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safination · 3 months

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Partners in Death…and Life

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

| Part 1: Radio's Not Dead |Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should be Trusted| Masterlist | ao3 Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Hello, I’m back :D This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got busy. Anyway, thank you for all the likes so far. It motivated me to really finish this chapter. Also once again, I have everything planned out, it really is just a matter of writing it down. *Updated 28/02/2024 Just added some stuff that I thought made sense*

Flick…

Lights flicker above you with a slight buzz. You drape an arm over your eyes when the gleam of the bulb blind you.

The hardwood floors chill your skin, but it’s the sensation of casual loose clothing on your back that warrants your exhale in peace. Just a second. You just need a moment on these hard and chilling floors to ground you… just… one … single … moment to…

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

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

Your nose scrunches into a hard scowl, and you jump up, stomping into the kitchen toward that untouched coffee mug on your counter. Grabbing it, you splash the contents down the sink, letting it flush down the drain.

The sponge is rough against your hands as you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub a̵̯͒n̴̤͝d̶̫͌ ̶͚̇y̶̤̎o̷͔̓u̶̢͐ ̸̓͜s̵̪͗c̸͎͂r̷̀ͅṳ̴̎b̸͖̀ ầ̷̩̯͍̙̳̍͗͘ń̵̰̞̰̕d̴͇̻̮̫̝̓̎̈́ ̶̡̬̬̮̺͗͒́̌͑y̴̙̘̻͇̿̉̐͆ǫ̷͉̟̍̅̑̏ŭ̸̖͓ͅ ̴̛̝͇̭̥̌́́̂s̸̠̑̽̏́c̷̥̺̃̾̊r̶̲̯̈́̈̄͆͊u̵̼̝͕̼̇̍̈́͘b̶͍͖͖̐̾͝.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

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

An audible grumble… well, uhhhhh…. grumbles from where your stomach is placed in this body, and you munch on your lips to keep the inhumane screech from erupting into the kitchen and breaking all kinds of glassware and little knickknacks that Alastor filled your home with.

(These days, the old trinkets collect dust on your shelves. There haven’t been any new ones in years.)

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

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

Ad about some impish business—Not interested.

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

Cooking Venison with Vox— Lame.

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

The sounds from the television swap with the silence of your living-room as you take each bite. It’s one of the sadder habits you’ve picked up since purchasing this noisy picture box.

Your eyes wander to that half-filled coat rack, while your ears listen in on the show and that woman did not just say that pink would go with brown. Only your singular coat drapes on the hinge, when this particular design was made to hold two.

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

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

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

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

Another blink.

Huh…you’re on the bus.

The sign says it’s headed into the city. Living on the outskirts has always been beneficial for you. Not today, though. Today, the one-hour commute makes your feathers bristle.

You read the barely eligible address scribbled on the note, and pat your hair, smoothing the flared feathers sticking out. It seems…

Hmmmmm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuuussseeeee me.”

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

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

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

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

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

You follow in silence.

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

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

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

You give him your name “….Doctor.”

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

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

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

One of the inky shadow servants waves at you.

You wave back.

Light streams from the glass doors. You blink a few times, adjusting to the sudden change of brightness. Circus-themed stained glass decorate the front entrance. One of the less tacky – but still tacky – designs of this hotel.

Sir Pentious taps the glass with the tips of his finger, clinking with each tap, and his eyes water in excitement. His nose crinkles when he takes a deep breath. You weren’t aware he even owned a nose. Sir Pentious fiddles with the flap of his hat, and bangs on the door.

Your smile strains after a minute of banging.

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

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

A punch to the face is his reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do not shed.

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

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

“None taken,” you say, dryly.

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

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

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

Vaggie calms her down.

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

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

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

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

Husk doesn’t answer you.

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

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

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

“Hello, Niffty.” You smile at her.

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

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

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

“Maybe next ti—”

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

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

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

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

You hold your husband’s gaze and greet him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you mean the good nurse.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have such beautiful handiwork.”

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

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

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

Alastor is following you.

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

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

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

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

He takes the bottle from you.

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

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

“That is because I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such interesting hobbies you have.”

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

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

You offer your basket and Alastor drops it right in.

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

He nods, smiling at you.

You smile back.

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

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie whips her head, mouth wide as she stares at you and then at Alastor. Angel Dust has an arm on his hips, his brows furrowed and mouth quirked to the side an awkward but rather cute frown. Sir Pentious’ hat squints at you with what you assume is confusion—you can’t really tell. Sir Pentious’s tongue sticks out of his bewildered and crooked frown. “Oh! How nice,” Charlie says after a beat. “So, you two know each other?”

“Partners,” you say

“Friends,” Alastor says

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has it really been that long?”

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

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

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

The kitchen intimidates you. So many large and metallic machines. You’re sure it would be a living hell should you ever need to operate such an unorthodox set of appliances.

Copper-red tables fill the space, and similar colored cabinets stick to the wall. Such peculiar stoves they have in this establishment. There seems to be no space for the gas tank, nor a gas burner, just some flat glass with weird markings. You prefer the appliances stashed at your home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soft static fills the kitchen air.

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

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

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

“Er…yes?”

You open a random cabinet door, and huh…

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

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

Alastor closes the cabinet with a gentle click.

Your smile fades, and he holds your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Pentious and his hat scowl at the ‘absolutely inferior ssssmmelting of this handle, Charlie’ and ‘this piss poor wiring. The endsss are not aligned to the proper sssssafety guidelineeeesss’ or something.

Charlie listens in on every word, nodding to indicate that she hears each and everyone. It makes you smile. Alastor picks at your stray feathers with the tip of his fingers, preening the areas you have difficulty reaching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You slap him.

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

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

You slap him again, staring down at him.

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

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

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

“Maybe they should—someone certainly has to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s his silence that makes you turn away.

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

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

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

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

Alastor does not answer you.

“Will you just stay silent every time?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed.”

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

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

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

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

Alastor points his nose to the air with a huff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smile relaxes. “I do, indeed!”

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

A knock breaks the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie pouts, but she doesn’t press you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not at all, my love.”

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

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

“Much better?” he asks.

“Indeed,” you say, softly.

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

“Good.”

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

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

“Of course.”

“See to it that you keep your word.”

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

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

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

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

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

You sigh, breathy and exhilarated, and begin.

‘First, do no harm’

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

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

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

#alastor x reader #Alastor x wife!reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #Hazbin x reader #Hazbin Hotel imagines #Hazbin imagines #Hazbin Hotel x reader #alastor #alastor x wife reader

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

Text

how about that uhhhhh Fantasy Julie. she gets her sword <3 no one can take it from her <3

rambles:

SIKE you get an extra, lower quality doodle

SIKE AGAIN here's the rambles

yeah... i caved and gave her a tail... I'm Not Sorry! it's cute! i wanted to stick with her sorta flower motif - it's stronger in her princess look, since I imagine that when she was part of the royals she was very blatantly flower power based. it was her Thing!

but a Julie free of her noble shackles... she deserves her big sword. like yeah, she has flower magic, but who needs it when she has a Giant Blade??? on the royalty vein, and if we're classifying "rainbow monster" as a species, i feel like horn size/curve would be a status symbol of some kind. maybe Julie would have kept her horns filed short. but if she ran away from that life... longer horns! i like to imagine that they'll keep growing until she has a pair of Extra Weapons attached to her head! curved forward like mammoth tusks maybe!

i imagine that like Frank, she goes with minimal armor - range of movement over protection, yk? some scale mail over her front, a thick leather flower over her chest w/ scalloped leather pauldrons, wrist armor and metal knuckles! i'd think that the faux-suspenders include a back sheath for her sword... i wish i'd thought of that Before i finished the little ref! i don't feel like going back and editing!

i imagine that she was forced to cut her hair when it got caught in something (a gelatinous cube, mayhaps). it didn't look good! don't let anime and Mulan fool you! cutting your own hair with a blade will not look nice! but someone - Eddie, probably, he's good with scissors i'd assume - cleaned it up for her. and hey, it didn't look bad! plus, Julie probably liked being able to just tuck up her long strands into her hat when she's feeling a bit more like a Julius than a Julie!

it's been a fun challenge transforming their canon outfits into a similar variation with fantasy flavoring and twists! i want them to suit the setting but still maintain Themselves! Julie's was tough i gotta admit. i was messing around with the princess look and the fighter look side-by-side. it worked better when i sat back and thought "fighter Julie is Julie unrestrained. that version would be more aligned with her canon look"

i wanted her princess form to look Restrained! she has to be a ~delicate flower~, a noble woman, pristine and poised and very much a princess. soft colors, poofy clothing, bright white gloves that are not to be sullied. carefully bundled up hair! jewelry! that dress must be Heavy and hard to move in! her tail must be so cramped under there!

but Julie Unleashed? violent pinks! rose gold accents! short skirt so that she can sprint and Kick! fun boots that she can be active in and delight in watching them get dirty! her hair is free to whip in the wind and get caught in things! fun straps and Deadly Accessories! a sword that she stole from the royal armory on her way out the window! she has forearm wraps both to match Frank and to support her wrists!

#yessss this was mainly an excuse to draw jules with short hair and a tail. i do not apologize #i like to think that poppy has a bottomless bag that she's too scared to use herself #but everybody keeps things in there #julie keeps her hair-hiding-hat in there and some pants and a cape for that Julius Vibe #(yes i could have gone with julian. but julius makes me think of orange julius and. yum)#i've said in initial rambles that i think that julie has Mild plant magic #I TAKE THAT BACK SHE'S SO FUCKING POWERFUL #i think she could hold her own against wally here tbh!#she wouldn't win if home had the reins but yk! it would still be Close!#but why would she use boring magic when she can slash punch kick #she can definitely talk to all plants. like im carrying that over thats so cool #trees warning her of an ambush... trodden-on flowers pointing her in the direction of her quarry...#roots arching out of the ground to trip anyone about to beat her in a race #scribble salad #wh fantasy au #so in canon julie left The Cave #which. fuck is that supposed to be a reference to plato's cave? ok no now's not the time for speculation #so she left the cave to seek out a life of her own #so i imagine that she left the royal life for much the same reason! she didn't want to sit on a throne in a poofy dress and lead!#she wanted to Adventure! see the world! be unrestrained!#i imagine that her repeated sneaking out is how she met frank - then when she ran she went to him cause she knew he wanted to leave #and she went 'hey im ditching this joint wanna come' and Of Course the answer was yes!#adventuring duo that never regret it for a second!#also as im making refs im adding them to a Lineup. which i'll post when ive collected all the pokemon (neighbors). size refs!!!

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thee-great-enigma · 5 months

Note

not a request but... kaeya in a corset. kae in a nice fancy corset that's all delicate laces and tight silks, flush against his pretty form. I'm DEAD he's so hot auhhhh. that's all I can think about... just thought I'd put that image in ur head ❤️

ps I do a little dance when I see a notif w your username in my activity cuz ur comments n writings r so good auuu hope u have a great day/night💫💫

Oh my gosh tysm. Kaeya is way too damn pretty for his own good I swear. I'd like to thank you for this image, I'll keep it in my Kaeya filing cabinet forever. He's so pretty I can't even 😩 😩 😩 😩 😩 Also, you have no idea how awesome you just made me feel reading this. This is my first ask, plus I really really look up to you because you're writing is so good. Like I've read your mahogany series (mainly the Kaeya one) again and again. You're literally like the best 💙💙💙

Not a request but I'm gonna write for it anyway bc you deserve it ^μ^

Pairing: Kaeya Alberich x male reader

Summery: Kaeya wears a fancy lacey corset and reader gets a little too horny (there will be a part 2 for the smut, I've just gotta work out some stuff)

POV: 2nd person (you, yours, yourself)

Notes: Reader is male and referred to as (?), gonna do a part 2 for this of the actual smut, kind of rushed?

Warnings: •⚠️⚠️⚠️• uhhhhh horniness ×10, pretty Kae, simping behavior, ripped clothing, idk if this counts but corset horniness, male genitalia mentioned a little bit, uh Idrk, if I missed any let me know 😗

Leave the corset on.

You fiddled with one of the calla lilies in the bouquet. He was taking an awfully long time.

See, a few hours ago, you'd decided to actually go to the windblume festival this year with someone you really liked. Kaeya Alberich. You knew he probably had a bunch of people in Monstadt drooling over him, which is why you wanted to ask him as soon as possible. So you'd invited him out to Windrise and told him you needed to tell him something really important. He'd chuckled and given you a knowing look as if he could already guess what you wanted to ask. But you'd rushed off before he could do anything but nod.

"Sorry (?), I got a bit held up with the Acting Grand Master." Said the familiar, silky voice of Monstadt's Cavalry Captain, and Monstadt's most beautiful man. Monstadt's most beautiful man who'd clipped his little longer portion of hair into a high ponytail and combed his bangs back a bit to accentuate his face. His pretty little face. Which currently had a slight bit of shimmering highlighter on his defined cheekbones, a few beads of sweat on his forehead, and bright blue eyeliner forming a small wing at the corner of his narrow, bright eye.

"No troubles. Oh here, this is for you. Sorry I may have picked at the petals a bit." You said with a shy giggle, handing him the small bouquet of calla lilies. As he smiled and grabbed it, you noticed something. A corset. Kaeya already had a slim waist, he didn't need a corset, but he looked so good wearing one. It was navy blue and lacey, satin trim. It hugged his petite figure perfectly and made his chest look delicious delightful.

"—llo? Hello? World to (?). Anybody in there?" You hadn't even heard what Kaeya had said a few seconds prior. The only reason you noticed he was speaking was because he got close to your face and gently grabbed your chin, making you look at his face instead of his perfect little hips that looked like they'd fit wonderfully into the palms of your hands.

"Oh! Oh uh....yeah sorry. Guess I got distracted. What were you saying?" You questioned, giving a nervous chuckle and rubbing the back of your neck, trying to stand in a way that his the growing bulge in your pants. You couldn't fathom how horny you had to be to get hard just seeing Kaeya in a corset. You felt a little ashamed.

"I asked what you wanted to talk about. You didn't bring me here just to give me a bouquet did you? Not that I'd mind, since I got to see you even if for just a fleeting moment." Kaeya gave a sly chuckle, a hint of knowingness behind that fake innocence in his gaze.

He was teasing. And it was working.

"Oh—I uh...I just um..." Fuck fuck fuck. You'd rehearsed this in the mirror, written it down in a notebook a million times like a script, contemplated writing it on your hand, you'd even practiced it while walking to the big tree. So why couldn't you get it out now? "I just w– wanted to know if you'd like um...to go to the Windblume festival with me. I mean, I'd understand if you're already going with someone, or i– if you just didn't want to go or um—" "I'd love to."

It took you a second to register Kaeyas words, standing dumbfounded. "W– What?" "I'd love to go to the Windblume festival with you, (?)." You had to conceal every reaction that threatened to leak out of you right then and there. And that bastard was just smiling innocently, looking all polite and pretty. You played it off with a chuckle, holding both hands in front of the increasingly tightening tent in your pants, trying to hide it. You couldn't get the images out of your head, images of him—

"(?)? You look nervous. Is something wrong?"

"What? Uh n—" You wanted to say no. But something was very much wrong. The problem was that he wasn't sitting naked underneath you with a fucked out expression on his face, your cock buried deep inside him. That's what was wrong. "Actually. Yeah."

"Oh? Well I'd be happy to help with anything."

"Anything?"

"Of course, dear (?)."

"Then sit on that root, take off your clothes and spread your pretty little legs. Oh and uh....leave the corset on."

—————————————‡——————————————

Reader rn. Also thanks @silkval for this amazing idea. Like I truly look up to you man/girl/non-binary pal. I legit like did a happy little yell I'm so glad no body heard me, I sounded like a five year old who just found a bunch of candy

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sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year

Note

me again :) i’ve been thinking a lot about javier peña and how i want him to be mine so bad thanks to tiktok💘 the idea i mentioned to you was reader and javi in a long distance relationship and just the phone conversation between the two of them. it could be fluffy or lean on the side of phone sex but literally anything where he’s speaking to the reader is perfect! can you tell i’m really into pedro’s voice? lol🤭

UHHHHH BESTTIE!!!! My first Javi request😌 TUMBLR THERE IS NO SMUT IN THIS, IT'S JUST FLIRTING AND FLUFFY PLEASE DON'T PUT A WARNING ON THIS.

"I did my nails today." I sigh, looking at the red tinge on my fingers and toes with a fond smile, knowing how much Javi loves when I get myself all pretty for him.

"Yeah?" Javier asks softly, his voice sending shivers down my spine, especially after not hearing from him for nearly three days. "What color?" He asks but I can hear the smile in his tone, knowing he already knows what color I chose.

"Your favorite." I hum with a smirk, twirling the cord on the phone while I curl up on his side of the bed, heart aching at the fact that I can no longer smell his cologne on his pillow.

"Red?"

"Yes."

"You should send me some polaroids." He offers with a sense of mischief in his voice and I giggle, eyes rolling at his pervy thoughts.

"Should I?" He laughs through the line and my whole body warms at the noise, a sense of adoration and appreciation consuming me as I desperately wish to be right there beside him in his Colombian home.

"I miss you." He whispers, a tinge of sadness to his voice.

"I miss you too. It's been awfully boring here. Just the cat and me." I reach down to pet my calico beauty Riley in my lap and she purrs happily, nudging her face against my hand just like she does to Javi when he's home. "I need my man here to spice up my life in more ways than one."

"I'm working on it, sweetheart." Though my words were meant to be teasing, there's an honest frustration to his own words and I realize how tired he must be and how much he must want to be home with me. "What else did you do today other than paint your nails and miss me?"

"Bought some groceries, bought a ticket to Columbia, got a new litterbox-"

"Wait what?" He cuts me off and I can hear the line rustle on his end, almost as if he's moving to catch up with the huge bomb I just dropped on him. Playing dumb, I roll my eyes teasingly and give him the best show I can give.

"What?" I ask dumbly, hearing him scoff loudly and impatiently on the other end of the line.

"You're coming to Columbia?" He asks breathlessly and I can picture the tears lining his lash line and the way his cheeks blush gently when he's excited.

"I get on a plane bright and early tomorrow morning." I giggle, boucing excitedly up and down on the bed, spooking Riley out of her slumber as she rushes off the bed and under it.

"You're kidding."

"You sound disappointed?" Nerves swirl in my tummy for a moment until he mutters a quiet 'no, no, no' under his breath and I feel the anxiety of my secret disappear.

"I'm shocked." He scoffs and if I close my eyes hard enough, I can picture him fisting his hair, looking around the room thinking something along the lines of 'how am I going to clean this apartment in time'. "I'm so fucking happy." He hums and the tears lining my own eyes are now dripping down my cheeks, my heart pounding excitedly. "I can't believe you're real."

"I'll show you how real I am in exactly twelve hours from now." He laughs at my flirting and gives me a quiet 'yes dear' and I begin to feel the anticipatory excitement just knowing I'll see him and be in his arms this time tomorrow.

"Promises, promises."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

@officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @witxhy-lexx @minjix @luvroseee @tee-swizzle @savageneversaw @admiringlove @hysteriahall @piceous21 @starlightandfairies @igotmajordaddyissues @drewstarkey-wife1 @manyfandomsfanvergent @revesephemeres @rafesbae01

#javier #javier pena #javier x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos #narcos fic #pedro pascal

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trickstarbrave · 6 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

i got tagged by @saltymaplesyrup (why will tumblr not let me tag wtf) for wip wednesday. i dont have any new writing bc uhhhhhhhhh reasons (yknow my. dog) but i do have some art ive been working on

veeeeeeeery rough atm. like a lot of my art at first HGHGBRHGEBGH

this is actually nerevar! i have a hc he's part nord, with a chimer mom and nord dad. in my fic it's established nerevar's dad went back to skyrim to settle an inheritance dispute and uh. died. and after his mom found out nerevar was already like, 10. so she just up and left him in the care of his maternal uncle.

but i was thinking what if his dad hadn't died and he was raised in skyrim? he would be in the rift, bordering on the velothi mountains, only hearing about skyrim and seeing the stray cliff racer. after his dad dies for real this time his mother takes him to resdayn/morrowind

idk i just kinda like the idea of fur wearing, axe wielding, braids in his hair nerevar. in a lot of ways he'd be different and in others he'd be the same. definitely still hot tho (imagine voryn getting a look at him and immediately dropping everything in his hands to stare LMAO)

this also works for moon and star for uhhhhh reasons. i can explain how this would end up happening if you ask ha ha i dont want this post to be even longer explaining a lil sketch

tagging: @your-talos-is-problematic, @boethiahspillowbook, @mulberrycafe (do u like tagging games. i dunno. if not u can ignore this bghgbreh) uhhhhhhhhhh idk who else wants to that hasn't been tagged yet........ anyone reading this can def do it i wanna see ur stuff :>

#nerevar #indoril nerevar #wip #my art #moon and star #still debating on the face paint #im also playing around with art styles a lil....#unsure on it

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remyfire · 1 month

Note

uhhhhh for the kink prompts i think some beejhawk and praise would be delightful 👀

(prompts now closed) (Anon I promised I tried to go for full praise kink here but it went a bit softer than that and I hope you can forgive me and enjoy it all the same!!)

"Christ, Beej, the way you take cock, it's so..." Hawkeye digs his teeth into BJ's trapezius, muffling a shaky growl. As BJ scrabbles at the headboard like he's trying to find some kind of purchase, it triggers a response inside Hawk to keep him closer, fuck him faster. Hawkeye wraps an arm around BJ's waist and squeezes tight enough to make him cry out. He feels like a feral creature—not human, not animal, but possessed by an entity who would stop time to live in this moment for years.

They've been at it for hours, honestly. It's their first shared pass to Seoul since the dams broke and sent secrets, lust, and need spewing through the cracks, and there's no more trying to steal five minutes in supply or an hour in the Swamp with their sounds muffled and the door locked. No one's going to interrupt them, and honestly if they tried, Hawkeye would throw them out the window before he let them get his hands off of BJ for longer than thirty seconds.

Hawkeye has let BJ have the control since they got here, of course, as is their usual rhythm—he's never seen a man quite so frenetically compelled to perfect sexual acts in as short a time as possible, and they've only checked off a few things that Beej has groaned out a desire to experience—but the moment that Hawk woke from a twenty-minute nap to find his lover grinding his ass against him, he'd rolled him over and snatched the power right out of his grasp.

Hawk may have spent over a decade devoting himself to sex, but it has never been more necessary than in this moment. If nothing else, Hawkeye needs BJ to leave this room knowing the unfathomable depths that this adoration reaches.

He drags his palms up hot skin and soft, lush hair until he cups BJ's pectorals. His fingers pillow into them as he drapes his body over BJ like an umbrella protecting him from the storm. He's not sure what there is to protect BJ from here besides the ferocity of what Hawkeye wants to give him, but even still, he holds him here, nuzzling between his shoulder blades with a hum. "You know how good you are?" Hawk prompts, barely waits for an answering wordless whine before he shifts his angle just a hair to fuck more directly up into him, right over that sweet spot that has Beej punching the headboard just the once to shake his energy out. "God, you take it so well. Like you're made for it. I've never fit this good in somebody before, you know that?"

When BJ covers his mouth and muffles his moans, something flickers through Hawk's head, and he knows it's stupid, and he knows he's courting danger, but the last thing he needs is for Beej to hide himself like this while Hawkeye's filling him with cock and praise alike. Hawk grabs both of BJ's wrists and pulls back on them, holding BJ's body as taut as a drawn bow while he picks up his pace. "Fucking beautiful. Hot, tight..." It's never even once been said that Hawkeye is quiet during sex, but he struggles to let the words pour out of him now, careful to hold certain ones at bay, things he's not sure BJ's ready for.

BJ lets his head drop onto Hawkeye's shoulder, his mouth lolling open. Every thrust shoves a moan out of him like lava bubbling out of a volcano, like he doesn't know how to stop himself either. They're feverish fuel, each goddamn one of them, something for Hawk to put to good use.

"I-I gotta tell you more often," Hawk manages to grit out. "When you, when you look at me, I just..." His tongue goes thick in his mouth as he forces himself to slow down, to keep himself from cramping up. He wants this to last. Wants to remember what it feels like to be buried so deeply in him that he's forgotten how to break free. "How'd you put the fucking stars in your eyes, Beej? How'd I get lucky enough to find you?"

"H-Hawk," he whispers, a thready tone that's barely audible, but though Hawkeye waits for more, BJ melts into wordless, pleading sounds of pleasure.

As Hawk hooks his chin over BJ's trapezius, he gets the prettiest picture of Beej's hard cock, flushed and weeping for him, just for him. It's painfully erotic to see how it jolts with every thrust, how when Hawkeye releases his wrists, his hardness twitches, seems to curve more sharply toward BJ's stomach. The sheer physicality of this man feels more potent than any substance on the planet. It's unreal that so much sensuality could be contained within him, but from his broad shoulders to his powerful legs, he ripples with it all the same. Every lift of his hand, every step that he takes, they're a fluid kind of dance, hypnotic to watch and impossible to look away from.

He thinks sometimes that he could be content just to sprawl back on his cot and watch BJ go about his normal routine while stark nude. It'd be greedy, really, an opportunity to study the flex of his gastrocnemius, his jutting scapula, even visibly trace every rippling tendon in his neck as he turned his head.

The permission to stare. To know he never would have to look away.

"I love that you let me have you," Hawk breathes. He traces the tip of his tongue along his throat and groans at the taste of sweat. As BJ cranes his neck as an offering, Hawkeye's eyelashes flutter, and he nuzzles right against his jugular like a wolf preparing to go for the kill. "You feel so... The way that you..." There's too much to say. I love you. I can't imagine life without you. Words more lethal than poison. They'll taint this fragile moment and make it lose its strength with every second until it collapses, spent, unable to be revived.

BJ's skin vibrates when he murmurs, "You make me feel priceless," a dream of a sentence that nearly brings tears to Hawk's eyes.

"You are." His heart kicks up, urging him on. When he rocks forward, BJ grabs the headboard again and clenches around him hard enough to make Hawkeye squeeze the base of his cock. Not yet, not yet. Instead he zeroes in on the shape of his other fingers around BJ's waist. "You're a dream come true."

With a shudder, BJ lets his head hang between his supportive arms. "Don't stop, Hawk. God, don't stop..."

He could ask Hawkeye to do the impossible right now and he would. Anything. Anything for you.

Hawk drives himself now. Chases BJ's pleasure. He wants to go drunk on this man, madder than a maenad. It almost seems necessary to dull his own ecstasy, but that's a laugh. There's not a universe in existence where just getting to hear BJ breathe wouldn't thrill Hawkeye to the depths of him. Harder, harder, harder, pounding, skin slapping, gasps rising up and barely audible over the sound of the thudding headboard.

When BJ slaps the wall with a choked sob, Hawkeye covers his hand, slams into him, then stills. He reaches to feel along BJ's jaw, his chin, his cheek, finally coaxing him to turn his head so Hawk can see his face. Hawkeye holds him there, leaving kiss after kiss that makes his lips burn from the stubble, gently rutting against his ass.

"I wish this could last forever," Hawk admits. The words are too raw, too real. He buries his face in BJ's neck and picks up a lazy rhythm. He's intentional with the angle of his hips, rolling them as smoothly as he can manage even as his thighs ache and his abdomen clenches from his focus. It can't, of course. Even if he could somehow last physically, there's a world beyond these walls and an immutable future.

"Hawk?"

He expects censure. He shouldn't have hinted at that, shouldn't have—

"I want you to come," BJ whispers. "Want you to hold me. Wanna wake up in your arms, just like... Just like we're home, okay?"

What? Hawk's throat burns. No, there's no way he heard that right. But there's nothing else those words could've been. They were crystal clear. He sniffles, hates himself for not being able to hide his equal measures of hope and grief.

"And we're gonna do it again. And again. And it's not gonna stop. It's not." The certainty in his tone is unfathomable. Hawk's never met somebody who can lie to himself like BJ can.

But he admires that determination too. They've still got two days. Yeah, they're gonna have to eat eventually, take showers, maybe even drag themselves outside for a breath of fresh air, but forty-eight hours is a hell of a long time. He'd rather be doing this than fifty hours of straight surgery any week.

"It's not gonna stop," Hawkeye agrees, grinning despite himself at the pleased sound that rumbles through BJ. "I'll fuck you whenever you want, Beej, you just say the word."

"Will you..."

That isn't a question. Hawkeye can all but read this man's mind; picking out the nuances of his voice is easy. "Will I what?"

BJ whips his head around so Hawk nearly gets a mouthful of his silky hair. "It's stupid. Don't—" When Hawk brings his hips to a sudden stop, BJ tries to fuck back on him, but the angle makes it tricky. "Don't stop," he whines.

"Tell me." Hawk puts his lips right against the shell of his ear and breathes the words softer than a prayer. "Let me give you what you want, Beej."

As he curls his fingers around the headboard until his knuckles go white, BJ sucks in a deep breath. "W-Will you, uh... Goddammit, Hawk." The little laugh is more nervous than the bright humor that Hawkeye is so addicted to. "Make love to me?"

Time freezes. The words drift down like the gentlest snowflakes. And then a thunderous storm overtakes him, pressurized, making Hawkeye whimper as he locks his arms as tightly around BJ as he can. They fall forward until Beej is on his knees and forearms, until Hawkeye is rocking inside of him with deep, desperate strokes. "Oh, Beej," he whispers. He can't breathe. Can't even see or hear anything but the man who had him at Coleman Hawkins. "God, Beej, yes, yes, anytime, always, let me do that, huh? Let me love you."

"You sure?" So much is buried in two little words, and he hears it all—are you sure I'm worth it? Are you sure you want to deal with all my bullshit? Are you sure you're not going to change your mind if it gets harder? Are you sure it'll last?

"All of it," is all Hawk can find the ability to say. Maybe it's senseless but maybe BJ can hear what he means too. I'll give you everything.

His orgasm isn't transcendent, isn't pleasure striking him harder than lightning, but when he lets go, Hawkeye feels as though he rips his ribs open all the same and lets his bare beating heart rest on BJ's skin. As he noses along two vertebra, his tears drip, fall, leave long marks that dry cleanly. But as Hawk reaches around and takes BJ in hand, his frantic whispered words—"Ohh, yes, Hawk, like that, that's perfect, you're perfect."—tattoo themselves on him, invisible but not impossible to forget.

Hawkeye only has a moment to wipe his hand on the blanket before BJ rolls them back over and almost crushes him. "Jesus," Hawk snaps, trying to complain, but he can't stop himself from laughing either. "You wanna kill a guy or something?"

BJ flops on his back beside him, then drags Hawk into place, chest to chest, forehead to forehead. And as Beej caresses his cheek, he grins and his eyes shimmer, sapphires that gleam only for him. He opens his mouth as if there's something he wants to say, something that has Hawkeye holding his breath. But at the last moment, BJ gives his head a little shake and draws him in for a kiss that tells Hawk everything that he needs to know. One day, it'd be nice to hear the words, something to obliterate the fear that he can never quite dispel about what comes during infinite tomorrows. All the same, he can feel it, that if he's slipped his heart inside of BJ's chest, then he's protecting his lover's inside ribs of steel, and he dares someone to even try to take it away.

#anyway hot men wildly in love having hot and affirming sex just like they deserve. this is my kink.#hawkeye pierce #bj hunnicutt #beejhawk #hawkbeej #hunnihawk #my writing #ask meme replies

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sideprince · 1 month

Text

Harry Potter Fancasting - Worst Edition

Dreamcast this, ideal for the role that, yeah yeah. What about the worst possible Harry Potter fancast you can think of? I mean worst. "Who in their right mind????" worst. "I’m burning my books and moving to the moon" levels bad. Ready? No? Too bad.

The Golden Trio

Harry Potter:

Josh Gad. He's got a youthful charm and uhhhhh can pull off a pair of glasses. Plus, he's done children's movies before.

Hermione Granger:

Leslie Jones. She's smart, she takes no shit, she can pass for an 11 year old if you squint. This is Hollywood.

Ron Weasley:

Ed Sheeran. He can act. Probably. Only one way to find out.

Hogwarts Teachers:

Dumbledore:

Al Pacino. He's old, he's grey, he's uhhhh *checks notes* "quirky." Think about it. De Niro could play Grindelwald. You'd pay to see that. You wouldn't like it, but you'd still pay.

McGonagall:

Oh please, you'd love it (I refuse to admit she's no longer with us).

Alastor Moody:

Tracy Morgan. He's unpredictable, he's unhinged, he gives zero fucks. Sounds like Moody to me.

Severus Snape:

Dan Savage. Throw on a wig and some black contacts I guess. Or don't. This is casting, I don't work in wardrobe. (Am I throwing shade at Fabio Snape art? How dare you accuse me of such a thing.)

Marauders generation

James Potter:

So there's a resemblance to Josh Gad.

Lily Evans/Potter:

Lindsay Lohan. She has red hair ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Remus Lupin:

Bryan Cranston. Because Lupin has a dark side I guess. But give it another ten years so he ages even more.

Sirius Black:

Gene Simmons. He's badass, he's got long dark hair, he looks like he could ride a motorcycle. He and Ed Sheeran can take acting lessons together (which we could film and sell as a side project/spin-off TV show... hmmmmm).

Peter Pettigrew:

Manny Jacinto. Plot twist! You'd never see it coming. A man that pretty could do no wrong!

And finally:

Voldemort

Ben Stiller. He'd have no nose but would be all ears.

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screamingwiththewolves · 8 months

Text

So, I WANTED to draw it out first....but it's been months, too many characters, too slow. SO,

hear me out

Monster High gen 3 as gen 1's kids. Just touch up the designs and change the names a bit.

Franky; gen1Franky and Jackson became scientists, got married, and made Fran. (literally, with corpse parts and a metal leg.) gen3 Franky is so different from gen1, all you gotta do is change the name. Franky's dog is "Watzit" while Fran's dog is "Watzy."

Clawdeen; gen1 Clawdeen became a fashion designer, married Venus (let me have my ship) and then had a werewolf kid named Clawrissa. Just add some flowers and a bit of green to her design and boom. (Also, I always kind of thought Venus was south American, could be wrong, but that could work for making Clawrissa part Hispanic)

Draculaua; She and Clawd got married (somehow it works, idk) had a vampire daughter, named Lorelei. (it's kind of close to Draculaura and it's very elegant sounding) I think you could keep the overall design of gen3 Draculara, as her daughter looking a lot like her kind of suits the characters in my mind. But you'd have to change the pink to something a bit different, maybe a hue of red or purple.

Cleo and Deuce; Gen1 Cleo left her abusive family and married Deuce. He does various cook related things, and because she left her rich family, she's had to learn how to save money, which lead her to becoming the owner of a VERY popular secondhand boutique. They had a half gorgon/half mummy child named, lets say 'Calypso' (cause it kind of sounds like the name Cleo and is greek) Just take gen3's design and add slit pupils and put some blue snakes mixed in with her hair. (Why doesn't she wear glasses? either she has good control over the turn to stone thing or just can't do it at all XD)

Deuce; Gen3 Deuce, make him look a bit more like the live action movie version, make him the kid of Viperine, change his color scheme a bit, and change his name to some sort of masculine sounding pun about snakes. (Adder??)

Toralei; gen1Toralei works as a bartender (idk if she had a career in mind, so...i'm just going with bartender for now cause i think it suits her) she's a single mom, though gets help from her own mom. (Headmaster Bloodgood, cause I love the idea of them being family, it's funny) For the daughter, use the doll version of gen3 with the longer hair, and name her, idk, Tabitha? (cause Tabby cats) and there ya go, there's that family.

Bloodgood; Honestly I just kind of like gen3's design better, so...XD

Heath; Gen1 Heath and Gen1Abby had a son, let's call him Pyro. He is a lot like his dad, but wears a bit of blue cause of his mom.

Abby; uhhhhh, just a different Abominable Snowman girl?

Lagoona; Gen1 Lagoona and Gill got married and one year went to Mexico, and found a young sea monster girl fending for herself. They adopted her. All you gotta do is change gen3Lagoona's name. Pacifica? Lala?

There are other characters I gotta sort out, but this is what I got so far XD This is how I've been having my gen1 and gen3 cakes and eat them too XD

#monster high #monster high gen1 #monster high g3 #monster high's kids

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mod-jazzy · 1 year

Note

🦀May I have a Jimmy redesign if you know the man who inspired him, SolidarityGaming ? If now, just a Pantoufle, plz :3

i do not know any minecraft men at all ever but considering I wouldn't have designed Pantoufle any different and I have a entire subspecies dedicated to skitty..,,,.,,. I still did Jimmy anyways heehoo My skitty subspecies are fairy/grass type with flowers so UHHHHH I did the main minecraft flower! The poppy! Real ones remember when it was a rose

still fancy fur cuz contest star gotta have the fancy hair

I got cheeky with the collar design.... minecraft cake....

still sparkly and pretty and fuzzy but with my useless minecraft obsession slapped on heehooo

fairly simple design but I tend to design skitty very simple and just go nuts when they evolve heehoo

[ No longer doing these, just finishing them up ]

#bluemorgrem #redesignmeme #ooc #mod jazzy #delete later

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thatmexisaurusrex · 2 years

Note

Congrats on 300 followers!! I'm really enjoying all your fics for the event. For the prompt, I choose 40. "What do you want me to do?"

You're in luck, anon! You are my last prompt to fill for this event! Thank you and everyone else who has sent in a prompt for all the wonderful requests and I hope you all enjoy this last drabble! 🥰

Prompt 14: “What do you want me to do?”

| 13 | Prompts |

Sam stretched, smiling as he found Bucky on the front porch. Sam was sweaty. He was a little shakey from the adrenaline still coursing through him from his workout. He was kind of hoping no one was watching him embarrassingly miss those last two shots at the tree.

But here Bucky was.

With a coffee mug in hand. Rooster hair because he hadn't brushed it yet. Still needed to shave with some of the worst patchy beard Sam had ever seen. Only in his underwear because the man did not know how to act sometimes. Staring at Sam dreamily with that cloud nine smile. Why did this weirdo have to be so beautiful in the warm light of sunrise?

"Watching me work out, huh?" asked Sam as he walked up the porch steps.

"What?" said Bucky into a yawn, "A man can't wander out onto the porch when he's helping his boyfriend house sit? Said man can't enjoy the view from said porch?"

Sam laughed as he sat in Bucky's lap. Sam grabbed the offered coffee and smiled as he took a sip. The dork made a mug of coffee for himself the way Sam liked it.

Or maybe he just made it for Sam and wanted to share.

"What view are we talking about?" asked Sam as he tried not to smile.

Sam settled into Bucky's lap. Relaxed there as Bucky held Sam loosely with his arms.

"The sunrise," said Bucky innocently.

"Oh, really? Just the sunrise?" asked Sam as he took a tactical sip of coffee.

Bucky kissed Sam on the cheek.

"What do you want me to do? Not watch my boyfriend workout?" asked Bucky, "You're fucking graceful. I don't even know how you bend like that."

"Gymnastics," said Sam, unable to stop himself from smiling any longer, "I did it all through middle school, high school, and college. Got a scholarship in it, actually."

"I didn't know that," said Bucky softly, "I... I just want to know everything about you. If that's. I hope that's not. Weird - "

Sam stopped Bucky's backtracking with a kiss. He tasted of coffee and Bucky's wintergreen toothpaste.

"No, not weird. I... like that you want to know everything," said Sam, feeling a little shy, "I want to know things about you, you know?"

"Things?" asked Bucky as he grabbed the coffee, then grimaced at the taste, "What things?"

"I don't know. Everything too? Maybe not all at once, but bits and pieces sprinkled into the day," said Sam, "Flavor my day with Bucky Facts."

"Only if you flavor my day with Sam Facts," said Bucky, the both of them giggling, "What should I tell you? What should I ask?"

"Uhhhhh - favorite fruit," said Sam, his brain panicking, "What's your favorite fruit?"

"You," said Bucky, the both of them laughing, "No, sorry, that's - I'm horrible."

"You are," said Sam, nodding, "I mean, I would say you too, but you're still horrible."

Bucky cackled.

"What am I going to do with you?" asked Bucky into Sam's shoulder.

"Tell me what your favorite fruit is, that's what you're going to do with me," snickered Sam.

"Uh... Ap...ples?" said Bucky, wincing.

"Apples?" said Sam dubiously.

"Okay. Fine. It's cotton candy grapes," bemoaned Bucky, "Judge me and my sweet tooth, it's cotton candy grapes."

"It's what?" asked Sam, genuinely unsure what Bucky was talking about.

"There's these grapes. At the store. They're a little pricier and they - they taste like cotton candy," mumbled Bucky.

Sam laughed.

"Wait, really? That's a thing?" said Sam.

"Yes. It is. I love them so," said Bucky, "I sort of hide them whenever you come over because I know they're weird."

"Okay, no need to do that. I'm not judging you on that," said Sam as he gave Bucky a kiss.

"What about you?" asked Bucky, "What's your favorite fruit? Besides me."

Sam snickered.

"Okay, it's um... it's pomegranate," said Sam, "When I was a kid, I was into myths. And I - I really loved Persephone and Hades for a while because out of all the greek gods, they're the kindest to humans. And their love story can be interpreted in many ways, but one interpretation is that Persephone, loving Hades yet not wanting to leave her mother alone, ate only six seeds. And there's something beautiful about wanting time with both a lover and family. That her lover was happy that she had room in her life for more than just him. That balance isn't just in the changing of seasons, but in the people in one's life. I don't know. Pomegranates are also super delicious."

Bucky pulled Sam in for another kiss. Long and loving. His eyes were filled with adoration as he moved away from Sam.

"How are you always so smart and amazing?" asked Bucky, "It really isn't fair. I give you my guilty pleasure fruit and you wax poetic about Persephone and Hades and metaphors about a good balance in one's life when it comes to loved ones? What the fuck?"

"I'm sorry. You landed someone out of your league," said Sam, giggling, "If it helps, I want to try these cotton candy grapes you've been hiding from me every time I visit your apartment."

Bucky laughed.

"Okay, that helps," said Bucky, holding Sam close, "I love you."

Sam wrapped his arms around Bucky as well, this strange, strange man who was somehow one of the most important people in Sam's life.

"I love you too," said Sam, happy to just cuddle for a bit.

*****

This is for my 300 Followers Event! Thank you so much to everyone who sent in a request for it and thank you for following me! 🥰

#thank you so much for the prompt 🥰#sambucky #the daily sambucky fluff diary #sam wilson #bucky barnes #300 followers event #established relationship #tooth rotting fluff #drabble 14 #'What do you want me to do?'

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a-tale-never-told · 7 months

Text

A Night at the Kuzuryus

Kuzuryu residence, 9:30pm, September 2nd, 2012

*"Inside the enormous mansion that is the Kuzuryu residence, surrounded by guards, within the office of one man, is a certain Yakuza on the phone, talking to someone over the line. He has brown hair and some kind of a goatee while wearing a gray suit with a red undershirt*".

No no no no, listen to me! I need that shipment by Monday! So what in the hell do you mean you can't get it?

Worker: (slight Jamaican accent) I'm sorry boss. But I told you we can't get the shipment in time. It's not ready yet for loading, plus the risk of us getting caught is very high, especially in these waters.

Oh, don't give me that fuckin' bullshit! You have the fucking means to get the shipment from Jamacia to Kyoto, so just fucking do it!

Worker: We do have it, sir. My only concern is the Coast Guard ships patrolling the waterways from here to Kyoto. If the DEA catches even a whiff of what we are doing, it's all over for us, man. That's why I'm trying to play it safe for the long term untill it's clear.

DEA? Who gives a flying fuck about the DEA? If they want a war, we'll give them a war that they'll never forget! The Americans are too fucking occupied with the Russians and Chinese to care about us, so just move that shit over here.

Worker: Sir, I don't think you truly understand the scope of the situation here-

Situation?! May I remind you who the fuck are you talking to here? Huh?! You wanna fuck with me, asshole?! I'll cut off your fucking fingers if you say that shit to me again!! GOT IT?!

Worker: ...., Yes man. Just don't kill me!

Good!. Now listen here, we're on a tight schedule with the Argentinians over here. I promised them that I would have the coke delivered to them by Friday, but now I have to tell them that it can't happen. We're riskin' a fucking war between us and those tango-loving pussies! And I don't even know if I have the manpower to repel an assault.

So here's what we're gonna do, okay? I'll give you one more week for you guys to get your shit together and get the coke from Jamaica to Kyoto, that's it! I can't stall them any longer, so just hurry the hell up with that delivery! Oh and one more thing before you forget, you don't show your asses here untill that delivery is completed entirely I want the whole damm thing, not just a little bit, or you'll hear me.

Worker: Y-Yeah man, I'll get the guys working on it right away, boos.

Good. That will be all. Have a good day *hangs up the phone*

Fuckin' cocksuckers! *sighs* Uhhhhh.

???: Guess the deal didn't work out huh?

......

I mean, what did ya expect from people like these? You simply can't trust them

#mod talks #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #toshiro kuzuryu #dr #dr2 #twlight syndrome arc #a tale never told

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trickstarbrave · 6 months

Text

wip whenever

hiiiii i got tagged by @nocturance again SO it's wip time

tagging: @boethiahspillowbook @orfeoarte @soundwavefucker69 (fuck you show me ur stuff minty) @thescrolls-haveforetold ANDDDD YOU READING THIS IF U WANT A TAG

so far for pictures we got. these guys being gay. as always (i love when they stare and are so close to kissing but dont. the tension is what does it for me)

we also have almalexia in judith slaying holofernes but tbh this will prob take. a lot longer. jesus this painting is more complicated than i thought and i am. stupid. (nerevar is holofernes in this)

AND FOR WRITING: a part of moon and star in an upcoming chapter. warnings though for uhhhhh racism, sexual assault mentioned, and slavery justification. its getting messy and moraelyn is being kinda gross im not gonna lie. make no mistake though he is in the wrong no matter how much he has to justify it and he wont stay azura's champion for long.

Moraelyn had simply wanted to discuss things with the new head of House Dagoth. Sure, the lord was still young, but supposedly the hortator had been his canvasari.

Moraelyn, prince without a crown or city, wanted to understand. Almalexia Indoril had promised Nerevar was a great champion who almost single handedly rescued Voryn from nord capture. She wanted to go so far as to name him hortator of two Great Houses, something that had never been done before. He wanted reassurance that this man would truly be of good help, but he couldn’t help but be suspicious. A couple of battalions, even led by the most clever commander, couldn’t destroy a dozen or so nord camps; not without a better explanation at least. And there was the matter of Nerevar’s mixed blood--the nordic nose, the softer shape of his brow, the texture of his hair and lighter tone of his skin--it was clear he was part nord.

The prince couldn’t help but be suspicious. Sure, not all with mixed blood were traitors, but plenty were. Many chose to align themselves with the nords, cutting their ears to look more manish, adopting a full nordic accent, and selling their secrets to the enemy in exchange for refuge and glory. Others sold them out out of familial bonds--parents, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, and cousins with nordic blood were harder to kill for them. They were more loyal to the blood of frost walkers than the velothi.

It wasn’t hard to see Nerevar being the same, especially when he already had trial by combat for treason. Of course he’d know about the nords’ battle plans that day if they were telling him the information. Of course he would be able to negotiate for Voryn’s freedom in exchange for a few secrets, all to bring him back and make himself look better. What was to say when they marched to Ebonheart he didn’t sell out Moraelyn and his men?

But Moraelyn was not unreasonable. If there was an alternative explanation for Voryn’s freedom and his ability to defeat the nords, he would listen to it. Perhaps Voryn, who was there, would be willing to tell him. He didn’t see House Dagoth working together with the nords--they were suspicious, but he’d more so believe they join hands with the dwemer they were so close to than the frost walkers.

The issue was speaking with Voryn alone. The chimer road in the same cart as Nerevar all day, and when they made camp stayed close by his side, eating and talking with him. Moraelyn waited, knowing if there was ever a time Voryn would be away from the half blooded chimer who clung to him, it would be when it came time to sleep.

Yet, as he parted the House Dagoth tent--making sure there was still light inside so he knew Voryn was still awake, he jumped at the sight that greeted him.

Voryn Dagoth was awake: sitting up slightly, reading over a scroll in his cot. That wasn’t the usual part--instead what was concerning was the fact he was clearly bare except for the blankets around his waist…

And beside him, already asleep, was the white hair half blooded chimer himself, equally as nude.

Moraelyn’s face flushed both in embarrassment and anger. Had Nerevar earned his position as head of House Dagoth through sex? It was a very good tool of manipulation, but he thought House Dagoth with their worship of Mephala would be immune to such a thing.

“A word, Lord Dagoth?” Moraelyn asked, trying to keep his voice level. Voryn’s eyes were already narrowed at the interruption, his hand stopping the slow strokes he was giving to his lover’s hair.

“Wait outside.” Voryn replied, getting up and tugging on a robe that had been left on the rug simultaneously. Nerevar beside him stirred, humming confused, before being hushed. Moraelyn wasted little time in retreating outside, disgust and anger bubbling away at him.

Voryn Dagoth had returned, after what Moraelyn could tell was a silencing spell cast so the man sleeping inside couldn’t hear.

“What did you need?” He asked, arms crossed firmly over his chest, clearly enraged by the interruption but trying to temper his reaction.

“I had originally come to ask if you truly thought Nerevar was a capable enough warrior to liberate my city,” Moraelryn tried to hide the disgusted sneer and failed. “But I can see you were not as objective of a judge as I believed.”

Voryn scoffed in response. “Nerevar is more than capable enough. If anyone can liberate Ebonheart, it would be him.” Red eyes bore into Moraelyn’s. “Certainly better than any of your men could fare.”

“Have you no shame?” Moraelyn responded, offended. “Just because he warms your bed that doesn’t make him a better fighter than the champion of Azura--”

“Whether he warms my bed or not has nothing to do with his ability to fight.” Voryn didn’t back down in the slightest. “I’ve seen him battle with my own two eyes.”

“Did he even battle to get you back? Or did he barter with nords in exchange for your freedom as his lover?” He could much more easily see Nerevar making jokes about how he wanted his elven paramour back with the nordic men and what he would have to do to make it happen. Yet, after he said that, Voryn gave a loud bark of laughter in his face.

“Had you seen him on the battlefield at that time,” Voryn’s face was now deathly serious, staring almost through him in an uncanny way that made his skin crawl, “You wouldn’t dare even joke about such a thing.” His words were stern, carefully enunciated. “Barter? With the men who desecrated my family’s tomb and ruined my mother’s funeral? Who tortured me and kept me in chains? Who were going to mail back my head?” Moraelyn always disliked the blood red of House Dagoth’s eyes; they only made his skin crawl when they spoke like this, like he was staring down Mephala herself. “He destroyed them. Slaughtered them like animals.” Voryn then turned his head slightly, sneering in disgust himself at Moraelyn. “But what do I expect from a house who is only kicking up a fuss that they didn’t sell him into slavery.”

“Selling half bloods into slavery is the right thing to do.” Moraelyn excused it. “Do you know how many of them are traitors? Who drove us out of our own city--slaughtering innocents in doing so--all to curry nordic favor? Who mutilate their bodies by cutting their ears and refusing to speak the velothi tongue?” House Dagoth, so far up north they rarely even encountered those of mixed blood wouldn’t know, but Moraelyn did. When he was still just a boy, still learning the sword, they clamored to kill him and hang his head from the city gates. They tried to trick him, using their chimeri appearance to lure him into a false sense of security, before trying to slice him with poisoned daggers. “And that’s not to say how many are the product of nordic men assaulted chimer women against their will, forcing them to give birth to their bastards like livestock just to torture them. No doubt he is just the same--”

Voryn’s hand grabbed him by the collar, but from the bloodlust radiating off him, Moraelyn didn’t doubt he’d much rather be strangling him.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Voryn growled, teeth bared like an animal.

“Deny it if you want to.” Moraelyn glared back. “You haven’t had to see the horrors. I did.” Voryn then, enraged, shoved him aside, a spark spell dancing on his fingertips. “They are dangerous, disloyal, and violent. And isn’t a mercy to instead have them doing labor then forcing their chimeri families to raise them? To be reminded of the pain they had to endure?”

“Do I have to cut out your tongue myself?” Voryn threatened.

“Then prove me wrong.” Moraelyn challenged him. “Tell me his mother’s name and how much she adores him. Tell me about his extended family and all the praises they can give him.” Voryn’s hands clenched. “But you can’t, can you?” He asked now, knowing he was right. “If you dare speak this nonsense in front of Nerevar I will ensure you will not live to see Ebonheart ever again.” Voryn finally declared, turning to go back to his tent. “Doubt his abilities if you wish. Get yourself killed on the battlefield from your paranoia for all I care.” The dark haired chimer shot him one last, deadly glare. “But don’t you dare speak to him this way, or I will be the one to end you, not any nord.”

#nerevar #voryn dagoth #nerevoryn #moon and star spoilers #my writing #this hasnt been proof read okay

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