dancing like idiots because Y/n was able to convince the baker’s son to sneak her a cake. They hadn’t had a real cake, with icing and candles, in years, but she had seen it through the window and knew she needed to share it with her dearest sisters. The leaves were just starting to change color and the warm fire light casted the already orange and red leaves in the most stunning light.

The last memory that played was the night that Nesta brought home paints for Feyre. In the low light of the evening fire, Y/n begrudgingly gave up her spot directly in front of the flame so that Feyre had the best light to paint in. She painted their tiny dresser drawers with something to symbolize each of them. Nesta had her own dresser, full of the beautiful-and large-dresses their mother used to make her wear. Nesta requested her dresser be painted black. Simple, but a bold sentiment. Y/n’s drawer, of course, was painted with flames. It was a well known fact to everyone who met her that Y/n was drawn to the heat and comfort of fire. Sweet Elain’s drawer was painted in the flowers she loved to tend in the rather pathetic gardens. And for a reason she didn’t understand at the time, Feyre painted her drawer with the night sky. Dazzling stars and a bright moon to look down on her wherever she may be.

Y/n’s chest started to glow at that memory and finally she felt warm again, seeing that dingy old cabin, that fireplace lit, and the lives it made brighter, warmer, safer.

A sudden rush of the Cauldron’s freezing water had Y/n gasping for air that was no where to be found. She wasn’t drowning, but she wasn’t breathing either. She was stuck in this terrible, dark, cold place and feeling like all was lost. So, she spoke into the void, “you may take my body and soul, as long as you promise to watch over my sisters. Keep them safe and happy and whole.”

“Your eldest sister took something from me. Something very dark and very important. You are in no position to make a bargain for her safety.” The voice came as a harsh whisper that sounded like death itself. “I will get back what she took, and more, but I haven’t met a being a very long time who was willing to give. For that, I will reward you. What gift I have bestowed upon you, you must find out for yourself. It will either breathe life into what you love most… or suffocate it.”

With those final words spoken straight into her heart, Y/n felt the world shift as she was dumped from the Cauldron, back onto the ice-cold stone floor, soaking wet. The King of Hybern’s magic lifts just enough for Feyre to rush to her and cling to her like life depended on it.

The following events at Hybern will be scarred into Y/n mind for the rest of her newly immortal life. Lucien's painful screaming that Elain was his mate, the human queen going into the Cauldron and coming out old and decrepit because of what Nesta stole from it, Tamlin demanding that the King break the bond between Feyre and Rhysand, and Feyre saying that Rhys had her under a spell all this time.

If it weren’t for their relationship as twins seeming to strengthen now that they were both Fae, and for Feyre’s daemati powers, Y/n would have freaked the fuck out. Lucky for them all, Feyre explained the whole plan, albeit almost too rapidly for Y/n to understand given what she just went through in the Cauldron. Y/n played along and acted disgusted by Rhys and horrified as he winnowed her away. The cry of her sister's name was not forced or faked.

When they landed in what she could only assume was the Night Court, a beautiful female with eerie silver eyes and black hair came rushing around the corner. “Where is she?”

Rhysand explained everything. Only after calling for his best healers to help Cassian and Azriel. By the time he finished, Mor appeared after hiding Y/n's sisters away somewhere that they could rest and process.

“She is your mate, not your spy. Go. Get. Her.” The one with silver eyes, Amren, demanded.

“She is my mate. And my spy. And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.” Rhysand said softer, but not weakly.

“What?” Mor gasped.

Rhysand explained it all, and finally said, “Your High Lady made a sacrifice for her court, and we will move when the time is right.”

“Until then?” Amren asked sharply.

“Until then,” Rhysand spared each of them a glace, “we go to war.”

Mor showed Y/n to her room, told her to ask the house for whatever she needed, and that she should rest for as long as she needed. And that they were all here for her when she was ready to come out.

The first thing Y/n asked the house for was a fire to be lit. She was ready to get on her knees and beg for the heat of it, but when the house responded immediately, Y/n let out a sob and threw herself on the floor in front of the large hearth. She sat with her legs tucked under her, staring into the dancing flames as tears streamed down her face and choked sobs rocked her body. She stared into the blaze. Fire, she thinks, looks alive but is not. It dances and sways in the phantom wind and dries the tears that had long stopped coming. Y/n wished she could climb straight into the inferno and wrap it around herself to make her bed. For a moment she wonders if her new Fae body would allow such a thing, before she grabs a plush red dyed wool blanket, and a soft enough throw pillow from the couch, and she curls up in front of the glowing heat and sparkling embers. Right where she feels the safest and most at home.

Y/n slept off and on for four days if she’s been keeping track of time correctly. The house delivered food, that at first, she was hesitant to touch, because what does a house know about cooking? But once she got hungry enough to try the steaming soup and heavily buttered bread it delivered for dinner on night two, she ate her words. Literally. The house quickly learned that Y/n preferred black tea and something sweet to eat at breakfast, something light and fresh for lunch, and a hearty dense dinner. The fire had remained lit since the first night, when the house thought it would be okay to let it die out once Y/n fell asleep, and Y/n woke up screaming and shaking, nightmares plaguing her. The fire had not gone out again. Not even a flicker.

Y/n was feeling rested and eager to learn if there were any updates about her twin in the Spring Court. She needed to know if Feyre was okay. When she swung the door of her bedroom open, Rhysand was standing there, smirking, looking like he knew every thought in her head.

“I’ll need to teach you about mental shields.” His smirk grew, “you’re just as bad as Feyre was when she first got here, practically shouting your thoughts. I could probably hear you from the house of wind.”

Y/n blinked at him. Sure, she knew that Feyre’s daemati powers allowed her to speak into people’s minds, but to just openly heard other’s thoughts? How miserable that must be.

Rhysand gaped for a fraction of a second after hearing her thoughts, before his brows furrowed. “You- you’re not angry or afraid about the invasion of privacy?”

“I mean, would I prefer you not listen? Sure, but you just said you’d teach me to block you out, so really, I just feel bad for you both. I never want to know what’s going through other’s heads. That’s their business and it probably gets gross and annoying.”

There’s a silent pause before Rhysand throws his back and laughs, “It does get gross, and annoying,” He straightens again and says, "thank you, Y/n. Not many understand that or think about how it feels for us.”

“So then you probably already know that I was about to come find you and ask about Feyre?”

“Yes. Let’s talk about it once you’ve had a bath and change into clean clothes. Have you been sleeping and living in that for four days?” He eyes her absolutely filthy, no longer white, nightgown that she had been wearing when the Hybern soldiers took her.

“Yes. Yes, I have, Rhysand. But I will take that bath and clean clothes. I smell like the deer I killed the day we first met.” Y/n’s face scrunched at the memory of the stench that she never got used to, even after all those years of hunting with Feyre. “I’d say I would come find you, but you’ll probably know exactly when I’m ready.” She winked and tapped her finger to her temple before turning on her heel back into her room. The house must have been listening, because a hot bath was waiting for her in the bathing chambers. Soaps and oils that smelled like pine and cedar, a crackling fire, and the forest after it rains. Y/n had never smelt anything so lavish. Never smelt anything that captured the feeling of home so thoroughly.

Ridding herself of the disgusting nightgown, Y/n went to dip a toe in the steaming water and stopped. It felt so much like the Cauldron. But Y/n, like always, reminded herself to be adaptable. She was fine. This room was nothing like that place. This place had bright windows that lit up the room. She could see the bottom of the tub, nothing like the dark mirky waters she was forced into. She was fine and she was safe. Y/n prided herself on being able to choke her feelings down. She thought that if she could intellectualize her feelings, they wouldn’t be able to control her. It hadn't come to bite her in the ass yet. She calmed her racing heart, and plunged into the hot water and washed herself clean of the memories using the soaps that smelled like home. Those smells soothed her soul like a balm and she started to feel like herself again.

After taking her merry time in the tub, the house keeping the water hot as long as she needed it, Y/n stood and grabbed a towel from the vanity in the corner of the room. Y/n hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror yet, but figured now was as good of a time as any. She sat on the round cushioned stool and slowly lifted her head. She tilted her head back and forth, examining the subtle changes that suddenly made her Fae. She tucked her hair behind her ears to reveal the exaggerated, but soft, pointed ears. Smiled at herself to get a look at the elongated canines, and noticed how bright and sharp her eyes looked. She didn’t have her twin’s steely blue eyes, her father said she had his mother’s eyes. Y/n looked into her own y/e/c eyes and just blinked a few times. She was most definitely Fae now. And she would adapt.

Getting dressed quickly, Y/n stepped into the hall to find Rhysand, already waiting for her. He examined her loose, flowy brown pants, and the soft grey seater she chose. “No Night Court black?”

She tripped over her own foot at the words, “oh- oh no, I’m sorry, I’ve offended you. I’ll go change-!

“No! No, Y/n stop,” he gently griped her arm to prevent her from running back in her room. “It didn’t even occur to me that you might feel comfortable in something else. I’m the one who’s sorry.” He tilts his head, so their eyes meet.

“I just feel better in colors that remind me of the woods we grew up in. It makes me feel like myself in their new, strange body and this new world we’ve been brought into. I did not have any intention of disrespecting you or your home, Rhysand.”

“Please, Y/n, call me Rhys. We are family now, right? Humans would call us, ‘in-laws’?” His smile grew as Y/n’s lips twitched into their own smile, his hand dropping from her arm.

“Of course, Rhys. I’m glad to know my sister has found someone who loves her so well. I look forward to getting to know you as we work to bring Feyre home.”

“Yes, let’s get to work on that. Follow me.” Rhys guides her down the hall and through the foyer into a large seating area. Mor, Cassian, Azriel and Amren are all speaking lowly. Rhys clears his throat as he and Y/n enter the room, and all eyes fall on Y/n. More is the first to stand up and wrap her in a tight embrace. Y/n is shocked for a brief moment, before wrapping her arms around Mor in return.

Mor pulls back with tears in her eyes to say, “we love your sister so much. We are honored to have you in our family too. We will get her back.” Y/n smiles at her fondly and Mor turns to sit back down next to Cassian. Cassian and Azriel both smile and wave at her, just like they did the first time they met in the human lands. Amren and Y/n exchange nods, and Y/n predicts that is the most emotion she’ll ever see from the female.

Rhys is the first to speak next. “Let’s get started shall we?” He took a seat in the remaining armchair, and Y/n took up a spot on the floor, directly in front of the fireplace. Her favorite place to be. “Y/n, you don’t have to sit on the floor. We can ask the house to provide another chair.”

“I’m perfectly content right here, but thank you, Rhys,” Y/n went as far as to shuffle further back toward the heat.

Azriel’s usually calculated expression fell as he stared at her in total confusion. Never had he seen someone look like they wanted to be consumed by flames. He couldn’t even comprehend it. He schooled his features when he felt Cassian pop him in the ribs with his elbow and clear this throat.

“As you wish. Azriel, I know you’re still recovering, and I do not want you to push it, but have your shadows told you anything?”

“Not much. Feyre is still hardly allowed to leave the house, Lucien is still warry of her, and Tamlin is none the wiser. She isn’t eating enough.” He says the last part so quietly and with so much anger, a shiver runs down Y/n spine. She decides to never get on Azriel’s bad side.

“Have you heard from her? Can’t you two talk through your minds or something?” Cassian asks.

“Not much. We don’t want Tamlin, or Lucien for that matter, to get suspicious. But when we do speak, she sounds so far away and it’s an effort to keep the line open. Something isn’t right, but I don’t know what it is. When she was in Spring before it wasn’t this hard. It has to be Hybern’s presence there.”

“So all we can do is sit around and wait for more information?” Mor asks incredulously.

“I wish it could say otherwise, but for now, yes. Azriel and Cassian, you need to heal and get back to training, so we’re prepared when something changes and we have to move.” They call nod their agreement and accept that it’s all they can do right now.

“I want to train too.” Y/n’s voice startles them, as if they forgot she was there.

“Of course, we’ll work on your mental shields and-“

“No- I’m sorry- I don’t mean to interrupt. I mean, yes, I do want to train with you to build my mental shield, but I also want to train with Cassian and Azriel. I want to feel strong. I want to be strong. I never want what happened in Hybern to happen again. I never want to feel helpless like that and I want to help my sister.” Y/n was firm and confident when she locked eyes with Rhys, even as tears welled in her waterline.

“Okay. Whatever you need, we’ll do it.” Rhys looked at her like he could see right through her. To the scared little girl who lost her mother, who had to learn to hunt and steal and sell her body for godsdamned bread. She had never felt so vulnerable, and she quickly broke the stare.

“Are you okay with that?” Y/n asked Cassian and Azriel.

“Yes.” “Of course.” They replies in unison.

“Thank you.”

The day turned into evening and the group is still sitting around the tiny coffee table in that grand living room. Just relaxing in each other’s presence and sharing stories with Y/n, learning more about her. “Everyone thinks that the fire painted on the drawer was for Nesta because she is so fierce, but it’s not true,” Y/n chuckles fondly as she thinks of her sharp tongued eldest sister. “I have always been drawn to the flames. Even as a baby, my parents had to keep candles far away from me.” That gets a laugh from everyone in the room. Even Amren lets out a short breath that could be considered a laugh.

“So which one was Nesta’s? Don’t tell me it was the flowers,” Cassian asked. You could tell he was attached to her, even though they had only a few brief interactions and Nesta was far less than pleasant.

“Nesta had her own full wardrobe, painted black and full of dresses our mother stuffed her into when she gave her those awful etiquette lessons.” Y/n shuddered at the memory. And then paused, just now realizing that she had no idea where her sisters were. Her heart started racing and her eyes shot to Rhys’s, knowing he had already heard every thought.

“They’re safe. They aren’t adapting as well as you are, but they’re safe and they’re okay. I promise you; I will not let anything happen to them.” Y/n laughed internally as that word. Adapting. It’s what she was best at she supposed.

Weeks had passed and Y/n had been dedicated to training with Cassian and Azriel at least once every day, sometimes twice if her energy is pent up enough. And she has a lesson with Rhys everyday too. She’s learning to read, and her mental shield is solid. Her body had never felt so strong. It was a real hit to her ego though to learn that she had been carrying her body weight wrong and lifting deer over her shoulders incorrectly her whole life. Training with Azriel was calmer than training with Cassian. Azriel moved with so much grace and control and was making you learn all the movements and balance exercises. Cassian was intense. Teaching you how to move swiftly to block and avoid kicks and punches. The fact that was going easy on you was an even bigger hit to your ego.

On this particular day, Y/n trained with Azriel in the morning, noticing how much more balanced her body felt, could isolate muscles and utilize them. After lunch was her lesson with Rhys. She’s able to push him out of her mind now, still with some effort, but she doesn’t break out in a sweat now. She spent the afternoon resting and reading when Cassian stormed into the library and asked if she wanted to train. That brought them to the training area on the townhouse. Cassian complains that it isn’t as big as the one at the house of wind, but it did the job. Cassian had just gotten back from visiting the house of wind and he was angry. He was throwing punches and seeming to forget who he was sparring with. He was moving too fast and punching too hard, but Y/n couldn’t seem to get the words out to tell him to stop. He advanced forward and as she backed up, she stumbled, allowing Cassian to land a punch straight to her jaw. Her head rattled but before she could even register the pain, she yelled, teeth bared and fists clenched to her side, “ENOUGH CASSIAN!”

The world stopped, and after two, three, four heartbeats she realized Cassian wasn’t breathing. He was staring at her as his eyes went wide and he grabbed his throat. He crashed to his knees and reached for her hands. Releasing her tight grip on her own fists, air rushed back into Cassian’s lung. He gasped for breath as Y/n fell to her knees too and let out a sob. “I am so sorry Cassian. I am so so sorry; I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry.” She somehow managed to get the words out between sobs and gasping for air.

“Y/n, Y/n it’s okay! I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t believe I hit you, I am so sorry Y/n. Please, look at me, I need you to breathe. I’m okay. I’m sorry.” He held her and rocked her back and forth until her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace and she could lift her head to look at him. “Shit. Rhys is going to kill me when he sees that bruise on your face. Mor might beat him to it though. I’m so sorry.”

Y/n stands up and walks to the bathing room down the hall. Cassian ran to her when he heard her start…laughing? The picture in front of him as he skidded around the corner was one he could never have predicted. Y/n was clutching her stomach, leaning over the sink and laughing hysterically at her reflection. Cassian had punched her so hard that the bruising started at her jaw and gave her a black eye. Cassian was horrified, but Y/n just kept laughing, so eventually, he did too. Mor, Rhys, and Azriel came running around the corner too, wondering what the commotion was about. When they saw Y/n face, a collective, “what the fuck Cass?” Was sounded by the other three Fae. This made Y/n and Cassian double down and laugh even harder.

When they caught their breath again, Cassian stood up proudly, patted Y/n on the back and said, “I helped Y/n discover her powers today. No big deal,” he said with no small amount of smugness.

“You mean you needed a punching bag and I had to defend myself?” Y/n quirked a brow at him.

“Semantics!” He argued.

“Wait wait wait, Y/n has powers?” Rhys’s eyes went hazy as he mentally called for Amren. “Tell me everything.”

Y/n recounted the events of their fight and how she literally took his breath away. She didn’t know she was controlling any magic; she hadn’t felt it rise up, but it must have subconsciously come to her defense.

“You’re going to have to drop down to one lesson with Cass and Az a day and pick up an extra with me and Amren. We need to learn more about this power. Power gifted by the Cauldron itself is new territory for all of us. We don’t know what the boundaries of your power are.” The sudden seriousness in Rhys’s face felt sobering as Y/n and Cassian were pulled out of their laughter and back into the reality of who and what Y/n was. Cauldron made.

Another few weeks passed of training non-stop. The magic was a lot harder for Y/n to figure out than the fighting. As of today, she can suck the air out of a room that’s about 12ft by 12ft and hold it for five minutes before faltering, and she can send a blast of air and knock Cassian over from 30ft away. Cassian was used as the dummy for both tests as an apology for decking her in the face.

Y/n was in the middle of her reading lesson for the day when Azriel came crashing into the room. “We found her. Feyre got out of Spring; we have to get her. We need your help and your magic.”

She was up in an instant. She didn’t care that she wasn’t in fighting leathers, she just needed to get to her sister. Before she had a chance to ask any questions, Azriel grabbed her and jumped from the balcony. Y/n hadn’t flown before. Never wanted to be a burden to the Illyrians. But wow, what an experience. Azriel quickly caught up to Cassian and the three of them flew swiftly and precisely.

“Where are we going?” Y/n noticed the moment they left Velaris and the landscape changed to an icy tundra. She missed the heat and comfort of her spot in front of the fireplace in the library already.

“The Winter Court. I’m sorry there wasn’t time to get you in warmer clothes. I know you have a hard time with the cold. I should have prepared you.” Azriel felt terrible, but Feyre needed them. Y/n would adapt.

“It’s okay, Az. Feyre is more important. I’m okay,” and she meant it.

The touchdown was quick. Not a lot of time to slow down and land gently. The Illyrians landed and shook the ground. Azriel was softer about letting Y/n down. Before her was quite possibly her worst nightmare unfolding. Her twin sister, her favorite person in the entire world, was being restrained by the thing that brought her the most peace. A strange male was standing above her sister, using his gift of fire to hold her at her wrists and her neck. Y/n was frozen in place. Her mind went blank as her body was slammed with fear and disgust at the gross misuse of the flames licking at her sister’s throat. It felt like a violation to her very core. Her very soul was raging at the sight. Not only for her sister being in danger, but because of the way the male was using the thing Y/n held closest to her heart and found the most precious, as a weapon to do harm.

“Y/n! Y/n!” She was thrust back into reality by Cassian’s large hands shaking her back to consciousness. She blinked at him a few times before looking over his shoulder to see Azriel already taking down the other red-headed males and saving another. Lucien. Lucien was on Feyre’s side? Blinking again and trying to remain present, she and Cassian turned to the male holding Feyre. “Now, Y/n.”

With those two words form Cassian, Y/n approached the male, and he had the audacity to laugh at her. Granted, she was still in her house slippers, baggy linen pants and oversized sweater, so she wasn’t looking her most intimidating. But he quickly stopped laughing as Y/n lifted her hands above her head, closed her fists, and threw her hands down to her side. It didn’t take long for the male to realize that he could no longer take a breath. So focused on clawing at his throat, he didn’t notice that his flames had no oxygen to restrain his hostage either. Cassian, being well versed in her magic, ran into the void she’d created, grabbed Feyre, who unfortunately also couldn’t breathe, and got her out of your field of magic. Azriel was there with Lucien in a second, Mor winnowing in to grab Y/n, Cassian, and Feyre.

They landed in the townhouse seconds later, Azriel and Lucien not far behind. Y/n was in her sister’s arms before anyone could blink. They held each other tightly, but Feyre looked over Y/n shoulder to Mor.

“He’s on his way. He’s far away, but he is rushing home to you as fast as he can. He felt the bond and sent us ahead to get you.” Mor was crying too, and Y/n turned to wave her into their hug. Right now, her sister was home and everything else could wait for tomorrow. Even if Y/n couldn't stop thinking about that red haired male on the frozen lake today. the way he laughed at her and made her feel small, and she sucked the air from his lungs like it was nothing. She thought it would have made her feel good. but it didn't, and she wasn't sure why. She would fall asleep picturing his fearful face for many nights.

Taglist: @abysshaven @minaethrym @ivy-34 @stained-glass-eyes0708

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #autumn court #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra #eris x y/n #eris x reader

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