Sorry for the lag in content y'all. Grad school is tough and my final exams have been kicking me in the kneecaps................................
..... also I actually messed up my kneecaps and now need PT 😅
Hopefully, by next week I will finally have some time to work on the ha//z//bin comic. Man, I have missed drawing T-T
Thanks guys!
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I feel like Alastor doesn't like being perceived when he's feeling even slightly under the weather. I also feel like he probably has quite a few different things he's allergic to but has gotten good at avoiding said things.
The idea of being seen as anything less than the horrifying hell beast he is makes his skin crawl.
Listen.
We saw this man have a panic attack, not just over his own ego getting an ass beating and y'know the whole holy attack on his fucking torso, but at the mere thought of ANYONE thinking he could give two shits about someone other than himself and his quest for power.
Like he absolutely will slink into the darkest pit of Hell before he let's anyone see him sick/weak/etc. Of all the things he's terrified of, not being seen as absolutely, unnervingly powerful and demonic is one of them.
He's so paranoid and hyper aware and yet we see him get too comfortable at the hotel. So I'm hoping in season 2 we get to see more of him being absolutely on edge and ready to snap if someone so much as glances at him wrong.
We officially diagnose him with: The Issues.
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Dreadful Timing (Haz/bin Ho/tel, Al/astor, wip)
No, no, no. Not now.
Ideally, not ever, but especially not now.
Alastor's slated to be on air in five or so minutes, and he's not about to forego his punctuality just because of a tiny, insignificant tickle. It dawns on him, just how ridiculous the situation is; he's an all-powerful, almighty, feared Overlord of Hell who can slaughter denizens in the blink of an eye, but can't fight back against a would-be sneeze. Hell, he can't even sneeze on command. Anything at the snap of his fingers, with this one silly exception...
In theory.
It's a poor idea. Stupid and horrifyingly desperate. But he's alone, and the radio tower is an entirely separate entity; everyone in the hotel knows better than to come knocking between the hours of x and y. He casts a cautious glance at his shadow, chides himself for being afraid of a literal extension of his demonic form, triple checks that he's not broadcasting, and snaps his fingers.
Seconds pass. The itch is no better or worse. Nothing's changed. He's one of the most feared entities this side of Pentagram City, known for his fantastical methods of brutality with the sheer, raw power to do whatever he wants. Ripping souls to pieces? Easy. Shoving creatures into dimensional pockets of eternal suffering? Piece of cake.
Conjuring a microscopic cloud of dust for the purpose of coaxing out just one sneeze? Oh, heavens no, that's asking far too much.
Alastor’s gearing up to take his frustrations out on anything outside with a pulse, but the second he's on his feet he starts to feel it. That slow, smoldering itch in the back of his nose starts crawling forward, and in just the right light, he sees the faint wisps of dust floating carelessly in the air.
Finally.
The clock is still visible through his fluttering lashes, and as the tickle sets in, so does the realization that he's made a mistake. Fortunately, he's actually plenty capable of creating dust particles; they just so happen to be the kind that turns the intensity dial from two to eleven.
(No, he did not miscalculate and ask for too much. He's just that talented when it comes to torture of the nose.)
What would otherwise be a small lapse in judgment sits heavy in his head. The radio demon does not make mistakes, alone or with company. (He's also fairly certain that Vox tunes in now and then, and if Alastor isn't on time with his show, he'll never hear the end of it.)
"Hh-h!"
Hurriedly, he checks his pockets.
"Hihh-hh! Ehh... F-fuhh-fuck."
Alastor resigns himself to a shameful fate of one cloud of dust and exactly zero handkerchiefs. Oh, he shudders to think of what la mère would have to say about his lack of manners. Absolutely trembles at the thought; feels it in the arrhythmic shaking of his shoulders, his ebb and flow of tightness in his chest.
"hh-! Ihh-heh!"
'I'm alone. I'm alone, I'm alone, everything's fine.'
And yet, his instincts win out. Isolated or not, there's an unwavering urge to suppress any sign of weakness, any lack of control, anything that puts him on the same level as all the others. Alastor presses the back of his hand to his nose, rubbing with precise fury as his internal mantra marches on in time with each hitchy gasp and the occasional groan of discomfort.
"Ehh-hh hihh! Hehhdt--! ... Hhhah-!"
His nostrils flare against his fingers, eyelids heavy with urgency, chest rising and falling in these awful, unpredictable, uncontrollable increments. Alastor can't keep his lips from parting further, from falling out of his signature smile. He's not fully dressed without one. He's exposed.
Vulnerable.
'I'm alone. No one else will know. I'm alone, I–!'
“Hheehh-hih! Hihh-heht-!”
'I really need to sneeze.'
It's almost funny to realize that this may be the last truly human thing about himself, the way his hand limply flutters near his face right before he sneezes. Old habits really do die hard. His head lulls back, and immediately snaps forward in a graceless act of release.
"Ehhdht-zzzshiw! HIIH-SHDZZSHU! Oh," he blinks rapidly through the tears of irritation forming at his lash line, "pardon meeee-eehshizzew! Fuck, I--haah!"
Just can't seem to stop--!
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That A/lastor dog allergy comic has me foaming at the mouth it's so cuteee. When you finish, maybe I could turn it into a wav, or something?
Le Gasp! I would be honored, dear Poni! Thank you so much!!!! Love your work, so I am absolutely extatic that you like it <3
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Current WIP list:
"Faking someone else's sickness" fic with Al/as/tor
Hus/ker/dust fic with Hu/sk getting a chest cold and An/gel reminiscing on why he's so good at taking care of ppl with chest colds from when he was alive
Ro/sie and Al/ast/or fic where Ro/sie gets laryngitis and plays charades to tell him what she wants.
Vo/x and his assistant, getting a glimpse of TV man's vulnerable side
Cha/ggie fic where Vag/gie has a bad cold and can't get any rest at the hotel, so Char/lie sends her to Car/mi/lla to play video games <3
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Ask Game for the illness&injury/snz/whump/sphere 🥰 (I tried to word these as broadly as possible to apply to the most people heehee)
Put an emoji (or several) in the ask box of the person you reblogged this from and the person who reblogs it from you!
🌟 - What illness symptom/torture tactic/snz trigger do you have the most fun portraying or reading?
👤 - Describe your current favorite character (including OCs)
🖋 - What is your favorite media that you have made? (Illustrations, writing of any kind, WAVs, manips, etc).
💓 - What is your favorite thing about this community?
🤩 - Is there any symptom/torture tactic/snz trigger that you haven't portrayed or seen yet that you'd like to try?
📖 - Recommend some media that has a good i&i/whump/snz scene
🌡 - Giving your character a fever: yea or nay
🐑 - What scenario are you currently thinking about before bed?
👃🏼 - What would you like to do with your blorbo's nose? (Break it? Tickle it with a feather? Wipe it with tissues? The possibilities are endless!)
🖥 - What is the first website where you started engaging with i&i/whump/snz? (Or was it irl? A webring? Zines?)
🤧 - Do you prefer stoic characters or characters who complain?
🆎️ - Have you ever made a scenario post that uses "A" and "B" as stand-ins for character names? Would you?
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