#you best believe the shitty song fic titles are coming back next chapter

[alastorsfuckassbob]

Killing Me Softly- 4

AlastorxFem!Reader part 4

A/N: Ok so this is..uh LONG but its finally here!!! Val's text is in purple, yours is in blue, and Alastor's is red! As always bolded portions are the past..Yes I did revert to using another song sue me. As always: MINORS DNI

Plot: Valentino is a piece of shit You and Al are so shitty at feelings and communication..thats basically it.

⚠️Warnings:⚠️

-Sexual innuendos (they aren't graphic but they are spicy)

-Domestic abuse (this got a lot worse so please be mindful of that and use your own discretion- you are responsible for your internet consumption)

-Alcohol use AND abuse

-Violence!! ~mentions of blood~

-A LOT of cursing 🤠

 You had decided to take “small nap” to rid your body of the final remnants of exhaustion from night before. That so called “small nap” somehow lasted a good ten hours, leaving you with only two before you needed to arrive at the club again. You sat on the edge of your bathroom counter, the excess silky fabric of your slip cascading over the edge. You grab a stray eyeshadow pallet and begin to apply your makeup. You had decided on an inky toned smoky eye and a lightly lined liquid lip. It was a bit different from your usual look, but it complemented your new wardrobe perfectly. You glanced over at the folded scarlet fabric, excited to wear it again. 

You had decided to get ready at home today. Angel wasn’t working tonight, so there was no sense in being at the club earlier than you really needed to be. You snapped your fingers, and the shadow behind you began to style your h/c hair in his place. It wasn’t often Angel didn’t have to work on a Saturday night. Even in Hell, weekends came with higher foot traffic. Val insisted he had earned a break after yesterday’s long shoot. It was a rare occasion but not entirely out of character. Val couldn’t break his favorite toy.

After a few more pins, the shadow dawned a bright smile and jazz hands upon completing your hair. You looked absolutely gorgeous, the pitch black entity had done a fantastic job. Your hair was twisted into bouncy side swept curls adorned with tiny sparkling gems. You wanted to meticulously appreciate the effort it had so graciously put in, but your guilt riddled conscience kept you from any real form of enjoyment. 

 You needed to stop thinking of him. The more you let yourself fall back on memory, the more you would love him. The more you loved him ,the more it would hurt when he realized he couldn’t love you anymore. It wasn’t his fault, no one could. This was your penance. It wasn’t supposed to be easy. 

Memory had sunk its claws into your wrist. It hopelessly dragged you along by its blood lined chains and scarlet stained fingertips like an old desperate beggar. The hold Valentino had on your soul was insubstantial in comparison to the grasp Alastor had on your heart. You didn’t understand why that was. Val was your whole life, and he would be until eternity itself figured out a way to die.  It would make sense for him to reside in the core of your thought, but he didn’t, he never stayed there long.

 Unlike Alastor,  Val owned you. 

Unlike Alastor, he was there 

Unlike Alastor, 

you could actually feel his lips on your skin.

He had a predictable consistency to him. It was always the same constant battle between his unquenchable hatred and guilty heart. 

Val  insisted he “loved” you in his own way.  From the shackles on your wrists, he had tied you to the stake-All so that he could look for your love. He struck the match against your skin, and lit you both ablaze because he hated that he wanted it. In the end it would never matter how many times the heat touched your skin, it wasn’t going to feel like love.      

You knew what that was supposed to feel like. You had shared your heart with a great many souls in your time on Earth. Love was bathed in forgiveness and brushed with magnolia petal kisses. That love didn’t see you through eyes lined with antagonism, sparkled with fury and blended out with shades of exasperation.

 Valentino did. 

His lips were colored in hot pink brutality. It would smear across your skin with every kiss. He would leave you haloed in messy lipstick stain bruises and be on his way.

 His absence never lasted long. The color in his cheeks was permanently rouged with the lethality of your figure. Eventually, the guilt would seep through his pores, and the chemical reaction would wash his face of your blood. He would return with a silver plated tin bracelet and a few mangled words of affirmation. 

“ Y/n, you know I love you. I didn’t mean a word of it Mi Amore. You are the most beautiful demon this side of hell. I just get so upset sometimes there’s nothing else I can do. I can’t control my anger Amorcito, you know that.”

It’s not that he couldn’t control his anger, he was fully capable. He just didn’t. He never thought it was important to try. Even in his time on Earth, he didn’t care to put forth the effort. He was born with distain and died with detestation. He had always been this way. The guilt he felt afterward would never amount to the freedom found in his bloodied hands. There wasn't a finite limit to the apologies he could patch the holes he punched into your heart with. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Any remorse he felt would slip from his conscience like every instance before it. It made sense how quickly he was able to rise into over lord status.

  Your focus shifts to the cherry fabric folded beside of you. You haphazardly grab the dress, lifting it over your head. Its crystal beads babbling in your ear as you slide it on. For a moment, the ghost of your human body silhouettes your demonic figure in the mirror.  Distant memories began to bubble up to the surface. In the true spirit of avoidance, you hopelessly shut them out as you grabbed your satin purse and walked out the door. 

As you left the building the newly warmed breeze swirled through your hair. The sunny weather practically lifting your wings for you as you flew towards the club. You reveled in the distance it granted you from your life. From the above clouds, Hell was actually rather pretty. The seemingly dull color scheme found a bit more variation the higher you flew. The different areas of the city blending into one. With each flap of your wings, the clouds whispered murmurs of freedom into your ears. For just a moment, it almost didn’t feel like hell.

 The rest of the flight is relatively peaceful, excluding the occasional scream from the city below.  Eventually you arrive at the club and head to your dressing room. You plop down on the velvety plush sofa seated against the wall.  It was still a bit early for places, so you elected to read one of Angel’s trashy magazine to pass the time. A ginger knock at the door draws your focus from celebrity scandals and tv drama. 

“Amorcito”

Valentino’s voice worms itself into your ear. He leans against the door frame looking for any indication of fear on your face. He didn’t want to scare you off before he had the chance to explain himself. You shoot him a tired glare and return to your magazine. Even if you wanted to answer it’s not like you had the ability to.

“Right, I forgot.”  He muses, his smirk practically bleeding into his eyes. With a wave of his hand , the sigil on your wrist begins to spark in a hot pink glow. In a puff of smoke, your voice returns to you. 

“Do you need something Val” you ask.  It comes out a bit raspier than you had intended. Hopefully he didn't take it as a form of aggression. You had somehow landed yourself in his good graces, and you didn’t want to fall from them any sooner than you had to.  

“I can’t have you sitting silent for your dear clients now can I y/n?” 

You didn’t respond. Mentally, you rolled your eyes. The statement was laughable. He would tear your soul to pieces if he could hear the sarcasm racketing around your brain at the current moment. 

“Mi amor, you know I didn’t mean it. I can’t have my favorite muñeca upset with me, can I?” 

You stay silent. Your body still wept with the soreness of the night before, but he had come here with the expectation you would nurse his pride back to health.

“You know that I love you baby” His tone was permeated with an emotion you couldn't quite place. For the first time, the desperation on his face surpassed the bloodlust. It lacked his usual innuendos and crude curses. If you hadn't known better you might have believed he really did- yet something deep within you really did want to believe he could be good. Maybe he didn't love you but he did feel slightly sorry and maybe that would be enough. You stood up from the sofa and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"I know you do Val. Don't worry about it" The words are sweet but the emotion behind them is entirely dead. His arm slinked around your waist, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. 

"I want to thank you, for the dress. Its really beautiful. You have great taste” You added. Your hand layered on top of his, a gentle, but very obviously fake smile curving into your lips. Val loved compliments, the antennae on his forehead usually perked up whenever he received one. 

To your surprise, he started to laugh, his shoulders shaking in its ferocity. “ Y/n you can’t be serious.” 

You didn’t really understand what was funny or why you were nervously laughing along with him. You didn’t have to know why, you just had to go along with it. If you had to guess, he was probably intoxicated in one way or another. Most of the other performers and employees constantly were on some level. It would make sense if he was too. “I’m almost insulted you would even pretend that I would put you in something that tacky, and not to mention conservative. I treat you better than that don’t I?” 

With that, you were even more confused..Did he not gift you the dress? Where the hell else would it come from?  You couldn't even begin to craft a response. You had to come up with something quickly, and improvisation(lying) was not your best skill. Your mind darted from one lame excuse to another. You didn’t have time to think critically about it you just had to say something.

“Yeah I thought it would be a funny joke, I agree it is a bit old fashioned, It definitely needs a little update..I liked the color though.” You lied straight through your teeth. It wasn't clear if he had bought into your practically incoherent rambling. As all good liars do, you dug the hole a few feet deeper with a few more details to seal the deal.  “I wasn’t sure how to alter it so I thought I’d ask you for your opinion”. 

Even if the excuse was lame, it covered all the bases. 

“In my opinion we shred it”  His quiet laugh sounded egotistical to say the least. If something or someone didn't fit his taste he saw no reason why it should exist.

Disappointment drapes your frame from the tips of your horns to the bottom of your heels. Even if the dress had apparently spawned from some freaky stalker, you really did like it. 

“Are you sure I couldn’t just wear it as it is for one night? I could add a slit or something for the next time "Hope laced your bargain as you spoke. You knew he would probably say no but you couldn't help but ask. 

“Y/n, Baby, as hot as I think you look in anything. This dress is going to need some serious alterations if you expect to wear it in front of our rowdy crowd. I can't let you go out there dressed like a nun, it would be awful for business” His face twists into a sly sneer. An idea bubbled on the surface of his thoughts.Before you can register what is happening, his hands are tracing the outline of your hips. Each separated claw of his fingers ran down your body until they stopped just above the outer edge of each thigh. On the surface the action didn't exhibit his typically harmful nature, but if you dared to look even a fraction of an inch closer you would see its minatory subtext. 

“Don’t worry, I think we can figure out something simple out for tonight”. His fingers draw together into a unified line. He digs his nails in a little deeper into you as he drags them down your leg until they reach the floor. He had effectively sliced a high slit on both sides of the dress, with little to no effort. He had pushed a little too deeply in some areas, small pricks of blood leaked from a few irregularly shaped scratches in consequence.

“You look like perfection in red baby”, he breaths out. He stayed crouched on the floor for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he was admiring the surprisingly straight lines of his work or the dots of blood that speckled your skin. He takes your hand in his and places a wet kiss on your wrist where the sigil had been burned into your skin. 

“I can’t wait to see you shine tonight Amorcito” 

He kissed up your arm as he rose from the floor. The way his tongue slithered around your forearm made you dreadfully uncomfortable. The feeling was slimy and otherwise indescribable. You were almost grateful you didn’t have the words to describe your disgust so that the feeling would die with you instead of being passed around to others by language.

You were eternally grateful when he finally walked through the exit. He was finished with his fun with you, at least for now.The club had opened a little more than ten minutes ago. As its owner, he had an obligation to fulfill his duties (flirt with hot guys) ,and supervise the club floor (get blackout drunk and fuck aforementioned hot guys ). Val loved to watch as sinners got down and dirty in the corners of his dimly lit clubs. It was a bit of an ego boost to know he had helped create an environment that led to that sort of thing. He enjoyed the epigrammatic conversations and miscellaneous substance his customers brought with them. He was great at sharing when it came to things that weren’t his own. He loved to hear them praise his accomplishments, and disclose the desire they shared for him and his performers almost as he loved to get high. By the look of tonights crowd, he was in for another pleasurable evening, or so he thought. 

A curt laugh track interrupted the regularly scheduled cycle of conversation. Val’s head practically spun backwards upon noticing the deer eared demon lounging at the edge of the balcony. 

"What the fuck is he doing here" Val grunted under his breath.  He was supposed to be dead.

Alastor, apparently, never received the memo. He sat with a glass of indifferent whiskey in the VIP segment of the balcony above. He was fitted in a well cut vermilion pin stripe suit and a pair of wing tipped oxfords. Despite his polished exterior and perpetual smile, his eyes were glossed in boredom. 

The conversations of lower demons never really intrigued him, they didn't speak much about anything outside of the bounds of recreational drug use. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he had spent time in that particular circle back in his younger days. Perhaps it was the drastic change of aesthetic, or maybe the culture surrounding it had just shifted too much for his liking, but it just didn’t appeal to him anymore. Alastor found the environment dreadfully exhausting. The distinct loud bump of electronic base and synthesized beats made it hard to hear his own thoughts. He was in for a long boring night. There really wasn’t anything more for him to do than pass judgment on the tasteless decor. 

He looked around at the tacky overtly sexual paintings hung against the walls. It was one of Valentino’s classier clubs, but that doesn’t mean the interior designer wasn’t entirely delusional when they picked out its color pallet. For lack of a better word, it was just ugly. The Deep pinks and vibrant reds of the walls accented the white porcelain pillars that framed them. (Vaguely reminiscent of a tampon) The dark purple of the leathery chairs somehow blended in with the black marble tile in such a hideous way the word “unity” didn’t even begin to spark his mind. 

With the exception of its more intimate performance space and higher end clientele, it wasn’t that much different than the typical club experience Valentino provided. It still featured his usual sex rooms and coke lined tables, despite its overall calmer energy. Alastor didn’t understand how you ended up in a place like this. It didn’t seem like you. He had instructed the newest soul under his contract to follow you and figure out your daily routine and “basic facts of life”. He would never admit it, but he was mostly curious to learn of your relationship status. He wanted to know if you had gotten married or if you had moved on. He had been dead for years ,it would make sense if you had. He didn’t want to step back into your life unless he knew everything.He needed to know what approach would work best on you.  “Evidently” you weren’t just outwardly spouting that information into the hilltops. The poor soul came back with a list of two locations and not much else. Naturally, it didn’t get to live much longer. He was not a man to have his time wasted. If he wanted something done correctly the first time he should have just done it himself. So here he was, awaiting your performance.  

 Valentino walked across the crowded floor, his clenched fists glued to his sides. Alastor’s bored expression made his blood boil. He carelessly dodged dancing couples and trays of champagne in his quiet anger. Val never liked that old timey prick or his rickety dated voice. It grated his ears endlessly, not to mention he was just flat out annoying. If Val wanted to listen to some random lanky old man’s diet British accent and senseless uppity rambles;  he would have turned on Downton Abby or some other old pretentious shit. Each step he took towards the radio demon deepened the scowling smirk growing on his face. If Alastor was going to ever so nonchalantly seat him self and a glass of whiskey in the VIP section of HIS club, at least one of them going to have his fun with it. 

“I didn't take you to be a fan of my work Alastor, lovely to see you as always” Val slid into the booth across from him. The remaining groups still seated at the surrounding tables grabbed their drinks and found a better place to be. It was a well known fact the two of them weren’t friends 

“I am most decidedly not! however the streets of hell will not stop praising a certain canary singing on your steps, and I am by far intrigued" His eyed narrowed as his grin grew wider. 

“Oh really? It is my little siren you are interested in? Don’t let her pretty little face fool you, she’s a real bitch to work with. She thinks shes hot shit just because the sound of her voice is enough to chain any demon.” He feigned disinterest, flicking his nails to the side to observing their color.

“Oh really~Where ever did you find her? Surely if she is this talented I would have heard of her already"  Agitation seethed through Alastor's voice. He had never liked Valentino, he found his methods to be crude and unseemly. The way he spoke of you hazed Alastor's vision in permanent red. He had killed far greater demons for far less than the disrespect he had sent your way. However, he knew he couldn't act on that urge quite yet. He was on a mission. He needed to know more about why you were here first in the first place. No one here would know better than the sleazy club owner himself.

“ I don’t really think that’s your business" Valentino accused, venom dripping from his tongue. He didn't really care why the radio demon had taken such a fast interest in a lowly sinner like you. It didn't matter. It gave him something to work with. He had something he didn’t. Pride is a fickle thing, he could use this to get under his skin. 

He didn't want a physical altercation by any means, not in his own territory anyway. Vox would never let him live it down if he started a fight in his own club and accidentally tore it to the ground in the process. A verbal sparring session would have to do for now. Val loved starting any sort of argument he could conceive. 

"My little dove tends to shy away from the limelight. She used to do all of her performances behind a mask, but don’t you worry I was able to coax her out of it." (are you secretly the masked singer?? omg) "You'll be in for a wonderful show tonight." Pride overtook Valentino's usually mendacious features as he spoke. He had something Alastor didn't. Val wanted nothing more than to spark jealousy in his heart. Alastor, wasn't oblivious to his intentions, it just wasn't his primary focus. More-so, he felt frustrated with questions he couldn't ask. You couldn't have been in Hell for more than a few days. How many performances had you really had time for? The possibility you had existed down here for any longer than that didn't exist to him. 

"Now Valentino, there's no reason to be secretive, unless you have something to hide. Surely if this woman is as fantastic as you say she is, there is  no need to hide the details of her origin, I'm sure it must be quite the story"  A deceitful glimmer coruscated his smile, as he took another careless swig of whiskey. His pointed fingers gripped tighter around the glass, cracking its edge.

" Actually-it’s the opposite, trust me its not even worth mentioning” Val laughed. “Why not enjoy the present and focus on her current skillset a? Surely you must have seen her around somewhere, she’s a real star on film." His tone was maliciously sweet, but the dry rasp of his voice revealed the truth. A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he thought of your previous work. 

Getting information out of "barney the big purple pimp"  Valentino was going to be harder than Alastor had previously anticipated. Any information he might’ve had on you was under lock and key. At this point, he considered just ripping off Valentino's stupid little egg shaped head and calling it a day. He didn't understand what you saw in him or this dingy sweat stained bar. In your time on earth, the two of you had spent many nights dancing together in the speakeasies and glitzy clubs of New Orleans. This wasn't the type of establishment you would usually go in for. He had always known you to see the best in others, even if they so evidently didn't deserve it. You sharpened your sword for those you deemed worthy even if they despised you for it. If you were here it must meant you had seen something worth redemption within him. 

"You must be very proud of her accomplishments to rave on about her in this way" Alastor’s voice was fitted in the same snarky tone you often took with Valentino, but unlike you, he could tear the whole club apart with a snap of his fingers. Val didn’t want to deal with that, not here. He would have to wait and slit the radio demon's throat outside of his territory. 

"Enjoy the show Alastor.” He quipped promptly showing the conversation to its end. Valentino walked away before he could get in a word otherwise. 

Val didn’t know the nature of Alastor’s apparent attraction towards you, but he personally knew the pain desperately wanting something you couldn't have caused. Ironically, Alastor was the indirect cause of that familiarity. Through Valentino's partnership with Vox, obsession had sprouted.  Something about the way his televised voice distorted in anger drew him in. He had been caught on his snarky personality and quick wit almost as much as the pitiful reassurances the TV demon would occasionally throw his way. He knew the feelings he had amounted for Vox were never going to be reciprocated.  He would never look his way so long as the radio demon walked the streets of hell. Even if Valentino couldn’t bring about his revenge in his typical violent way, he was determined to get it. You were the key he didn’t know he had. After all, no sinner could resist the call of your sweet song or the appeal of your hips. The radio demon would be no different. 

Eventually, one of Val’s assistants called you to places. You walk through the backstage area, a trail of glittery red streaming behind you. You always loved the moment before the show began. It was typically quiet, everyone attended to their own business. They rarely stopped to bother you, it offered you a moment of order before the chaos this performance would plunge you into. You grab a sugar rimmed shot glass from underneath the bar cart left for the performers. You didn’t bother to read the labels on the bottle as you poured a heavy handed shot. As soon as the liquid touched your lips you realized it had been gin. Despite the burning in your throat, and the sour taste it left in your mouth, you refilled the glass a few more times. On some level, you felt guilty for the amount of alcohol you had just consumed.On a deeper level, you knew you couldn’t make it through a set without it. It was a means to an end, nothing more. 

 Valentino’s compulsion for revenge had led him towards the velvety amethyst curtains of the stage you stood behind. Whatever good mood he was in earlier had vanished, his disposition was dripped in murderous rage. He storms up to you, roughly taking your chin in his hand. 

“I don't fucking know why or how but the radio demon is here. You better make me look good-I’ve already throughly sung your praises and I will not be embarrassed in front of that shit head”  He paced as he spoke hostility following at his heels. “For some reason, he has taken an interest in you. I need you to give an extra little show to the balcony he’s seated in the center. Hes the lanky washed out red asshole with the bitchy little antlers, you can’t miss him.” The words he had spoken jumbled in your brain. You weren’t really paying attention, the calming aura of the alcohol had begun to hit your system. 

“I thought he was dead, are you sure it’s him?” you mumbled as you picked of the remaining sugar crystals from your glass. 

 You had briefly heard of the radio demon in your time-He hadn’t been around for years, most demons speculated that someone finally managed to kill him. He disappeared three years after your arrival in hell, but his methods left a lasting impression. The agonizing screams he had broadcasted still echoed in your dreams occasionally. However, despite your deeply rooted fear, you admired him on some level. He was clever to say the least, and his morals weren’t entirely questionable either. He thought dealing in cheaper souls was crass and frankly unnecessary. He left weaker demons alone, unless they stepped in the way of his path.He wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone he didn’t deem strong enough to fight back. 

 His hands shoot against your throat, the force of the action drags you into sobriety.  His fingers thrust deeper into your skin as he lifts you from the floor by your neck. He had a lot riding on this, and he wasn’t going to let your indifference ruin that. Your grasp on the shot glass loosens as your vision begins to spot from the lack of oxygen. It falls from your hand and shatters with the impact.

“Your job isn’t to ask questions, it’s to get out there and make me look good” he drags your body closer and growls into your ear. 

He slams your body against the floor of fragmented glass. The sole of his foot makes contact with the palm of your hand, pushing the shards deeper into your skin. Crimson flowed through the wounds  in a steady pour. Hot tears took residence in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. 

“ If you fuck this up for me, I’ll do a lot worse than just take your voice Y/n. You don’t want to see me angry. I promise you, you won’t like it.” His foot presses harder against your skin. His dark tone sends shivers down your spine. He had released his grasp on you, but the syllables that slithered out of his mouth constricted around your throat. 

Despite your decision not to cry, the tears began to spill. They weren’t entirely motivated by the pain. The situation had become too similar to those that had existed in your life, and this was your body’s reaction to that. The heat from his glare could have cauterized your wounds. He removed his foot from your hand as he crouched down next to your tear stained figure. His fingers graze the edges of your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he wipes droplets from your face.

“I can’t wait to see you tonight Amorcito, you always put on such a good show for me.” He kisses your injured hand, the cuts begin to close as his lips come into contact with your skin. He licks the remaining blood from his lips and returns to the club floor- leaving you in a pool of maroon colored regret and splintering glass. 

You watch the stage manager’s eyes roll as they grab a mop to clean up the mess. Whatever they were getting payed, it wasn’t enough. Although the ordeal wasn’t out of the ordinary, it was definitely inconvenient. You stand up from the floor brushing the remaining glass off of your dress and walk through the curtains and onto the stage. Even without a physical mask, you were still wearing one. You dawned a bright sultry smile and an uppity attitude as you waved to your adoring fans. At times the outlandishly theatric persona could be fun. The ecstatic cheers of the crowd after each movement made you feel powerful in an odd way. The attention often fueled your performance into the more seductive destination Val had wanted to begin with. It was a means to an end, nothing more.

“Good evening to all of my lovely sinners in the audience” The sound of your voice echoed over the endless chatter of the club. You sat down at the edge of the rounded stage, your legs dangling over its edge. The short demon in front of you practically drooled as your body edged a little more off the platform in his direction. You noticed his reaction and wanted to take things a step further. Your wings spread, taking you closer to the table he sat at, the edge of your finger tilting his head up to meet your own.

“I’ve got a wonderful show in store for just you tonight” Seduction over took your tone as you blew the demon a kiss leaving the entire table absolutely dumbfounded. You travel back to the stage with various sexual remarks towards the other inhabitants. You sit back on the stage, slowly extending your legs to the side, crossing them as you do. You tease the slits in your dress to the side revealing a bit more skin. The patrons erupt into a sea deafening screams. 

The lights suddenly cut out, you dissipated with them. The shred of an electric guitar echoed throughout the space. An array of red and purple spotlights flood the center of the stage. You reappear in a puff of smoke as they do. The music was a bit “edgier” than what you’d usually go for. The genres you listened to spanned a vast array of styles, but you usually preferred to sing the softer tunes of the earlier decades. Valentino’s typical clientele however, needed a newer, rougher pop/rock sound. The drum set clicks in tandem with the percussive click of your heels as you begin your dance. 

A wickedly wide grin stretches across your face, you were ready to start the show. You began to sing.

“I heard he sang a good song

I heard he had a style”

This was your compromise. You could sing anything you wanted to so long as you updated the instrumentals. Most of the people in the club were too wasted to listen to the lyrics anyway. It didn’t really matter what you sang as long as you sounded good and looked hot doing it. Hell’s population would eat up anything you served them. Their mouths began to water as you drop to the floor, arching your back away from them. The music flowed through you, awakening a deep sensuality in your movement . Each twist of your hips accented the intense chords and high hat hits of the accompaniment. Your hair formed a halo around you as you turned onto your back. Your legs extend into the air earning an influx of vulgar cheers from the surrounding demons. Any softness your voice had once held disappeared as growled into the next phrase.

“And so I came to see him

To listen for a while”

You slowly slid up from the floor, your hands following the shape of your curves until they reached pit of your neck. Your fingers splayed against its circumference as you rolled your eyes back into your head.  You glanced up to the balcony to make sure the radio demon was watching, the dim lighting prevented you from seeing anything more than his silhouette. 

Alastor wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the glance you threw him, or your performance. On the one hand, he was endlessly enamored with you. Alastor would have dedicated the rest of his life to sing your praises in that moment if you had just asked him to. He loved to listen to you sing and watch you dance in any context.

On the other hand however, it made him extraordinarily jealous. He hated the lewd comments and desire filled glances of the other demons around him.  It made sense they were attracted to someone like you, but that doesn’t mean he liked that they were. He would remember each face that dared utter such filthy things about you, and deal with them later.  His attention shifted back to your voice as you spun your voice into a decadent riff. 

“And there he was this young boy

A stranger to my eyes”

 You turned upstage to the silver pole that spun in its center. Hundreds of eyes glazed over in pure lust as your spine pressed against the pole. You were practically suffocated with screams as your form flipped upside down. You dropped one arm from the pole, the tips of your wings grazing the floor as your newly freed hand followed the lines of your body. 

 Your exaggerated and frankly pornographic expressions as you twisted against the pole made Alastor apprehensive. The feeling of unease was not caused by disgust but concern. As much as he loved to listen to you sing, this  didn’t feel right for him to watch. It felt too fake. You looked far too uncomfortable for his liking.He had seen you in a more intimate light before. Even decades later the mere thought of your gentle gasps and fluttering lashes dragged him up from hell and sent him straight to heaven. He was familiar with the grind of your hips against his own, and the feeling of your hands in his. He knew every freckle on your body and the exact degree of your spine’s curvature. He loved nothing more than to worship each fold in your figure. He adored the gentle light that always seemed to flicker in your eyes in those sensitive moments. He reveled in your loving glances and gentle touches he was not bothered with the sexuality of it all but rather its performative nature. This felt too over the top. Despite your energetic movements and sensual smile, your eyes were cold and dead. He didn’t want his memory caught on your legs wrapped around his waist or his head between your thighs if it was just a performance. It didn’t feel right to. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the sound of your voice. Even with its dolorous tamber the whisper of your gentle heart found its way to seep through. 

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

You notice Val seated between two tall blonde demons with their legs crossed over his. He was very clearly not impressed with them or your movements on the pole. His disinterest grew with each sip of his drink. He gives you a pressing look. In that moment you knew exactly what he wanted. He had had enough of your stalling. You looked good but you needed to look better. 

"Killing me softly with his song

Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

With a slight roll of your eyes, you fly up to the balcony. You place yourself onto the thick marbled railing with your back to the radio demon. With a quick twist your of your hips, you straddle the banister your body rolling against it ever so slightly. You make direct eye contact with the patron in the center booth. He wore a mask crafted in wilted black rose petals and the scent of death, but underneath he held your late lover’s face. His deep red eyes meet your own e/c ones The glimmer of his previously golden swirled dark brown eyes clashed against his current ghostly red ones  He brushed a strand of his straightened two toned hair  to the side of his face. He carried the same nose, body, and expression as Alastor- Your Alastor. You turn upstage to compose yourself. You sway your hips to the beat of the music in order to keep up appearances. You turn your weary head behind you to his table to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. Even in its outstretched state, his smile gave him away. It really was him. After years of searching, you had finally found him, or better yet, he found you. For just a moment, you had forgotten your penance and your heart flowed with oceans of love. You floated within them in pure ecstasy. In that moment, and animosity you held for him faded away with the weight of your excitement.

"I felt all flushed with fever

Embarrassed by the crowd"

Abruptly the realization hits you, he was seated where the radio demon should have been- that must mean that Alastor; Your  Alastor, was the radio demon. Your mind flipped to the initial radio broadcast he first spoke to you with, as well as the note signed “yours truly”.  Alastor had used that phrase so often as a sign off from the radio show…..Perhaps you weren’t the sharpest little crayon in the demon filled box- considering the embarrassingly long time it took you to put the pieces together. 

"I felt he found my letters

And read each one out loud"

Realizing this sent a wave of relief through you. Perhaps he could free you from this life, he was one of the strongest demons in hell. If anyone could break your contract with Valentino, it would be him...Would he even consider it? Your mind swirled in a storm of questions. Why the sudden change? As the relief of the initial realization began to fade and a new understanding took root. He had left you in life, why would he want to help you now? 

You couldn’t help but wonder why he was really here. Considering his previous track record, nothing made sense. Why would he speak to you within his broadcast, or gift you the dress, or show up to your workplace if he hadn’t payed you any mind in such a long time?

He must have wanted something from you. That would be the only logical reason for his sudden appearance. If he truly had always been the radio demon, he held power. He had all of the necessary resources to find you and he never did. He didn’t need to. 

"I prayed that he would finish

But he just kept right on"

You think back to the various gifts he would purchase you before he asked something of you, or the roses he would send to your apartment if you two had an argument in your life together. Your years of wondering why he had left boiled down to one simplistic answer…He had always just needed something. The more you thought on this, the more painfully obvious it became. He wasn’t here because he loved you. He was only here because you had become convenient again.The second he deemed you impractical, he would leave you as he had before.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You fly away from the balcony, sliding down the metal pole in the center of the stage to reach the floor. You were thankful the stage lights blinded you from his pressing gaze once you were on the ground. You would ignore the balcony entirely for the remainder of the performance. It didn’t matter if Valentino would be upset, you couldn’t bear to look at Alastor anymore- Yet even with your newfound distance, he had chained you to memory. You were transported back to the downtown apartment in which you had previously spent so many hours with him in.

 1930 New Orleans: Your apartment 

The candlelit room was a patchwork of miscellaneous vintage furnishings and modern decorative trinkets. You had moved into your apartment not long after your father had passed. Most of the items within it were gifted to you upon his death. He preferred victorian architecture over all else, it was natural his taste in interior design would follow. You leaned against the sage patterned love seat with a cooling cup of tea in hand. The star speckled sky, and tepid air of late April seep through your opened window.

You awaited the arrival of your lover. Alastor wasn’t a man to be late. He was meticulously early and always prepared. His absence had begun to torment you in anxiety. The grandfather clock stationed in the corner of the room struck midnight, furthering your worries. He was supposed to arrive at 7:30, obviously it was long past that. 

He had promised to take you out dancing to make up for the late hours he had begun to keep at the studio. He had become more withdrawn than you cared to admit. He disappeared for days at a time. On the few days you managed to get ahold of him, he dismissed you, insisting he needed to keep working on his show. It aggravated you to no end, but you would never want to be another obstacle on the way to his dreams. It was easier to let it go and enjoy the time you did have with him.

You had the bad habit of jumping to the worst scenario.You didn’t live in the safest sector of the city, it was entirely possible he had been attacked along the way. Your mind shifts to the uprising of missing person’s cases New Orleans had been plagued with. The media speculated a killer of some kind, but the police department denied those theories. They hadn’t found any of the bodies, and refused to believe they were going to.

 If he wasn’t here within the next hour, you were going to search for him yourself.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

An abrupt knock steals you from your worries, you rush to its source without a second thought. You open the door to the dark curly haired man you had been waiting for. To your surprise, his usually tidy hair was unkempt and rumpled around his newly bruised face. His disheveled blood stained clothing reflected the crimson pouring from his nose. You froze like a deer in headlights, it was one hell of a way to show up for a date. 

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

“Oh my god” you whispered under your breath. Your hands appear at the sides of his face tracing each little scratch and the deep bruise forming around his eye. “Love..what happened? Are you okay?” You stuttered out.

He sent you a sheepish smile, not wanting to raise any concerns.“May I come in” he asked placing his hand on top of your own.

  His “previous activities” were rather impromptu. Usually, his targets were much better thought out, and handled much more methodically. Although he enjoyed the anguished screams of his victims, he would never hurt anyone who wasn’t actively or indirectly hurting you, the same applied to this kill. The timing wasn’t ideal but it was a necessity.

He had decided to walk to the flower shop from the station so he could surprise you with a fresh bouquet before your date. He felt tremendously guilty for his recent absences, and wanted to alleviate that with a gift. Even if he missed you dreadfully, New Orleans birthed the scum of the earth. It was more important to keep you protected than to keep long expanses of your company. He would never forgive himself if something he could have prevented happened to you.

Upon his arrival into the shop, he was rather annoyed with the short brutish man that held up the line. He shamelessly flirted with the owner of the shop, who very clearly did not care for his advances. Alastor wouldn’t stand for such behavior. It was better to deal with the issue then instead of allowing you to continue to exist in a world full of degenerates. He would do anything to keep you safe. 

 Once the man had finally left, he followed him until they reached a quiet alley. He pulled the knife from his coat pocket, ready to strike. He stabbed the man’s back and twisted the knife in as far as it would go. However, the man was a bit stronger than he anticipated. It was the first time anyone had bothered to fight back.

His most recent kill had gotten sloppy, and here he was covered in blood on your doorstep in consequence. He never wanted any of the evidence to be tied to you, so he had learned to keep his distance. On this particular occasion however, he didn’t have much of a choice. He had dismembered the body and left it tucked in an alleyway, to be disposed of later. The only evidence remaining was the blood staining his clothes. If someone saw him walking through town in his disorderly state, that would raise questions; questions that could indirectly put you into harms way. Although this wasn’t ideal, it was the only option. -Besides, he had accidentally missed your date, you were probably worried sick over him.

“Yes of course I’m sorry, please follow me” You stammer out grasping his hand and leading him to the bathroom. You weren’t entirely sure of the nature of his bedraggled  state, but you were determined to fix it. You reach under the sink and dig out the first aid kit you kept on hand. 

You reach for the bandages and a dampen a small cloth. You press it against his bloodied nose and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Are you alright” You ask hesitantly. Your mind burned with questions, what had happened to bring him here in such a state?

“It’s nothing I can’t manage I’m sorry to drag you into this.” He replied, remorse seeping into his tone.

“No it’s alright I’m just glad you’re okay.” You responded as you began to bandage the scuffs on his hands. From his demeanor, you gathered he didn’t really want to talk about this, but you couldn’t help but ask.

“What happened Al?”  You questioned. Your shoulders were slumped in his direction while you carefully washed the cuts on his face.

“It’s not important my dear.” He responded with a nonchalant smile.

"Telling my whole life with his words

Killing me softly with his song"

His indifferent attitude did anything but calm you. 

“You can’t show up on my doorstep like this, and not expect me to be concerned for you. Please, just tell me what happened love” You begged. 

“I  had something to take care of. It’s not important” He dismissed you again as you unbuttoned the clasps of his shirt to tend to anything below the surface. Through his bloodied exterior, you couldn’t discern what stemmed from him or another person. 

“Clearly-" you huffed. You examined the small contusions that littered his chest. “Please don’t run from me Al”  Even though his injuries are less severe than you’d thought your lips contorted into a deep frown. “I’m worried about you.” Your e/c eyes bore into his smooth brown ones.

“I just.. got involved with the wrong person y/n, please save your worries for a worthy cause.” He murmured. He attempted to dissuade your worries with another smile, it only multiplied them.

“We should report this to the police Alastor I don’t care who you got involved with they don’t have a right to leave you like this” You urge, your fingers mindlessly trace the edges of each forming bruise.

“Y/n just drop it.” He finally snapped, his voice is intense and almost feral. His shoulders tense up almost as quickly as they release.

“Please”. He softens, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

"He sang as if he knew me

In all my dark despair"

1930: New Orleans: Your apartment, six months later

Another pressing knock awakens you from your sleep. You didn’t even have it in you to be upset anymore. It had become habitual, he would show up on your doorstep a little before four in the morning speckled in bright red blood; just as he had done every few weeks for the last six months. It wasn’t worth asking for explanation anymore. He would ramble out the same tepid excuses and unconcerned reassurances. 

You opened the door to his typical scarlet splatted clothing. The longer his little escapade expanded, the less injuries he sustained afterwards. It was a double edged sword. You were glad he never walked in branded in bruises or dripping his own blood, but it also made you apprehensive. How was he able to hurt another so easily with no more damage than the occasional scrape on his knuckles? Nothing about the entire affair made sense. You recall the vague details he had mentioned after the first incident. If he truly had been accidentally whisked into the company of the wrong individuals, why didn’t he just leave? He worked in radio, theoretically he could accomplish the same goal in a different location. There wasn’t anything to stop him. You had assured him you would drop everything and go with him if he only asked you to. New Orleans had no reason to hold onto you in his absence. You were a matching set.  

With a small kiss between your drowsy eyes, he walked into your bedroom to shed his dirtied clothes. Upon his return, he flitted about your kitchen collecting the necessary materials to make you both a cup of tea. It was routine at this point. Accompanied by the smooth lull of the radio, you would drink your tea and chat. He was never at a loss for words, and you loved to listen. You didn’t really talk about anything meaningful, just whatever happened to cross his mind.  You sit curled into his arms tea in hand. You couldn’t help but wonder why this was all happening. You wanted him to open up to you. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. Maybe if he told you, you could find a way to help him out of this

“Al..why don’t we just leave here? I don’t like that you keep showing up like this. I promise I won’t be upset with whatever details it holds…I just want to know that you’re being safe.” You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, as you speak.

“My dear, we have been over this, it is nothing I can’t handle. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it” He smiles down at you and presses another kiss against your forehead. He admired your care, but he feared your judgement too harshly to admit the true details of his actions.

"And then he looked right through me

As if I wasn't there"

“This is the second time this week Alastor. I’ll support you through anything but I deserve to know the details”. You plead, lifting your head to better observe his features. He looked completely and entirely unbothered.

"And he just kept on singing

Singing clear and strong"

"y/n I'm telling you to drop it" His hand cups your cheek.

"No you don't get to tell me that anymore. I'm concerned for you Alastor.” Your voice gets louder as you pull away from his touch.

"I've told you before darling, you needn't worry" He tucks a stray loc of your hair behind your ear. "I promise I would never hide anything from you for longer than I needed to dear.I will always be truthful with you y/n” He pulls your body back into his lap as he speaks.

“ I just can’t tell you yet… It wouldn’t be right to involve you in this.” His voice is indistinct and distant, as his arms wrap around you into a tight hug.

“ I can’t risk you getting hurt, You are my perfection dear” 

Your heart falls from your recollection as your body finally drops to the from the spinning pole. Alastor didn't end up keeping his promise of eventually veracity. How many other things did he simply “not tell you yet”.

"Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words"

You were convenient and gullible, you had loved him too much to even consider that he might have been hurting others and not a victim himself . You lived in the middle of the city, giving him a central location to act from. He hadn’t lied when he said you were perfect.

"Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song"

It was much deeper than you previously thought. You weren’t just someone he kept around for the occasional favor or entertainment. It was deeper than that. The bloodied clothes and unexplained absences finally made sense.  He would’ve needed to harm a lot of people to hold such an astute amount of power upon his arrival in hell. You were the unknown tool that helped him reach that status. 

"Telling my whole life with his words"

No wonder you ended up in hell. Any sinful actions you may have taken or blood on your hands was nothing in comparison to the amount he spilled with your help. You were nothing more than an accessory to his crimes. You had wasted your life on counterfeit kisses and meaningless utterances of  love. You had wasted your afterlife believing they held some merit.

"Killing me softly with his song"

He didn’t come for you because he didn’t need anything from you. He never actually loved you enough to search for you beyond that. 

The music crescendos into its final note. You take a slight bow as the crowd exploded into a sea of cheers.

“Thank you for being such a darling audience, I’ll be out to speak with you soon” you announce as you blow a kiss in their direction. Val would have to be mad later. You needed to get out of there

As soon you walked off stage, the lively armor of your theatrical persona was thrown aside, leaving nothing to guard your wounded heart. You stumble down the hall towards your dressing room ,a freshly opened bottle of wine in tow. You wanted nothing more than a moment of clear unfeeling peace. Valentino preferred you to mingle after a performance, but you needed to collect yourself and dampen your anger before you had to speak with your untamable fans. Alastor’s appearance had shaken you to your core in ways you weren’t prepared to confront. You didn’t have time to accurately process those emotions so you would settle for a second alone to compartmentalize. By the time you reach the dressing room’s door, the bottle in your hand is nearly empty. You turn the knob to reveal to a vase of crimson roses reflected in your mirror and the shadow of his antlers on your face. 

“Why are you here.” You asked pointedly. Your voice held the typical icey air of a frigid hellish morning. You had no intention of letting him stay long enough to propose whatever twisted favor had brought him back to your door.

“It was you that contacted me dearest” He ignored the frostbite forming on his finger tips from your cold shoulder- His frankly untrue statement struck more than a few of your nerves. 

“If I had, don’t you think I would have done it sooner?” You seethed with aggravation. Alastor hadn’t a clue as to why you were so cross with him. Perhaps guilt motivated your responses and he was simply caught in the overtly anguished crossfire. You had always been slightly oversensitive to your effect on him- maybe that was it?

“Now my dear you haven’t been in hell very long, you mustn’t blame yourself for needing a bit of extra time to understand your skillset. I was pleasantly surprised to hear your sweet voice interrupt my usual broadcast- Although, I must say I wasn’t aware you were so interested in continuing show business after death. Had you asked before finding your own way, I could have connected you with a classier establishment" 

“A bit of extra time is the understatement of the hour” you huff under your breath. 

“Most demons take weeks to learn control, you on the other hand managed to do so in a couple of days you really should be proud” He sent you a reassuring smile.

You laugh dryly, confusion overtakes his features and seeps into his smile.

“Oh sure you’re absolutely right! I should be proud it only took a day or so- give or take a few years” The sarcasm radiating from your response would have slit the throat of a lesser demon. This confused Alastor even further. 

“y/n, how long have you been in hell.”Bewilderment etches across his lips, he had never considered the possibility you weren’t another new arrival before then.

“Ten years, eleven next week.” you admit. His eyes grow wide in remorse.

“Dear I am so very sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Between your anonymity and my little leave of absence, we must have just missed each other. I assure you had I known you were here I would have been chasing at your heels.”  Despite his deeply genuine intentions, you perceived his words as nothing more than another manipulative tactic to persuade you into whatever twisted plan he had in store.

“Please- Al, you can cut the act already. To be entirely frank, I don’t need any more of your sweetly worded lies, I know who you’ve always really been now. I’m telling you it’s not going to work anymore- I’m not that stupid.” Your retort was accompanied by the roll of his eyes.

“You left me without a care in the world, and with a child for that matter. It stands to reason your sentiment wouldn’t change, even in hell. I don’t care for whatever old favor you’re trying to call in. I’m not helping you.” Even across the room, the edges of his raven tipped hair practically singed at the weight of your words. For the first time in his hellish existence, his everlasting smile dropped. He didn’t know he was a father. He had died before you had chance to tell him.

“ We had a child?” His voice is weak and raw, entirely devoid of its usual crackle. His eyes hold a deep sadness you had only ever seen in your own reflection. Your posture visibly softens at his sorrowful reaction. The realization hit you: He never got to meet his son. At least you were granted a moment with your baby swaddled in your arms. Alastor hadn't been so lucky. 

“ Yes.. his name is Eugene. He turned 50 last year...He was such a beautiful baby. He had your brown eyes and curly hair. I swear I could almost hear you in his laughter.” The corners of your mouth begin to peak up in response to the remembrance. Despite the short time he had been a part of your life, Eugene was everything you lived for. You endured every sleazy comment and blood splattered old fashioned in the hopes you could see him again. You even went as far to marry the bar’s immoral owner. You suffered a lifetime of abuse and the plight of that man's own children on the half hearted promise you might have been able to regain custody in your newfound stability.

“Did he live a good life?”  He was overtaken with dream-like sun spotted snapshots of you and his son. The hypothetical moments alleviated his guilt slightly. At least in his absence you weren’t entirely alone. Alastor's legs carried him to your side. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the melancholy from your face and offer you comfort. His hand gently outstretched to your shoulder. The silence that overtook the room was hinted in comfort instead of animosity.

“ Yes..he did" you finally respond. 

Your mind wanders to the flower shop he owned downtown and its painted green exterior. The lavender cursive of the sign above it read "Eugene's Fanciful Flowers". He was a complete and total dork, just like his father. The older you got, the more you found yourself walking past it. He had sent you a bouquet of daffodils once. You kept them in the vase next to your bed long after they had begun to wilt and shrivel. You weren't sure how he knew of your existence or even where you lived. He was only 18 months old the last time you had held him in your arms. You weren't really his mother, just a circumstance of his birth. You never had the chance to watch him grow. 

"I just never got to see it” You snap out of your memory inspired daze.

He never got to meet his son because he chose not to. Any remorse you felt was quickly scrapped from your system. You could have watched your son’s mind grow and learned the nuances of his little voice if Alastor had just stayed. That’s all he had to do. You didn’t care if your eventual marriage with him would have crumbled in the process. For all you cared, he could continue his distant nature and whatever wicked deeds he pleased, just as long as he stayed…He made his choice to walk that crestfallen path alone, separating you from him and your son in the process. You shrugged off his soothing hand and turned away, effectively burning a fire flecked wall between the two of you. 

“I had to give him up. The radio show shut down in your absence. I couldn’t support the both of us with what little I made at the bar.” Bitterness seeps into your previously softened voice. You weren’t going to allow yourself to be manipulated by his falsified concern. The mirage of imagined moments you had collected of your son over the years flashed through your mind all at once. You were devastated by the memories you didn’t get the chance to make.

“Y/n.. I am so sorry.” He is nearly frozen in place, shocked by the sudden shift in your demeanor. If you weren’t so angry, the pathetic broken string of words would have shattered your desolate heart.

“ You can stop pretend to care Alastor. You had no issue leaving us then- What do you really want from me? Just get it over with so I can go back to forgetting you exist.”  The short horns peaking out from your hair nearly doubled in size. You were growing frustrated with his half assed excuses and blatant lies. In that moment, you didn’t care if he disappeared entirely. The deserted lovesick island you had so often found yourself stuck on burned to the ground in the back of your mind. 

“Why would I, an overlord, want something from a weaker demon such as yourself. I don’t know who placed that foolish notion into your head, but I assure you, I don’t want anything from you” Anguish accented the pungent inflection of each word. Alastor was growing tired with your antics he didn’t want anything from you other than your forgiveness. He had apologized for the first time in decades, and meant it. Why couldn’t you just accept that? Your resentful resolve exasperated him to no end.

“ I just wanted to see you again, I thought you might like the same, evidently I was wrong.” His typical smile pressed into an uncharacteristic sharp line.

“Will you please just stop?” Your voice raised far more than a few decibels. He couldn’t take the hint, and you were not sober enough to keep reiterating it.

“Darling it has been agony sitting around waiting for you here, only to find out you’re cavorting around with Valentino. Leaving you wasn’t my fault, you can’t blame me for something I didn’t wish to do. As much as I wish to I can’t control my circumstances. I’ve already apologized I don’t know what else you want me to do."  He would gladly do anything you asked to mend the bridges you had set ablaze in your unreasonable fury. He hadn’t meant to die, it just sort of happened. Were you really blame him for his untimely demise?

“Didn’t wish to do? How stupid do you think I am?” You scoffed.

“The only thing I want you to do is leave.” Your voice wavered but the sentiment was strong. He could almost see the fighting spirit that traced your form. Alastor couldn’t help but laugh. He had done nothing but answer your call, and you had the audacity to reject his answer. If you wanted to fight, he would fight with you. If nothing else, it kept you talking to him.

“Naturally, because you are just so much happier leashed to Valentino and spinning around that pole” He taunted, his scornful sneer seeping into his cadence.

"Believe me I'd rather be anywhere else-" You snapped. He had added fuel to the fire and the weight of its introduction flooded you with spite.

“Don’t pretend that you’re any different from him Alastor. You are two sides of the same coin- except unlike you, Valentino actually owns my soul. I have to put up with this shit from him. I’m under no obligation to take it from you. I am not a toy for you to pick up and put down whenever you need something to play with- I’m not some tool for you to use whenever decide you need a favor.” 

You didn’t really believe the words coming from you, you just wanted to hurt him the way he hurt you. Evidently it worked a little better than you anticipated. His eyes contorted into the shape of radio dials, the static erupting from his core in tandem. His height over you nearly tripled, as the horns on his head wept out jet black roots that stretched into the ceiling. His voice distorts into a vicious growl.

“You don’t get to stand here and pretend that I am entirely to blame. It isn’t my fault your life went so poorly. Let’s think reasonably for a moment, provided you haven’t completely lost it. You could have made any number of different choices, but you went with the easiest option, just as you always have. As for your current situation, you did the same. Although I regret not finding you sooner, you clearly had the ability to reach out if you truly needed something. You don’t get to blame me because you finally started to regret your careless mistakes. You have no right to be angry with me for your own choices. Look at how pathetic you’ve become y/n.” He grasps your chin, tilting it to meet your eyes in the mirror. 

“I don’t know how I ever managed to love someone stupid enough to waste their soul on nothing more cheap liquor and lust rolled cigarettes.” 

The radio static that had permeated the room just seconds before fizzled out leaving you alone in the silent pit. His antlers returned to their normal size as he observed the void that replaced your sparkling eyes. As soon as he saw the tears welling up within you, he realized what he had said. 

 In actuality, he didn’t mean a word of it. In his time in hell, he had grown too accustomed to uncovering the insecurity of his opponents. In that moment, he had forgotten you really weren’t one. 

He didn’t truly blame you for anything that had happened. How could he?  He knew he was mostly at fault for the more unfortunate aspects of your life. His heart incessantly throbbed with guilt just thinking of what you must have gone through. He hadn’t known what he left you with in such an unforgiving world. If he had, he would have found some way to pluck the bullet from his skull and return home to you. 

As for the quality of your after-life, he knew the blame belonged entirely to Valentino. You had always been strong, but you had never been cruel. To survive in this hellish landscape, you had to be on some level. You probably would have ended up just another lifeless body bloodying up the street if you hadn’t taken the offer. Valentino had taken advantage of that, and Alastor hadn't been there to help you find another solution. Even if you didn’t want his help, he would never forgive himself if he didn’t find a way to break the deal you had made. 

 “Get out.” You didn’t have enough strength for anything more than a whisper.

 His eyes bore into yours as a single tear slipped down your face. He hadn’t noticed the deep scratches that decorated your cheeks or the dark purple bruises that formed under your contour until that moment. They had been hastily covered in concealer and he hadn’t been close enough to notice the jagged indentations until then. The ears perched atop his head began to twitch as his mind sparked with an entirely different form of rage...As soon as he figured out what twisted soul had dared to lay a hand on you, all of hell would hear their screams. 

 His grasp on your chin softens as he traced the edge of each scratch with his free hand.

“Who did this to you” 

“Get out.” You tear your face from his hold. 

“No I’m not leaving you here” he stated, the desperation of his tone rimmed the edges his lanky frame. He took a step towards you and you took a step away. 

“Get the fuck out Alastor. Now.” Your eyes began to glow a familiar pink. 

“Y/n, I didn’t mean t-“

“Just go” you cut him off before he has the chance to put a word in edgewise. You had been through enough. You didn’t need his excuses to confuse you more. Your eyes squeeze shut as the objects in the room began to float. All you wanted was for him to go away. 

“I won’t leave you again” He stood his ground.

“Leave me alone” You were practically screaming at this point. If he couldn’t listen to your request, you would just have to be louder to make him listen. Your voice reverberates throughout the room, effectively shattering both the light bulbs surrounding your mirror and the mirror itself. The residual glass scattered through the space and into your hair. 

To your surprise, he doesn't respond. The remaining floating objects fall to the ground in a piercing clatter. Your eyes shoot open at the sudden noise.

Other than the abundant mess, there was no trace he had ever been there to begin with. Even the roses he had brought for you had dissipated. You stood alone in the glass covered room, thankful he had taken his leave. The swirling overload of emotion made you feel ill. You replayed the conversation a few times in your head, each replay inspired a deeper feeling of regret and a plethora of questions you no longer had the opportunity to ask. 

A/N:

Hey yall thank you sm for the support I adore each and every one of you!!

Also a note about the content revolving around abusive relationships: This is going to be a bit long winded but I feel it's important to be said. The content in this chapter as well as chapter 2 features some pretty awful depictions of abuse. I want to check in and make sure that this isn't coming off as an overly done cliche or a cheap plot device to further the story. In no way is that my intention. I know that I am a very small writing page but it's important to me that I dont accidentally wind down the same path a lot of larger entertainment companies follow. I've drawn from the experiences of my friends who have gone through similar things as well as my own to try and prevent that. However I am also aware my writing style is a bit..dramatic? If you find that it is coming across negatively, and if you feel comfortable, don't hesitate to message me normally or anonymously. I will gladly listen to anything you have to say!!

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #valentino being a nasty fucker #Alastor really just can't communicate well and you are lowkey stupid #like ok ms girl jump to conclusions #tbh if i was her id give him a lap dance and forget everything #why am i like this #valentino #...can die #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #you best believe the shitty song fic titles are coming back next chapter #omg theyre back! #i was high off my ass writingn this so no guarantee its good.

[we-are-inevitable]

modern art // javid (ch. 1)

A/N: hi !! so some of you may remember an old songfic i did in march of last year, titled ‘modern art’ after the song “IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23. well, i’ve always thought that that one shot would work great as a stand alone fic, and here we are! i have ch. 1 edited and SO MUCH of it as changed- like, for example, the fic is a chapter fic now !! regardless, i hope you guys like this !!

WARNINGS: depression, anxiety, self-deprecation, past addiction, mentions of addiction, just general Bad Times- pls be mindful when reading !! it’s just very Not Happy rn ADDITIONAL INFO: all characters are in their mid-twenties in the fic. oh also this is probably important but it’s a soulmate au !!

Read On AO3!

tag list: @bound-for-santa-fe @wannabecowboypunk @shippingcannons @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @smallsies @deliciouspeachpirate @newsies-is-my-erster 

Jack doesn't know what’s going on with himself, but he knows that he could really use his soulmate right about now.

They’ve communicated before. Never verbally, and never enough to reveal who they were. Perhaps they are both just... dealing with some unspoken fears, dealing with the worry of rejection sitting heavy in their chests. Perhaps they both like this mystery- the uncertainty that came with the notes scrawled across their bodies in a handwriting that isn’t their own.

Or perhaps they just aren’t ready to take the plunge. To grow up and face the harsh fact that, as soon as they meet, wherever and whenever that may be, a new chapter of their life will unfold. Consume them. Change anything and everything they’ve ever known or held dear.

They had been braver when they were children, that much was true. Jack remembers staying up late often, writing notes on his skin and watching in awe as the replies appeared. He remembers the giddy rush of trying to quickly wash off the ink on his wrist when they ran out of space to talk, and, oh, how they talked. There were school days when Jack would go to class exhausted, feeling like he’d been walking through quicksand for miles on end, but all of it had been worth it. The exhaustion he felt had been worth being able to talk to them until two, three, four in the morning. Sometimes he regretted it, of course, but only because it was harder for him to focus in class. Never because he was upset at them.

He could never be upset with them.

Even now, Jack remembers a lot about his soulmate. They liked music. They knew how to play the piano. They were into a few video games, even some that Jack had never played, and said that they always tried carrying a book with them wherever they went. Jack remembers that, as a younger kid, they liked Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but also liked analyzing Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe and a bunch of other fancy authors that Jack had never even heard of. They were intimidatingly smart, and sometimes, would carefully correct Jack’s grammar whenever he misspelled a word or something- but they were never mean about it, they were just… there. A steady presence that he could count on.

Fifteen year old Jack dreamed of finding them one day. But now, twenty-five year old Jack is losing hope.

He can’t exactly help it. For starters, he and his soulmate haven’t communicated in… well, shit, it had to be nearly a year. Maybe nine months or so, but there’s no way to tell for sure, and even then, their conversations since reaching adulthood have been dull, for lack of a better word. A few positive comments here, a ‘have a good day’ there- it’s all so mundane, and neither of them can be blamed for it. They both have busy lives- or, well, Jack does, at least. His job as a graphic designer is hard enough on its own, but the added pressure of doing freelance work and commissions on the side has been eating away at him for weeks, coupled with debilitating self-doubt and lack of motivation for… anything.

Saying that he’s overwhelmed is the understatement of the century.

There is always another design, another client, another meeting, another deadline, another sleepless night as he stares at a blank canvas and prays for a spark of inspiration from whatever God is listening. Usually his inspiration comes from the world around him- his friends, city life, even the quiet confines of his apartment, but right now... Jack is stuck. He had holed himself up in his room days ago, trying and failing to get out of bed every morning when the time came to work- and thank God that the majority of his work could be done from home. His boss was understanding, too, to an extent.

Still, though, there’s a constant heavy weight on his chest that prevents him from moving most days, and he’s lucky if he even gets up long enough to shower or eat or do literally anything aside from lie in silence and count the cracks in his ceiling.

Nothing had happened to him recently to bring this on, from what he can tell. Jack has always been the happy-go-lucky leader, the man with a plan, the guy who always knew just what to say to motivate others into doing the best thing for themselves, but when that responsibility is reflected back onto himself, Jack feels helpless. There are words waiting to be said, sketches waiting to be drawn, designs waiting to be sent to clients… yet Jack lies there, motionless in his room for three days before he even has the energy, the willpower, to pull back his curtains and allow the sunlight to shine through. There is so much he wants to do, so much he needs to do, but he can't bring himself to do any of it.

In all twenty-five years of his life, through all of the things he’s been through, the ups and downs and foster homes and graduations and birthdays and funerals and therapists and rehab facilities and whatever the fuck else life decided to throw at him, Jack has never felt so worthless, so… lonely. His closest friends are all moving on with their lives. Many have already found their soulmate, have settled down and hidden their rowdy, rambunctious pasts behind skeletons in a closet. They’d all gotten their adventures done and over with in high school and college, and most are moving onto bigger and better things in life. They have careers. Families. Some have children, others have pets, a few have an insane amount of plants to care for.

All have seemingly left Jack behind in the dust.

No one told him when to flip the switch.

No one told him when he had aged out of adventure.

Now, they would never say it, but Jack knows. He knows. Saturday hangouts and trips to the bar had been replaced by Sunday church services and playdates for the kids. Rather than hearing yelling from his living room after his friends had all been teetering just on the edge between tipsy and fucked up, Jack hears the news, and documentaries, and podcasts, and the ghosts of a past life that he still seemed to be desperately clinging on to.

Katherine had been the one to tell him that he needed to grow up, though she didn’t put it in such a blunt manner. No, she’s just.... gently urging him to find a bigger apartment, or buy matching furniture from a place that is not a thrift store, or purchase dishes that weren’t of the plastic Walmart brand. She says it was because she wants to see him in a more professional, "adulty" lifestyle, but he knows it’s really because she can see that he’s a mess.

Deep down, Jack knows she’s right. She’s always right.

He just can’t help but feel cemented in place, dreaming of the past while dreading the new future ahead of him.

Jack never asked to feel so broken for no reason. All of the hope and optimism he had felt as a teenager was gone, lost in a sea of uncertain plans and shitty jobs and bill extensions and canvases dropped onto the floor with no rhyme or reason. And, yes, maybe Jack would look dramatic to someone who didn’t know his situation, but Jack knows what dramatic feels like. Dramatic feels like watching his best friend, Charlie, belt onstage in front of a backdrop that he helped create for the school play. Dramatic feels like laughing at the top of his lungs while walking through a random gas station at two in the morning, joined by Race and Al, all while higher than a kite. Dramatic feels like driving to the outskirts of the city with Katherine, climbing onto the roof of an old building and screaming about all of their stress, their anxiety, their insecurities, just to have some form of emotional release.

Dramatic doesn’t feel like sadness. It’s not supposed to.

Not for Jack.

He had been so… so happy, as a teenager. Proud and defiant and carefree. He was the kind of guy to skate and smoke weed in Central Park until midnight and take a math test at eight in the morning the next day. He was the kid who stood on a table in the cafeteria and came out as bisexual to everyone around him, just because of a dumbass bet that he didn’t even get paid for. He was the boy who wasn’t at all good in an academic sense, but who always knew how to talk himself out of trouble, who always came up with the most ridiculous- or most believable- lies to cover his ass when he needed it, who was always the class favorite, the teacher’s pet without meaning to be.

Jack had felt on top of the world back then, but now he’s struggling to even get off of the ground. The longer time goes on, the more lost Jack feels inside his own life. He feels like something was missing, something big. Something bigger than himself.

When his mother was alive, which now felt like lifetimes ago, she would often echo this old wives’ tale about how it’s best to find your soulmate while you’re younger, just to save them- and yourself- the pain of being alone for a long time. Jack had always kind of believed her; logically, he knew it was true, but he had always told himself that it wouldn’t happen to him. That he would be fine alone, though it wouldn’t be ideal, and that he would have plenty of time for soulmates after he got out and made a name for himself.

He’s starting to think, though, that maybe she was right. Maybe Jack had waited too long to make a move, to make contact again, because now, he just feels nauseous even thinking about it.

Don’t get him wrong, he knows the negative effects of self deprecation and not taking his own mental health seriously, he’s been to rehab before, blah, blah, blah, but, fuck, how could he put his soulmate through something like this? This fucked up state of mind he has now. Jack can’t even imagine talking to Katherine about this, and Katherine had been his best friend for over a decade. He can’t just meet his soulmate now- it’s been too long, he’s too messed up, they won’t like him, they’ll hate him for not trying hard enough, and Jack will just end up alone again, wasting away in his bedroom because no one fucking cares. No one cares. He has nobody.

That’s not true. He has Medda, his mom, his savior, his impulse control, but the thought of telling her that everything is acting up again makes him want to scream. He has Tony, but Tony has Al, and Tony and Al have a kid- a sweet little five year old girl who calls Jack ‘Uncle Jackie’ and takes no shit from anyone. He has Katherine, but Katherine has her soulmate- this dude named Darcy, who Jack doesn’t have much of an opinion on because they just met, like, a month ago, and Jack hasn’t exactly been emotionally ready for a hangout session between the three of them. He also has Charlie, and Charlie has certainly seen him in worse times- like when Jack was kind of hooked on pills for the entirety their freshman year of college- but Charlie has grad school to worry about and Charlie would hate him if he bothered him with this.

Still, there are other people who would listen, probably. He could easily talk to Elmer, or Romeo, or Specs, or Jojo or Finch or Sean or a fucking therapist but that’s just it, isn’t it? If he talks, he burdens, and Jack Francisco Kelly would rather run himself into the ground than be a burden anyone.

So, he makes a vow.

He makes eye contact with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s gripping onto the sink, holding on for dear life, as he stares into his own sunken eyes. He takes in his appearance. Damp, messy hair, falling down to cover his forehead. Pale skin, which isn’t normal at all. Dark circles have taken their place around his eyes, and his smile- one of his favorite things about himself- is… nonexistent.

Distantly, Jack registers himself dumping a full bottle of ibuprofen into the sink. And then, he does the same thing with the bottle of melatonin from his medicine cabinet. The valium follows. He lets the water run for a long time. It's not that he doesn't trust himself- he'd done so, so good in rehab, and he doesn't even feel urges that often anymore- but it's better safe than sorry, especially since he's like... this.

This is not the Jack Kelly he’s used to anymore. This is not the Jack Kelly he wants to be.

But this Jack Kelly is the one who vows not to reach out. The one who vows to only answer when his soulmate is ready, and maybe not even then.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though.

Not when a heart appears on the back of his hand the next morning.

It’s there when Jack wakes up, and, honestly, it almost brings Jack to tears- but not necessarily for happy reasons. Sure, Jack wants to be happy. Who wouldn’t be happy after seeing something like this? A lopsided heart drawn in red ink, right on the back of his left hand- it was the definition of a symbol, of a romantic gesture, and Jack wants so badly to write back, to strike up conversation, to draw a goddamn heart, but… he can’t.

He can’t, and that’s horrible of him, and he knows it.

Right now, though… Jack can’t even work up the courage, the energy, to call his mom.

His soulmate, whoever they are, is going to have to wait.

#if u wanna be added to my tag list just let me know !! #newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #javid #javey #newsies broadway #newsies musical #newsies fic #newsies fanfiction #newsies fanfic #livesies #toursies #jac writes #jac txt.

[thecreelhouse]

take care of yourself

paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: you’ve been through enough shit to believe self care is building your walls high and keeping everyone out. The Universe has no problem challenging that, though. (Or: the flower shop/soulmate AU comfort fic nobody asked for)

Word count: 4,656

Warnings: mentions of past abuse (emotional/mental/physical), PTSD, language, angst

A/N: it finally happened, I wrote a reader insert fic for once! lol. I’ve been going through a rough patch with old trauma, and this is an absolute self indulgent comfort fic buuuuuut I hope whoever reads it enjoys it. Originally it was me writing out some shit to just get it out, but then it turned to a flower shop AU, and somehow ended as a soulmate AU....? Messy, but oh well lol. if you’re an abuse survivor, pls know your pain is valid but your healing is so, so very important. 💜 title is from the song ‘take care of yourself’ by the childlike empress

Build your walls up high and strong, tall and mighty. No ladder or set of stairs could reach the top. Not even the most stubborn and determined can make their way in. Make yourself more stubborn than those around you. Leave first before you’re left in the dust.

You’ve lived this way for years. It’s lonely. It’s quiet. It has its own kind of hurt, but it’s pain in your control.

You’ve lived this way for years, and you swore you’d never let anyone take advantage of you ever again. Once vulnerable, soft, welcoming, now stoic, cold, distant; you wouldn’t feel it was necessary to stay this way if people weren’t so cruel.

If you never open up, they can’t use your secrets against you. If you keep to yourself, they can’t get under your skin. If you weren’t so foolish, so quick to trust others, you could enjoy human connection without a second thought. Now, it’s second nature to keep your defenses up, and keep them up strong.

With that comes anger, defaulted towards everyone and everything, and it doesn’t give anyone new a true chance. If that means you’re safe in the end, then that’s just fine. Maybe you are cold, maybe you are bitter, but you’re nowhere near as bad as the monster that drove you here.

You’ve lived this way for years, because it’s better than being gaslit on a regular basis. Safer than a hand around your throat, just manipulating you to stay. The pain of being lonely is a dull sting compared to the pain of your first time being stolen from you, forced to become someone else’s gain, someone else’s object.

You’ve lived this way for years, why stop now?

Why let someone have the opportunity to tear you down? Rip you apart? In the end, most people just have selfish motives, and if they don’t, they’re hard to come by. Why waste your life looking for someone worth your time?

So yeah, it’s lonely. It’s lonely as fuck. It hurts. It’s a comfortable pain that soothes you to sleep every night. It’s a wound that never heals, but at least you’re the only one disturbing it.

When you moved, you just wanted to get the fuck away from anything and everything tied to him. You wanted to destroy all links, burn all bridges; nothing was safe anymore, nothing was pure anymore. You up and left because no matter how hard you tried, someone was always waiting around the corner of your next chapter in life, eager to apologize on his behalf.

“He had it hard, you know.” And “his sister abused him, he didn’t know any better. Never got proper help.” followed by, “he’s trying, he’s changing, give him another chance.”

If manipulating someone to stay under dangerous circumstances is “trying and changing”, you wanted no fucking part in that mess. You knew better. He should know better.

So you left. You packed up and left the little bit of good sprinkled throughout town behind, because it wasn’t worth running into him one more time. Wasn’t worth glancing over your shoulder in fear anymore. You knew he was powerless once you left him, but it never calmed the storm of anxieties constantly brewing within you, the “what ifs” keeping you awake at night.

Hundreds of miles from home, you stopped in a small town. Hawkins, Indiana. Quiet. Quaint. Small towns may be frustrating in the sense that everyone knows everyone, but at least it’s a fresh start, practically off the grid compared to home.

You flowed your life into the surroundings of Hawkins quite easily; a small apartment downtown with easy to find parking, a job at a flower shop a block away, working with what you loved, and you picked up as many hours as you could, keeping busy, keeping to yourself. It’s what you always did best. Friendly at work, friendly when necessary to strangers, but you never let anyone in. It’s what you simply did best.

For a few months, you kept to your daily routine. Lonely, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary for you. You called home when necessary, just to reach out and let your parents know you’re still alive, doing just fine. Things were simple, and that was just fine. It gave you more down time to focus on yourself, focus on healing, however you saw fit.

One day, though, the focus stopped short. The perfect, mundane balance you had, went off the rails in just a quick, few minute exchange. Everything you had worked so hard to protect was screaming at you to tear the walls away.

It was a normal, Thursday evening at the shop. Quiet, watering the plants as needed, the chime above the front door tore you from your safe bubble. You switched gears, getting ready to use your pleasant “retail” voice, when your eyes fell on two boys, and your balance began to unsteady itself. One was older than the other; the younger boy looked to be in his early teens, and the older boy was much closer to your age, hanging somewhere near or in his 20-somethings.

It wasn’t the boys walking in that threw you off, it was specifically locking eyes with the older boy, forgetting to breathe for a quick second. Forgetting how to move, how to act; the cold shield you kept up at all times was begging to be let down, just over some handsome, idiot stranger. Something felt like a magnetic pull towards him, but only for a moment.

Fighting through the daze, you asked, “Can I help y’all?”

The younger boy, with messy curls flowing from under a hat and gaps in his toothy grin, immediately walked up to you. “My girlfriend is visiting, and I want to surprise her with flowers, but I don’t know what her favorite flower is, and I can’t just ask her-“

“I mean, you can, you know.” You interjected, smiling at how panicked he seemed.

“That’s what I told him!” The older boy added, walking closer. “He didn’t want to listen.”

“Yeah, Steve, because your girl advice has been proven to be shit.” The younger boy mumbled back, rolling his eyes. The older boy’s face grew red.

“Hey! Even she-“ Steve gestured to you, pausing for a moment, hoping you’d introduce yourself, or he’d find a name tag, something. “- um, sorry-“

“Y/N,” You replied, unsure how to feel in this situation. His eyes searched yours for a moment too long, and you felt exposed.

“Thank you- see, Dustin. Even Y/N agrees with my advice. Maybe I don’t always have shitty girl advice.” Steve finished his argument with Dustin.

You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they were being, how it was giving you some comic relief to a bland, boring day... but laughing meant being friendly, and being friendly was only reserved for short conversations and interactions. You felt like you could easily fall into a conversation with these two, and that was the last thing you needed right now. Trusting anyone was the last of your concerns anymore.

“Well, there’s no real wrong choice, in my opinion. Just, don’t get white lilies, or something. Those are usually for loss and sorrow, better for funerals.” You offered, sticking strictly to business. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I have to get back to watering some of these plants now.”

Without waiting for a reply, you walked off across the room with the watering can, hoping they’d be quick and out of here soon. A few minutes passed, and you could hear them frantically whispering to one another across the shop, not exactly clear about what, until you did hear a clear “go talk to her!” from Dustin to Steve. You felt yourself stiffen up, not wanting to be disturbed, not wanting things to grow awkward.

Sure enough, the Universe truly loves to work against you, and a few moments later Steve found his way closer to you, clearing his throat to catch your attention. You turned from the plants you were focused on.

“Yes?”

“Uh... hi.”

“.... hi?” You replied, brow raised. “Did you need something?”

“N-no, I just- are you new here?” Steve asked, tripping over his words, hands fumbling out of nervousness. “Sorry, this is weird. I just haven’t seen you around before... and I-“

“I moved somewhat recently,” you replied, keeping things vague. “What’s it to you?”

Steve’s face fell, flustered and unable to reply to that. “N-nothing. Sorry.”

With that, he walked back over to his friend. You felt bad for being short and cold, but the last thing you needed in this town were friends. The last thing you needed was some cute, nervous guy working for your trust.

A few more minutes passed in silence, aside from more awkward whispers from the two boys, and suddenly Dustin shouted out, “Thanks, Y/N! Have a good day!” before pulling Steve behind him out the door.

You were left in confusion, wondering if your attitude scared them off, and felt bad. You just couldn’t let anyone in, even with a little bit of innocent small talk. Steve probably meant well, but you didn’t want to take the risk of finding out.

The next few days went on with your regular customers, an elderly man wanting to surprise his wife with some nice flowers, just because. A mother creating a lovely bouquet to give her daughter after her dance recital that night. A call for a funeral arrangement was what shook you to your core, though.

You’ve had them before, you’ve made them before. You were the only other employee aside from your boss who was skilled in making them. You loved doing what you could to help ease the pain of loss, but it hurt hard this time, hearing the young woman lost her life to an abusive, turbulent relationship. It sent chills up your spine. She was just a bit younger than you, still close enough to relate, though. The man was taken in by authorities, thankfully, but it still had an end no parent wants to hear of their child. No friend or family member wants to ever hear they’ve lost someone to a selfish monster.

Your heart hurt for the woman, and hurt because it’s a situation you were once in. It could’ve been you, and was a sharp reminder why you couldn’t trust anyone.

Working on the floral arrangement late Saturday night, you had the shop to yourself, trying to stay tuned into your handiwork. The funeral was the next morning, and you refused to clock out until the arrangement was perfect. It wouldn’t bring this poor girl back, wouldn’t turn back time, but if it could help honor her life, then you were doing something right.

The familiar chime of the small door bell sounded off, and you didn’t turn around to face the customer. “We’re not doing any custom orders tonight, and we’re technically closed, so make your decisions quickly, please.”

“Oh. Shit, sorry, Y/N, didn’t even realize-“

You spun around at the sound of your name to see Steve, awkwardly standing just beyond the doormat.

“Why are you here?” It came out colder than you wanted it to. You needed it to be cold, though, right?

You watched Steve wince at your attitude before responding. “I- I just wanted to apologize for the other night, when Dustin and I were in here. If we made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t wrong, you were uncomfortable, but how would he know that off the bat? He was just being friendly, and you were the one shutting yourself off.

“S’fine.” You replied quickly before turning back to your work, busying yourself once more. “I have to keep working...”

You trailed off, wanting to tell him he had to go, but a part inside of you screamed stay, stay, stay.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, again, Y/N. See you around.”

The doorbell chimed once more, and you glanced down at your hands, crushing a few lilies subconsciously. Sighing and throwing them onto the table, you walked over to the door and locked it.

“It’s safer this way.” You reassured yourself. “It’s just for the best.”

A few more days passed, and Dustin came back in. You couldn’t be as cold towards him, he was only a kid.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked as he crossed the room to the counter.

“I’m sorry if we bothered you last week-“

“Dustin, it’s fine, really. Steve came in the other night. You guys weren’t bothering me at all.” You tried reassuring him, but he still wore guilt on his face.

“I really do need flowers, though. And I asked Suzie what her favorites are!” Dustin said, with a growing smile. It made a smile of your own begin to grow.

“And did she tell you?”

“Yep! Sunflowers! Never woulda’ guessed on my own.” He replied.

“Proud of you, kid. Glad you asked.” You began gathering some fresh cut sunflowers into a brown craft paper bouquet. “When’s she visiting?”

As you handed him the flowers, he answered. “Tomorrow! I’m gonna’ show her around town, maybe we’ll stop in and say hi, if that’s ok?”

“Of course it’s okay, door’s always open.”

“Great!” After paying, Dustin began to walk towards the door, stopping to turn back your way. “Do you like sunflowers too?”

Brow raised at the question, you answered without thinking much into it. “They’re nice, but I like wildflowers more myself.”

“Good to know, thanks, bye!” And with that, he rushed out of the shop, leaving you confused once again.

The question didn’t make sense until the next day, when Dustin stopped in with Suzie, and a nervous Steve trailing behind the both of them, hands behind his back.

Arms crossed and brows furrowed, you said hello to the younger teens before directing your attention back to Steve. “Wasn’t expecting you here.”

“Yeah- I’m their ride for the day.” Steve nervously chuckled, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet.

“Whatcha’ got there? Behind your back?” You questioned, curious but nervous. Steve’s face flushed red before he pulled a small bunch of wildflowers from behind his back, handing them to you. Your eyes grew wide, trailing down to the roots of the flowers, clearly sticking out, freshly yanked from the ground.

“Um- uh- Dustin mentioned you like wildflowers, and I wasn’t sure what kinds, so we picked a bunch for you.”

“He picked them, I just delivered the information.” Dustin corrected, and Steve elbowed him, pulling a smile out of you.

“Thank you.” You said, feeling your expression soften on its own, and with that, Steve hesitantly let a smile grow. “I’m going to clean these up and put them in water. You can come with, if you want.”

Your own words surprised you, wondering when you became okay with any friendliness with a guy your age. But you didn’t fight it, continuing off to the back of the store, with Steve following behind, leaving Dustin and Suzie on their own in the shop among the flowers.

Steve watched curiously as you cut the dirt-covered roots from the ends of the flowers, giving them fresh ends to drink from. Your eyes darted up to his. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Steve’s eyes grew wide once you began to speak. “I- I wanted to. I still feel bad for upsetting you the other night. I really meant no harm, I swear.”

Sighing, you set the flowers down gently on a counter, leaning against it and looking towards him before speaking again. “You did nothing wrong. I’m just a fucking mess, and don’t let anyone close to me anymore. You couldn’t have known.”

“Still, I’m sorry I invaded your space without asking or- I don’t know-“

“Steve.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s not your fault, really. I’m sorry I came off so cold.”

“I understand, though. And don’t feel pressured to like, be friendly with me, or whatever...” Steve trailed off, struggling to find the right words. “I just wanted to at least let it be known that... I dunno.... it’s okay, I guess.”

Smirking at his attempt, you moved back to the flowers, grabbing an empty vase and filling it with water. “It isn’t. It won’t be, unless I keep my distance from people. But I appreciate your sincerity.”

“Not everyone is bad, you know.” He mumbled. “I’m not just saying that to kiss my own ass, I mean it, there are good people out there, you know.”

Feeling your grip tighten around the flowers, you caught yourself before crushing them, placing them in the vase safely. “You don’t know that. You wouldn’t know that.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t know?” He countered, unaware of the push it caused on you.

“Why are you so fixated on changing my view, huh?” You snapped, spinning back to face him. “You think you can just come along and fix that? Fix me?”

“No, I never said that.” Steve replied, frustrated. “I don’t know you. Don’t know a thing about you. But I just- forget it.”

“What? Say it.”

Looking away, Steve mumbled, “You don’t have to isolate yourself to feel safe. I know what it’s like, okay? It fucking sucks.”

“Bullshit you know anything about that. You don’t know me, don’t assume shit.”

“Who moves to Hawkins willingly?! You’re running from something or someone-“ at that, your face fell, and he paused, searching your eyes. “You’re right, I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be nosy and get involved, but I know what that pain feels like, and it fucking hurts. I just wanted to try and show you that you’re not alone.”

You held yourself and emotions back as he searched your eyes once more before walking away, and you let him. A few moments passed before you heard the bell chime over the door, and you were fully alone, just like you always wanted.

You’ve lived this way for years, why stop now? Why stop ever?

For a moment, a sliver of time, you felt seen, felt understood, valid in your pain. For a moment, you didn’t feel so alone, and you pushed that away.

Weeks passed, and neither Steve nor Dustin came back into the shop since. You almost missed them, almost missed how you felt a little less lonely when they were around, even if you barely knew them. Not knowing where Steve lived, worked, or anything, you just had to patiently wait, and hope either would return, and you could mend the barely built bridge you instantly burned down.

It wasn’t until one night just before closing, a girl your age came into the shop, heading straight for the counter you stood behind.

“Hi, can I-“

“This is from Steve.” The girl interrupted you, handing a VHS tape over. “Just... watch it, okay? Give him another chance, before I go insane hearing that dingus whine about how he fucked things up.”

Leaving you speechless, she left the store. You glanced at the tape, seeing it was just a plain black VHS tape, with a piece of masking tape on the side, written on it was “for Y/N”, causing your stomach to flip a little.

Curious as to what could be on it, you rushed to clean and close up the shop, running down the block back home. Immediately after getting inside your apartment, you tossed the tape into the VCR, and hit play, settling on the floor in front of your TV.

Grain flooded the screen for a moment, before a clear picture appeared, of Steve, struggling to hold the camera up on his own, panicking, trying to find a sturdy surface to set it on. You felt a smile tug at your lips at the sight of his clumsiness.

“Uh... hi. Hi, Y/N. This is probably weird, and you’re probably sick of me annoying the shit out of you-“ Steve ran his hands through his hair nervously, before looking back into the camera. “I- I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want to upset or bother you or invade your space- and you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like, not how you do, but I want to understand... and I want you to know you’re not alone-“

“Yeah! What he said!” Dustin barged into the room, and Steve rolled his eyes, shoving the younger boy back out before continuing. “See, even Dustin cares.”

You found yourself giggling at their antics.

“I don’t want to fix anything- I just- you’re not alone, alright? Even if you don’t want to be friends, just give other people a chance, yeah? I don’t know what you went through, don’t know what you survived, but you’re not the only one who’s fought off monsters... you don’t have to do it alone.”

You felt tears at the edge of your eyes, urging to break. Wiping them away, you saw the tape cut to a scene outside, in the woods, with Steve pointing out different wildflowers along a trail.

A group of kids wandered in and out of the shot, occasionally making silly faces at the camera, or teasing Steve as he filmed.

“This for your girlfriend?” One mocked, and he sighed behind the camera.

“Shut it, Wheeler, she’s not my girlfriend.” Steve mumbled, embarrassed. It rose more laughter out of your chest.

“Steve, that footage is going to be awful. Do you even know how to hold that thing?” Dustin teased, trying to reach for the camera before it was jerked away. Dustin eventually got a hold of it, pointing it towards Steve, who smiled sheepishly at the lens, and waved.

“I’ll tell her since you won’t-“ Dustin started off, and Steve reached for the camera before Dustin ran ahead with it. “- we miss you, Y/N. We hope you’re okay. Steve is worried about you, and just wanted you to know you’re always welcome to hang out with us.”

“Dustin, give me that back, you shithead!” Steve yelled off in the distance, and Dustin sped up again, bulky camera still on his shoulder.

“Gotta go! If you want to bother Steve sometime, he works at Family Video!” Dustin rattled off, then continued with Steve’s home address, before yelling a quick goodbye, ending the tape there. The static and grain of the tracking filled back into the TV’s screen and sound.

Amused, you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the video was, just like the day they came into the shop. You knew nothing about them, they knew nothing about you, but there was something telling you deep down, maybe it’d be okay to knock some height off the walls for once. Maybe you didn’t have to be so lonely, didn’t have to fight your monsters off on your own.

It was late, so you knew Steve wasn’t at work, and you figured it couldn’t hurt to try him at home. Jumping in your car, you drove off to the address Dustin snuck into the end of the tape. When you pulled up outside Steve’s house, you began to doubt yourself, wondering why the hell you’re in front of this stranger’s house.

There was a pull, though. You’ve felt it before, you felt it now, and it was hard to ignore. How could you when curiosity towered over your fear? The invisible pull grabbed tight, and led you up the steps and to the front door, and didn’t let you think twice about ringing the doorbell. You hoped you weren’t waking anyone at this hour.

The door swung open, revealing a sleepy Steve in sweats, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light above the door.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, and you instantly felt guilty for bothering him at this hour.

“I.... I don’t have a fucking clue, honestly.” You replied, confused at things yourself. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you asked, “Did I wake you up?”

Steve shook his head, “Just been a long day.”

“Someone dropped the tape off earlier. The one you made.” You didn’t want to hesitate anymore on this. “Why did you do that?”

Steve shrugged, moving aside so you could step inside, and not carry this conversation on his front steps. “This is gonna sound crazy, but since we’ve met, I’ve had this... this... thing?”

“A pull?”

“Exactly th- wait, how do you know?”

“I feel it too. I don’t know how, or why, but it’s there, and I can’t keep ignoring it.” You breathed. “People terrify me, but I don’t know what keeps bringing me back to you, Steve.”

“I see wildflowers everywhere I go, now. I see them and immediately picture the joy they bring you, and I don’t understand what the fuck is going on, but it can’t just be coincidence.” He mumbled, running his hands over his face. “I want to give you space, but something keeps telling me to look out for you, to check up on you, make sure you’re alright. That sounds insane, probably.”

Slowly, you could feel the walls crumble down some more. “It’s not as insane as it sounds... because I’m not okay, and haven’t been for some time.”

“God, fuck, so much fucked up shit has happened here in the past few years, that this doesn’t even shock me.” Steve spoke, realizing this was just another bizarre thing happening in Hawkins once more. ”There’s a connection, somehow. With us.”

“Maybe I was just meant to end up here. You even asked me who willingly moves here, and I only did because it felt right. No other way to describe it.” You mumble, realizing how wild this sounded. “The night you came in, when I was working late, something in me wanted so badly to ask you to stay.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Jaw tightening, you answered. “Because I’m not supposed to be like this. Like that. Clingy, needy, dependent. I’ve been on my own for so long, I don’t know what is safe or not anymore.”

“You’re allowed to be needy, you know. We’re only human. You don’t have to fight your battles alone.”

“And what if they scare you off?”

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t, but why can’t I try anyway?” Steve sighed, head spinning in circles over this. “You feel it, I feel it, why are we holding back?”

“Because I’m terrified.” Your voice cracked as it flowed out. “I have to take care of myself, and that means keeping my distance.”

“Or it just means you need to try and trust others again.” He pleaded, knowing something deeper lied beneath the surface. “Let me help you.”

Seconds that felt like hours passed before you nodded your head, covering your eyes with your hands as you began to cry. Cautious, Steve reached out to you, pulling you into a hug that felt comforting. It felt familiar. It felt like home.

“You’re allowed to take care of yourself, you know. You’re allowed to go through your feelings with someone by your side. You don’t have to do this alone.”

A peace settled within you as his words hit your ears, and it brewed a bit of courage within you too. “Neither do you, Steve.”

You weren’t sure what lied ahead, how things would unfold. You weren’t sure how the Universe connected you two together; whether romantic or just platonic, you were soulmates in some sense. In a way, you gravitated towards one another, and letting your walls down didn’t seem so frightening for once.

You owed it to your fragile, younger, naive past self back home to get through the rest of this life with love, light and hope, and allow others to help along the way. You owed it to your past, present, and future selves, to take care. Take care of yourself.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #flower shop au #soulmate au #take care of yourself #my fics

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Hello fuckers! This is the ridiculously long fic I've been vagueposting about for like weeks. 23k words sitting in a doc! I'll be trying to post maybe once every two weeks, but once school starts again it will be a lot harder to get out 3k words in a week. I have seven chapters written, so I'll consistently update for probably 2-3 months and then no promises after that. This is going to be a fucking epic.

Note that not all warnings  apply to all the chapters, so I'll be warning for triggering/upsetting content in each chapter individually. Please heed those!

You all also get to play a game of 'guess which song the chapter title is pulled from', which is made more difficult by my music taste ranging from musicals (les mis! DEH!) to my chemical romance. I'll let you know what the chapter title was from when I post the next chapter. Also, the POV switches each chapter, so that info is also in the notes.

Title: Coming, Coming Home

Chapter Title: Do you want to live out loud?

Chapter Wordcount: 3099

Summary:

The story of 109 WKIL, from the mother that began it to the daughter who saw the end of it.

Warnings: None for this chapter!

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen @no-braincells-here @piratecherricola (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

It began with a handheld radio.

The killjoy who was already beginning to be known as Dr. Death Defying had stolen quiet a few of these portable transmitting devices when he left the army of the corporation called Better Living Industries. Now, he began to give them out, one after another, to the small clusters of rebels who were just beginning to call themselves killjoys. With those, the groups kept each other updated for a while, passing whispers back and forth over the airwaves. The positions of squads of dracs, who had extra supplies, where there were good buildings to scavenge from or shelter in.

Those were highly effective in the small rebellion, news passing quickly between the few rebels, but as more killjoys began to enter to desert, take up the colors and masks and ray guns and form themselves into a true rebellion, it was getting to be not enough. 

“We need something with a wider reach.”

Dr. Death Defying was sitting at the so-called strategy table (which in actuality was a shitty kitchen table strategically repurposed), listening to White Lily talk about rebellion. It was another ordinary afternoon, or as ordinary as one could get in a post-apocalyptic nuclear desert plotting to overthrow an evil mega corporation. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and he and his best friend, the fiery spirited White Lily, were in a partially wrecked house out in Zone Four, where they had been staying for most of the time since the Helium Wars. Both former soldiers, they had served together for a little bit after D had first been recruited. He had been transferred to a different squadron soon after, and they hadn’t deserted together, but they’d met up after the wars and become close friends. Two dreamers who wanted to save the world, she had said. And so now they were trying to do just that, one killjoy recruit at a time.

“If this is going to be a true revolution, Walkie-talkies aren’t going to cut it,” White Lily went on. “We need a way to reach more people. Get the word out quicker.”

“Did you have any particular ideas?” Dr. Death Defying asked dryly.

Her eyes gleamed in the way that meant she did, in fact, have an idea. “A radio station.”

“A what?”

“A radio station. I know I sound crazy, but hear me out. If we can get our hands on the equipment, a lot of killjoys already have radios and that way we can also reach the ones with only a car radio. We broadcast news- who’s dead, where bli is attacking, just generally what’s going on. We can also make speeches over the radio, like what’s his face, the president guy, did with his fireside chats."

“FDR. And you can make speeches over the radio.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t, per se, but he would rather leave the main speaking part of it to her.

White Lily briefly made a sad face, but was back to determination within seconds. “Right, well I can make big speeches if you do daily announcements and news, deal?”

“Deal.” They realized a second later what they had just accidentally agreed to and sighed. 

The other just grinned. “Time to get some radio equipment!”

And so it began with a hand held radio and a duo of Helium Wars survivors, and 109 WKIL was born.

109 WKIL didn’t actually broadcast until two full months and a new crew member later. It turned out to be not exactly easy to get their hands on the equipment necessary to send out signals, and neither of them knew precisely what running a radio station required anyways. They researched as best they could, asking around and reading any old books they could find, but supplies were scarce and electronic equipment especially so. And so they didn’t get the radio station fully running until after the arrival of their third crew member.

It was another of the somewhat lazy afternoons in the desert when Cherri Cola showed up at their house in a stolen BLI News Van. White Lily was gone, off talking to a small band of neutrals and trying to persuade them to aid the rebellion, so it was Dr. Death Defying who was there to see a no-longer white van screech to a stop. He kept his ray gun close as he stepped outside, since the van was Better Living Industries, but the side of it had a sprinkling of graffiti and it was covered in dust, which reassured him somewhat.

“Hello?”

The van’s engine clicked off and Dr. Death Defying breathed a sigh of relief as a lean teenager hopped out, squinting in the sunlight. They were clearly a killjoy, given the pink mask, and they also wore scuffed jeans and a too-small black jacket despite the warmth of a desert afternoon. Their hair was brown and a sandy mess, and they were perhaps an inch or two shorter than Dr. Death Defying. They were completely and utterly un-intimidating with the sole exception of their eyes, which blazed with fierce and bitter kind of anger. 

“Another killjoy?” Their voice squeaked a little, undoing any effect of those fiery eyes, and they cleared their throat. “Uh, another killjoy?”

At loss for words, he nodded. “I’m Dr. Death Defying, he/him and they/them.”

“Cherri Cola.” They fiddled with their shirt hem. “He/him.”

“So…I’m assuming you’re looking for White Lily?”

“Was actually just looking for a place to stay the night,” Cherri Cola mumbled. “I didn’t realize you were already staying here, I can leave-“

“Absolutely not, get inside.” They hoped their voice didn’t sound too firm. “White Lily and I are happy to let people stay with us who need.”

“Oh.” D pretended not to notice the relief on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Do you want to come into the shade? It’s baking out here.” He didn’t mention how hot the other killjoy must be in that jacket.

“Yes, please.” 

So he led the strange teenager inside, half-wondering what made the teen’s eyes so old and filled with hurt and rage. It wasn’t an uncommon sight in the zones, per se, but this kid’s eyes were striking in their pain.

“So, how old are you?”

“Sixteen, you?”

“Twenty. Do you want some power pup? We’ve got a bit of extra, I think.”

Cherri nodded eagerly, and he devoured everything D put in front of him. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to pull off a raid or anything, and hacking vending machines isn’t as easy as it looks.”

That would explain why he was so lean. “You’ve got the look of someone who’s been out in the desert a while.”

“Almost since the end of the wars.” There was no need for him to specify which wars. The Helium Wars loomed over everyone and everything, desert and city. 

“Ah. I’ve been here since the very end of the wars, so not too much longer than you. My friend White Lily and I were both deserters, we met up and decided to stick it to the man, as it were.” 

“So you live together?” Cherri Cola’s face had softened into curiosity.

“Yep. We’ve been sheltering in this house for quite a while now, but we’ve lived together for longer than that.” 

Cherri nodded. “I’m on my own. Runaway from Battery City, never found a crew. It must be nice to live with your friend, though.”

At that moment, said friend came tromping through the door. “Hello, D!”

“Hey, Lily!”    

Cherri waved with a quiet “Hello.”

“Hello, random stranger in my kitchen!”

Dr. Death Defying sighed. “White Lily, this is Cherri Cola, he/him. Cherri Cola, this is White Lily, she/her.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cherri said politely. 

“Nice to meet you too, kid! So I’m assuming this softy offered you a place to sleep for the night?”

“I did, he needed a place to stay.”

“Softy.” White Lily turned her grin on Cherri Cola. “You’re welcome to stay for a bit, we’ve got a nice place and an extra room, so I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“I can pull my weight,” he offered quietly. “I know how to sew and some first aid and a little bit of fighting, but I’m not great yet.”

“What makes you think you have to pull your weight for us to give you a room for a night?” Lily’s face was genuinely concerned. “Can’t believe I’m going to say this, but chill, kid.”

There was something in Cherri’s eyes that reminded D a little of a wounded animal as he glanced up at Lily. “You’re sure I don’t have to be helpful? I can do a lot of things- okay, not a lot, but I’m pretty good at fixing things and I know how to fire a ray gun, even if I can’t really do hand-to-hand combat.”

"Well, if some dracs attack, then you can put that to good use,” D told him.

“Wait, did you say you can fix things? Tech skills?” Lily leaned forward, and D didn’t have to see her face to know what she was thinking. 

“My…I knew someone who’s an engineer,” Cherri explained.  “I know how to fix a lot of things.”

“You don’t happen to know anything about radio equipment, do you?”

“Lily,” D sighed.

“Some, why?”

“We could use some help getting a radio station off the ground. And shush, D, if he’s going to stay anyways, we might as well figure out if he can help.”

“A radio station…do you have a transmitter? Or anything of the sort? And you need modulators.”

“We’ve got the modulators,” D told him. “We need a transmitter, the little one I found isn’t near powerful enough.”

Cherri Cola frowned, tilting his head. “Well, I’ve got a news van with what I’m assuming is a very powerful transmitter, haven’t tried to use it yet, though. We’d have to figure out how to make it work with audio instead of video, but I bet you could use the antenna from that. An FM station shouldn’t take too much technology, depends on how wide you want the range to be. Power is probably more of an issue?”

“We’ve got some large batteries, do you think we need a more permanent power source?”

They talked until the sun was starting to set, Cherri having quite a bit of useful advice and knowledge to supplement what little research D managed.

And after Cherri was safely asleep in the spare room, Dr. Death Defying and White Lily convened back at the shitty kitchen ‘strategy’ table. 

“You’re not seriously thinking of letting him stay forever,” Lily said as soon as she had taken her seat.

“Why not?” Usually, it would be Lily who asked this question, but “He needs a home.”

“This better not be fucking Socks all over again.” Socks, being, of course, the cat D had tried to take in during the Helium Wars. Not only had he been a lot of trouble, he had eventually run off onto the battlefield, and neither of them had been able to stop him. They could only assume he had been killed in the final days of the wars.

D still regretted that, but this was different. “He’s not a cat, Lil. But he does need a safe place to stay. Besides, you were the one who was grilling him about radio station technology.”

“At first. Then you took over with all your technical words and phrases.”

“All we were doing was talking transmitters.”

“Nerd boy.” 

D sighed. “Anyways. He can clearly be helpful, given how much he knows about radio technology and other things, and he’s obviously in need of a place to stay.”

“Well, we’ve got one of those at least,” Lily sighed. “He better end up a good radio station assistant for you.”

D knew that meant Cherri was staying. “We’ll offer to let him join in the morning.”

“We will.” Lily’s face was serious. “Be prepared for him to say no, D. We’re not famous yet, but being friends with rebellion leaders probably isn’t an easy lot.”

“Of course not.” The flashlight they had hung for light flickered. “We’ll warn him about a friendship with us means, but we can’t just kick him out.”

“Technically, we can, but we’re not going to.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

The next morning dawned slightly overcast, which was rare in the desert. It provided somewhat of a gloomy atmosphere as Cherri Cola wandered into their living room area with a tired “Morning.”       

“Morning,” Lily yawned back. D was the only one properly awake at the crack of dawn, always an early riser. 

He found it somewhat amusing how non-functional Lily was until she had had some coffee or gotten some adrenaline from a fight. “Good morning.”

Cherri settled down in one of the chairs cautiously as Lily opened her mouth again. “So, D and I were talking. Big softy that he is, he wants to let you stay with us if you want, and I figured you might be pretty handy when it comes to radio stations.”

“Don’t let her twist it, she’s equally on board.” D resisted a sigh. “We do have to warn you, we’re leading a rebellion. Lily is, at least. I’m something like a right hand, I suppose. So it will be dangerous and difficult to be friends with us, and the radio station will not be an easy endeavor either.”

“Can’t be worse than…” Cherri trailed off. “Can’t be worse than wandering the desert on your own in a stolen news van. Do you really want me to stay?”

“Hey, we always want another pair of hands.” White Lily’s joking tone didn’t get a grin out of him.  “You seem like a neat kid, why not let you stay?”

“Guess so.” Cherri yawned again. “So, do you happen to have a screwdriver? I think I’ve got some ideas about the modulators.”

So Cherri Cola came to live with them. His primary occupation was trying to get the radio station able to broadcast, alongside Dr. Death Defying, combining each of their respective technology skill with a lot of guesswork and the knowledge gleaned from whatever books they could find. He rarely went on runs with White Lily at first, but as they found out a week or so in, he turned out to be more than a decent shot with a ray gun.

“Holy fuck, Cola.” White Lily was staring at the empty can he had just knocked over- from a distance of a hundred and twenty feet, further than D or Lily had managed yet. 

“Is that a good or a bad ‘holy fuck’?”

“Good. Holy shit. D and I haven’t hit that yet, not with a shitty little ray gun like yours anyways.”

“What’s wrong with this ray gun?”

“No offense, but that’s a piece of shit.” D watched as she took the ray gun and weighted it in her hands before handing her own to Cherri. “Feel what this one’s like- it’s a little heavier, but it’s a lot nicer. Yours doesn’t even have a stun setting.”

It took him one or two practice shots, but within a few minutes he was shooting even more effectively.

“A hundred and FIFTY feet! D, did you see that?”

“I did,” D told her, glancing over at the youngest of their little trio. “Cherri, we need to get you a better ray gun.” 

The better ray gun would have to wait, though, as the next day, they finally found the last few pieces of equipment and things that they would need for the radio station. They had decided that 109 WKIL would broadcast from the news van Cherri had arrived in, since the antenna was already attached and that way it could be portable if Better Living Industries managed to track their signal. So a few days of fixing later, they had cobbled together a working radio apparatus that could broadcast at a range of thirty miles or so. It had taken a lot of swearing, banging around, and failed test runs, but eventually they had it figured out.

The very first broadcast fell to D, as it was decided he would be the main DJ, and he settled at the panel a little nervously. Cherri was crouched beside him, fiddling with the last few cords. 

“Think we’re good to go,” he whispered.

"Right. Here goes nothing.” D took a deep breath. “One-oh-nine in the sky and the pigs won’t quit, welcome to the very first broadcast by one oh nine WKIL, the rebellious radio station of the desert. I’m Dr. Death Defying, and I’ll be your usual DJ, keeping you updated on all the news from claps to raids to Mad Gear concerts.”

The script had been decided on beforehand so that he didn’t stumble too much, but he still had to pause to take another quick breath and steady himself. “We’ll be doing our broadcast at this time every morning, pretty soon after alarm clock radiation, and we’ll be fanning the spark of this desert into a flame. So tune in, listeners, for all the latest updates, weather, traffic reports, and the best music we’ve got. One oh nine in the sky, this is Dr. Death Defying signing off.”

Cherri gave them a broad grin and a thumbs-up as D fumbled to click the right buttons to get the music going. D grinned right back, and White Lily came charging into the van a few minutes later, brandishing the radio they had been using to test their broadcasting capabilities. 

“It worked! You came though loud and clear, even a good ten miles away, and you’re already getting good at this. I told you, you could do it!” She gave him a high five, grinning, and turned to Cherri. “And good job, soda kid! You’re already a radio station technician.”

Cherri laughed and high-fived her. “Wasn’t expecting to become one at sixteen, but not the worst place I could have ended up.”

They had tried to spread the word as best as possible about the radio station beforehand, so D knew there had been a fair amount of killjoys already listening to the first broadcast. And word travelled quickly in the desert, so he didn’t doubt their listener base would grow over the years. But for now, the rebellion was small, and the twenty-one-year-old leader and her two best friends were heading inside for a celebratory breakfast of power pup.

#cherri cola #dr. death defying #auri writes #coming home #original character #white lily #ttlofk #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #danger days fic

[wittystarkk]

The Last Five Years || Bucky Barnes || Part Six

author: wittystarkk

word count: 3.8k

relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

chapter title: The Shmuel Song

A/N: Hello everyone! So - real quick. This is one of my all time favorite chapters of this fic. It’s cute and dumb and loving. I really hope that you enjoy it and I would love feedback! Thank you for reading. (-:

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Bucky’s head snapped up from his script the moment he heard (Y/N)’s keys in the door, the deadbolt sliding out of action. He stood from his seat on the lumpy, old red couch, throwing his script down onto the table. “Babe,” he greeted with a bright smile, watching her walk into the apartment. She looked pissed off. Her nose was flared and her eyes were narrowed, her shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion. The corners of his mouth pulled down in his best ‘yikes’ expression, looking her over from head to toe. “How was work?” He asked, though he knew the answer. 

“I hated it,” she declared in a voice that radiated the very anger he saw in her posture and on her face. “Stupid fucking bar.” She grumbled, walking around him and past the living room. She removed her jacket from her shoulders, throwing it on the couch just before she had cleared it. He bit his bottom lip, deciding to let her change out of her work clothes before he tried talking to her. He watched her discard her shoes by her side of the bed, his hand in his fist. She was storming around the apartment like she wanted to break something, or punch something at the very least. 

“You look very nice,” Bucky tried. She gave him a glare in response. 

She wrestled the belt out of her jeans and threw it on the floor beside the bed, huffing loudly. He watched her with raised eyebrows, wondering what her next move was going to be. “Did you get good tips at least?” He ventured, being met with a grunt. 

“Are you writing a book?” (Y/N) wondered, resting her hands on her hips. “Cause, if so. You should leave this chapter out.”

Bucky frowned, he hated when his girlfriend was snappily sarcastic with him. The two were at a standstill again. She returned to changing, and he was left standing there feeling kind of bad.

“Are you working on anything tonight?” He wondered, trying again to have a conversation with her. He knew when she got like this that it would be hard to pry her out of her angry mood. 

“Like what?” She asked.

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “Maybe that story you were writing the other night? Or that episode for that show you wanted to pitch? Maybe that scrap book your friend wanted?” He stopped offering ideas when she seemed more aggravated with him. She walked out of his line of sight and he was just about to follow after her when he heard something drop. She let out a scream of anger. Bucky bound towards the bedroom just as she was storming out of the bathroom, yanking a sweater on over her head. (Y/N) didn’t say a word to him, nearly bumping into him on her walk to the couch. She laid down on her side, facing the back of the couch. Bucky’s face fell as he watched his girlfriend tuck her arms against her chest, curling up against herself. He knew her working at the bar would end badly, and he hated that he was right. 

He crossed to the couch, leaning over to pick her legs up, moving them onto his own lap when he sat down. She grumbled something he couldn’t understand. “Don’t you have a thing sometime later this week? A pitch or something?”

“I’m not going,” her voice was half muffled by the couch and the sweater bunching up around her neck. 

Bucky’s brows furrowed, “why?”

“They’re not going to buy it,” she said, adjusting her legs on his lap, rolling over just enough to be able to look at him.

“Don’t say that,” he took a deep breath. “You know that it’s good, (Y/N). You’re just upset because you had a bad day at work.” Bucky began softly rubbing her leg, giving her calve a comforting squeeze. 

“I’m saying it because I suck.”

Bucky sighed heavily, squeezing her calve again. He lifted her leg, pressing a kiss just below her knee. “You don’t suck,” he reassured. He kissed her knee again, a smile on his lips. “Hey! I have a little surprise for you, in the form of a story.” 

“Baby, no, please.” 

“Come on,” he laughed, pushing her legs off of his lap to stand up.

“No, I’ve had such a shitty day,” (Y/N) whined, rolling over to her back. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching him sit down at her crafting table across the room from her. 

“I have been working on this for like, hours. So, you’re gonna sit up and listen to this for five minutes.” Bucky wrapped her measuring tape for fabrics around his neck, picking up a spindle of thread.

“You know,” (Y/N) cleared her throat. “You’re no writer or story teller, babe. You’re an actor. You remember that, right?” 

Bucky mockingly stuck his tongue out at his girlfriend, “I’ve learned a thing or two by being with you. Just. Give it a chance, okay?” 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “do I have a choice?” 

He laughed happily, “no. But don’t worry! It’s a Christmas story.. Sort of. You like Christmas. It’s the tale of Shmuel, the tailor from Klimovich.” 

“Is Klimovich a real place?” She snarked.

“Silence from the audience, please. Thank you,” Bucky cleared his throat. He took a second to continue, deepening his voice a tad. “Every day Schmuel would work until a little past ten at night in his little tailor shop -”

“In Klimovich?” (Y/N) interrupted, liking the way the word sounded.

“Hey, this isn’t a kindergarten group reading, babe. Keep it down.” 

She smirked, mouthing the word ‘sorry’.

Bucky nodded his acceptance of her apology, continuing with his story. He turned a little in his chair, fiddling with the fabric (Y/N) had draped over the body form she had standing in front of the desk. 

“Hey, don’t touch my things!” 

He sighed, putting his fingers to his lips. “Shmuel would sew and mend, his fingers knobby and rough from constantly handling pins. He had spent forty-one years in his little shop, creating things few could imagine him possible. He was an expert at his craft, a master some would say. He was showered with praise from anyone who purchased one of his suits, or had him alter someone else’s. He never once received a single complaint. Everyone thought Shmuel, the little old tailor, had everything he had ever wanted. But there was one thing Shmuel missed.”

“Babe,” she whined, wanting the story to end before it really began. Bucky ignored her in favor of continuing the story he’d worked so hard to come up with. 

“It was closing time at his little shop, and Shmuel was feeling particularly down about his life. You know, because when you’re old you get upset about things a lot.”

“Sounds like you,” she teased. 

“‘If I only had time’, old Shmuel said to his empty shop. The lights were all off except for the one above his sewing table. ‘I would give up the suits, and sew a dress. The gorgeous dress I’ve been thinking about for decades. A dress so beautiful it would light a fire in the hearts of any girl from here to Minsk. But I have no more time left to sew. ’ Shmuel hung his head, tears in the old man's eyes. He felt sad and remorseful over not being able to sew his dress.”

She rolled her eyes, “Klimovich and Minsk? Where the hell did you come up with these places?” He glared at her as she shifted from her back to her other side, propping her head on the arm of the couch to watch him as he mimicked what she could only assume were Shmuel’s actions. 

“Stop talking,” he repeated. She sighed, motioning with her hand for him to continue. “Just then, the clock on the wall began glowing. Shmuel grabbed at his chest in shock. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing!” Bucky leaned back against the chair, holding his hand over his heart like an old man being terrified. “The clock cried out to Shmuel, “wait, Shmuel. I have heard your words, and I am going to grant you time. Unlimited time.” 

Bucky stood from the chair, picking up an umbrella. He stretched on arm above his head and held the other out, the umbrella gripped tightly in his hand. “I’m a magical clock,” he supplied for her. 

“I got that.” She looked him over. “You know, I’ve never been more attracted to you?” 

Bucky smirked, “hush.” He took a deep breath and straightened his posture. “The clocks hands began reversing.” He did a spin, conveying the clocks actions. “And it called to Shmuel, ‘go! Sew Shmuel. Sew the dress that’s in your head!” 

He dropped the umbrella to the floor, returning to sit down on the chair. He hunched his shoulders forward a bit to present himself as an older man. “Shmuel, believing he was going mad, shook his head at the clock. ‘No’, Shmuel had said. ‘No, it’s not right. I’ve got to accept the little time I’ve got.’ Shmuel looked at the clock that was on his wrist, seeing that it was once again the exact time to leave the shop. “‘Oh, look.’ Shmuel said. ‘It’s time to go’. And so he stood and began packing his things, but the clock wasn’t ready to give up!” 

He stood again, back hunched. He began picking up a few items from the desk, placing them into a small box. (Y/N) groaned, holding her hand out. “Why do all of my things have to come into this?” She complained. “Use your own stuff if you wanna tell some damn story.” 

He ignored her, finishing his process of packing up. “Shmuel finished packing up, ‘really it’s time I leave,’ Shmuel said again to the shop. ‘Goodnight, old Klimovich.’ Shmuel called out, pulling his coat onto his frail shoulders. He was nearly ready to go when the clock cried out ‘wait! Not yet!”

Bucky bent to grab the umbrella again, standing up straight. “Pretty good right?” He asked (Y/N), winking at her as he put his arms in the position for the clock. 

She scoffed, “I’m riveted.” 

He blew her a kiss, straightening his arms out. “The clock spoke loudly to Shmuel, ‘Even though you may not be the wisest, or the richest, you certainly are the finest man we have in Klimovich. Listen to me, Shmuel. Make the first stitch of the dress, and you’ll see that you will get what I have promised.” 

He dropped his arms back to his side, hiding the umbrella behind his back as he hunched over again, going back into his role of Shmuel. “Shmuel gave a sigh and shook his head, ‘clock.’ Shmuel said, ‘it’s gotten so late. It’s fine. I’m happy. I’ve made peace with my life, clock. I’ve accepted that this is my fate.” 

Bucky once again took on the posture of the clock, “the clock was growing frustrated with Shmuel. It wanted to convince him immediately and was beginning to find his reluctance headache inducing. The clock spoke to him again, ‘Shmuel. Just make one stitch, and you will unlock all of the dreams you have let slip through your fingers.’” 

He hunched over once again, “Shmuel gave in, deciding he was dreaming. That he had fallen asleep at his desk and that he should just entertain this stupid clock dream. He grabbed his thread, and a bolt of velvet, and settled down to get to work.” Bucky sat down in his chair, pantomiming Shmuel gathering his things. “As Shmuel prepared to start working he stopped and turned to the clock saying, ‘I sure hope I took out my teeth before I fell asleep. God, Shmuel. Dreaming of talking clocks’. And he would shake his head, and then for some reason I figured that the clock and Shmuel would dance.”

She shook her head quickly, “there isn’t a chance in hell I’m dancing with you.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, “I figured.” He grumbled, getting back into character. “Anyway, so Shmuel put the thread in the needle, and he got ready to sew. And the moon was full and bright and it was lighting up the whole shop from the big windows in the front, and there were no stars, which I only note because I saw it all in my head and you need to too.”

“I couldn’t care less, baby. But. Continue, please.”

“Anyway. He began sewing the black velvet into this gorgeous gown that I’m sure women would fight each other for. And the clock was reversing rapidly, minutes rewinding the entire time Shmuel worked. You know, like VHS tapes? That was the clock. And Shmuel was so concentrated he couldn’t even bother looking back at the clock to see that it was real. That time really was going back.”

Bucky sounded a little breathless after rambling but continued nevertheless. “Shmuel cut pieces of lace and attached them to the dress, adding buttons and ribbons in the back to make that - that kind of - what the hell are those things called?”

“Corset?” She supplied and he gave her a big, thankful smile. 

“He added buttons and ribbons to create the corset in the back of the dress, and the entire time the world was continuing to wind back.” Bucky motioned for (Y/N) to sit up, which she did just out of curiosity for what he would do. He gave her a smile as he draped garland around her neck, smiling at his decorated girl. He grabbed bows from the desk that were meant for presents, attaching them to the garland. “I’m decorating you, like the dress.” Bucky explained, kissing her nose. She gave him an amused smile, going along with his weird antics.  

Bucky took a deep breath, delving back into his story. “Anyway. Every single thing Shmuel did to this dress was like it had been destined by God. And it was perfect. Every cut and stitch was made without a single error. Shmuel had never sewn something as effortlessly in his entire life. It was clear to him that this was meant to be. In a fit of amazement, Shmuel realized that time was turning back. He began crying and he shouted to the clock, ‘take me back! Take me back all forty-one years!” Bucky held his hands out in front of him as if he were begging with all of his might. She had to hand it to him, he was a decent actor.

“It went on and on in the small little shop on that silent little street in Klimovich. The clock reversing as Shmuel worked and sweat and cried over his gown. And of course, Shmuel took his time making sure that not a single swatch of fabric or inch of thread went to waste as he perfected his dress.” Bucky turned, removing a sheet from the wall that (Y/N) hadn’t even noticed before. “The sun began rising on that endless night, as Shmuel stretched his body. He was finally finished with this dress, this magnificent dress.” Bucky leant under the desk, plugging in a cord. The wall that had been previously covered with a sheet lit up. Strings of Christmas lights had been tacked up onto the wall in the most hodgepodge of way, and all (Y/N) could do was smile. 

Bucky removed the tape measure from around his neck, dropping it back to the desk. He smoothed his fingers through his hair, breathing in deeply. He could feel his mouth beginning to get a little dry. He reached his hands out to (Y/N), who took a moment before reluctantly giving in, allowing him to pull her up from the couch. He spun her a little before holding her close to him, swaying ever so slightly while he continued his tale. “Shmuel at last was finally happy, finally felt complete. He’d managed to sew 41 years worth of dreams into the seams of that dress. Dreams that Shmuel could feel were beginning to become real, just as the clock promised. He had done it. He’d finally accomplished the one thing he’d always held himself back from. He’d finally made it. His perfect, wonderful dress.”

Bucky kissed (Y/N) softly on the lips, rubbing his thumb over her cheek before letting her go. He motioned for her to sit on the bench before the bed, thankful that their studio apartment was small and practically completely open. She obediently did so, gripping onto the edge of the bench while he busied himself with the rest of his story. “This was the dress that he’d labored over for more hours than anyone would ever know, thanks to the clock of course. A dress that had been in his head since he was a boy. The dress was Shmuel’s true masterpiece. Anyone who looked at that dress would have fallen madly in love.” 

He winked at her, reaching beside the fireplace to produce another string of Christmas lights which he began wrapping around the body form. “And according to the papers this was the very dress that a young girl in Odessa wore on the day she got married to a young man named Shmuel.  A man who she vowed to love for the rest of her life.” Bucky shrugged, “I heard that it was a beautiful ceremony.” He plugged the end of the light strand into the wall, letting the body form light up. 

Bucky stood beside the body form with his hands clasped behind his back, smiling lovingly at (Y/N). She couldn’t help but return his smile, her eyes a little watery at the effort the love of her life had put into this work of fiction. “That was pretty good,” she acknowledged. “A little choppy, but it was fun.” She joked, smiling the entire time she’d spoken. 

“I’m not done yet,” Bucky informed her. “Many had hoped and dreamed and even prayed to any higher power to get out of their small town of Klimovich. Though, they never could seem to get away. Could never get their break, could never escape their home.” Bucky closed the distance between him and (Y/N), kneeling down in front of her. “You know? I think that if Shmuel had been a cute girl, he’d have looked a hell of a lot like you.”

(Y/N) gasped, eyes going wide. “I’m Shmuel?” 

Bucky nodded, laughing a bit. “Oh, yeah.”

(Y/N) glared at him, pointing at her own chest. “I’m not the girl from Odessa?” She asked, having assumed the entire time that Bucky would have been Shmuel. That this story would have ended with him saying that was just his way of telling her he loved her. She felt a tad embarrassed. 

“Maybe it’s because you’re afraid to go out on to a limb-ovich?” Bucky tried, pleased when (Y/N) laughed, her face losing the shock it had just held. “No?” He asked.

“No,” (Y/N) confirmed. 

He shook his hand dismissively. “Maybe it’s because your heart’s completely in it, but you know, maybe your brain just can’t follow through?” Bucky sighed, taking (Y/N)’s hand in his own. “But baby.. Shouldn’t I want the world to see the brilliant, and gorgeous girl that inspires me every single day?” 

(Y/N) bit on her lip, watching him carefully. She knew where he was headed and she was less than prepared. “Bucky,” she whispered, trying to stop the course of this conversation. 

“Don’t you think now’s a good time to be the ambitious freak you are, (Y/N)? C’mon. You can’t keep wiping ashtray’s at the bar. You can’t continue temping, baby. You’re so much better than that. You’re so talented it’s insane. Someone has to see that, acknowledge that. You know? Stop letting yourself get discouraged. Stop getting in your own beautiful little head and telling yourself you aren’t good enough. You’ve got to believe in yourself, babe. You know I do.” He brought her hand up to his lips, placing a kiss to the back of it. “C’mon,” he said, standing up with her. He lifted her by her hips, placing her onto her feet on the bench. “Say hello to (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), a big time novelist.” He held his arms out, mocking the cheers of a crowd. 

(Y/N) laughed, hiding her face in embarrassment. “Bucky,” she said in between laughs, finally giving in. She shook her head, arms stretching out to her sides. She stuck her tongue out at him before bowing to him, pretending to accept a bouquet of roses. Bucky clapped for her, shaking his head at her theatrics. “You’re a ham,” he declared, holding his hands out to her to help her down from the bench. 

When she was on her feet in front of him he pecked her nose. “Here,” he said, turning from her to grab something from atop the dresser to his left. (Y/N) sat back down on the bench, furrowing her brows as she accepted the package from him. She looked at him for permission before tearing the wrapping paper off, smiling down at the package of paper in her hands. “For your printer,” he supplied before she could ask him what it was for. “So you can print out your manuscript.. Though, now I guess you have to finish it.” He winked at her, producing another smaller package from the dresser, placing it atop the package of paper before getting on his knees again in front of her. “And there’s the ink,” he told her while she unwrapped it. 

“Bucky, this is so sweet, but I don’t think I can.” (Y/N) shook her head, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the lips. Bucky shrugged, taking the paper and ink from her lap. He set them beside her leg before reaching underneath the bench, pulling out a small box which he held up to her. 

“Take a breath, take a chance, and take your time baby.” Bucky offered her the box, which she gladly accepted. When the string was untied and the lid was removed she saw a brilliant gold watch situated atop a bed of decorative tissue papers. “You’ve got time baby. You just have to do it.” 

Bucky removed the watch from the box, holding it out to (Y/N). She held her wrist up, allowing Bucky to slip the watch on her and fasten it. He kissed her wrist, just above the watch, before resting his hands on her knees, looking up at her. “Have I mentioned how lucky I am to be in love with you?”

~

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Tags: @petlaufeyson​, @lovely-geek

#sam writes #sam posts #sams post #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fan fic

[hard-boiled-criminal]

PM: Complete General Information

Hello dear Readers! This chapter is some background information/context about the reader/MC (or whatever you want to call the reader that is gonna be in the story) and the contents of the story. Some of it is necessary, some of it is not. I might end up repeating myself sometimes, sorry about that. Please read parts c, e, and f. They are marked below and are the most important things you should read in this chapter.

This was created in order to inform the readers ahead of time what things they can expect to see so they can see if anything listed here may keep them from enjoying the story. I want this story to feel safe and inclusive for everyone.

Please remember that this is a story. Suspend your disbelief.

1.       Table of contents for the topics that will be discussed in this chapter. I’ve bolded the most important ones that I would suggest reading.

a.       Short Summary of All the Topics Listed Below

b.       Modern Witchcraft in Our World That is Used in This Work

c.       What Will and Will Not Be Specified About the Reader

d.       Reasons for Specifying and Not Specifying Certain Traits

e.       Important Aspects That Cannot Be Removed

                                                               i.      Please Read this one to see if any of these aspects may make you uncomfortable. The purpose of this is so that nobody will have dedicated time to reading this work, only to have to stop due to a major aspect or plot point making them uncomfortable.

f.        Warnings for General/Common Triggers That Appear in This Work and Mental Disorders the Reader Will Exhibit

2.       Extra Information Unrelated/ Vaguely Related to the Story

a.       About Reposting and Plagiarizing Other’s Works

b.       Extended Information About Previous Sections/Words with an Asterisk (*) Indicator

A. Short Summary of All the Topics Listed Below

              Do not attempt any of the spells or witchcraft mentioned without doing the proper research first. Most physical descriptors about the reader-character are unspecified, along with other traits, their gender, and their pronouns. It is up to you to imagine what the reader looks like. Some of these decisions about traits have specific reasons. There are certain aspects that cannot be removed, but they are partially flexible in a sense. There are some common triggers that will appear in this work, please check what they are.

B. Modern Witchcraft in Our World That is Used in This Work

Whether you believe in witchcraft or not, or if it really works is up to you, I'm not writing this fan-fiction to turn people into witches. (Also, I use the term witch as a gender-neutral title.) I bring this up because many of the spells the reader uses, and other methods of witchcraft are based off of what I believe to be real spells and rituals and the like. Many of the reader’s practices of magick can be found by researching them. If you would like to know the exact sources for my knowledge, contact me, and I can provide an online source or two. Do not attempt these spells or practices without doing the proper research first, as well as learning how to protect yourself. I am not going to be reckless and put out any spells I consider to be on the more dangerous side. It is for this reason that I am establishing that the reader is a beginner witch (or ‘baby witch’ as some may call them), so that I can reasonably have the reader have limited knowledge on witchcraft, and therefore limited knowledge on spells and the like. Practice witchcraft at your own risk. Leave your pride and ego at the door. Be reasonable and be safe.

C. What Will and Will Not Be Specified About the Reader

·       Unspecified

o   Sex (as in what the scientific male and/or female body parts they have)

o   Gender/gender identity

o   Ethnicity/race

o   Details about the reader’s skin (e.g. color, dry, oily, soft, rough, etc.)

o   Anything about the reader’s hair (color, type, texture, etc.)

o   Body shape and weight

o   Eye color

o   Romantic and sexual orientation

o   Religious beliefs and the like (this will never even come up)

o   There will be next to no specific physical descriptors

·       Specified

o   Reader is under 6’0”/183cm (or is at least shorter than Malleus)

o   Reader practices some mild/beginner Witchcraft (like spell jars, for example.)

o   The reader likes to sleep. They don’t appreciate being woken up.

o   The reader is at least somewhat romantically interested in boys

o   The reader is an adult. The exact age is up to you, but the reader is at least 18 years old.

D. Reasons for Specifying and Not Specifying Certain Traits

·       I want to keep any physical descriptors as vague as possible so that everyone can comfortably immerse themselves in this work.

·       I won’t say anything regarding hair because there’s so many different kinds and combinations of hair, some people don’t have hair, and some people may wear an article like a hijab.

·       Religion is absolutely never going to come up or be mentioned in the story, so don’t worry about that.

·       The reader is under 6’0” simply because I want to be able to specify some of the characters being much taller than the reader, but the reader will not be given a specific height.

·       The reader being a witch is kind of a huge part of the plot for this fic, so…

·       If you don’t like sleep, I don’t know how to react.

·       I will not budge on the age of the reader in regard to romantic scenes. No adult x minor here.

E. Important Aspects That Cannot Be Removed

              Any underlined text in this section signifies an aspect that absolutely cannot be changed. Everything else in this section is flexible and can be changed if wished.

If any of these points have something that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know and I will attempt to find a word-around to the best of my ability.

If the reader ever refers to themselves in third person (It is extremely unlikely this will happen), they will use they/them/their(s) pronouns.

There will be a notifier/warning before any scene with actual romantic content so that if you don’t like the specific character, you can easily skip it. As of now, romance scenes will not directly affect the plot.

No smut will be present in this work.

The reader is uncomfortable to an unspecified degree at the prospect of having to attend an all-boys school. The reason for this comfortability is unspecified and can be anything you wish (Some possible examples: the reader does not identify as male, the reader is not heterosexual and/or hetero-romantic, the reader has female organs/body parts in the scientific sense, the reader doesn't feel safe being surrounded by men (especially men who can whip out fireballs whenever they desire), etc.).

Since Night Raven College is an all-boys school, the other characters will assume the reader is a male and will use masculine pronouns when referring to them in the beginning, but this will change as the story goes along. When a character learns the reader's reason for being uncomfortable, they will immediately switch to using they/them pronouns for the reader ( I will use "(raison d'être)*" as the fill-in space for the reader’s reason for being uncomfortable). If those are not the pronouns you use/are uncomfortable with them, I apologize. The main reasons for this switch in pronouns are: 1) to be inclusive no matter anyone’s gender or identity. 2) signify a change in relationship, to signify that this character knows the (raison d’être), which can be helpful to keep track of which characters know and which don’t without having to look through different chapters to remind yourself. 3) to show that the character is trying to be respectful and considerate of the reader, not wanting to assume anything else about them.

The reader does not want anybody they don’t trust to know their (raison d’être). The reason for why they don’t want anyone to know is up to you. Every reason is valid, no matter how it seems like. Whether you or others regard it as a big reason or little reason does not matter. Any reason at all is okay.

The (raison d’être) causes the reader to try to fit in in a way that doesn't garner suspicion to the best of their ability when around people who don’t know the (raison d’être). I believe that the reader character would not want others to suspect that they are attracted to men, because they know that some people may then avoid them and/or ignore them simply because the reader is attracted to men while going to an all-boys school. (I’m not actually going to make any of the characters act like this. I put this reason in because I know that there are some shitty people out there who will immediately break friendships once they learn someone’s sexuality. I think that the reader would fear this possibility since they know it happens back on Earth. Maybe it has happened to them before.) This done for various other reasons as well: in order to fit in better, not garner suspicion, to prevent others from getting to curious—which could lead to them learning the (raison d’être) before the reader is ready to tell them—and so on and so forth. I’m assuming that if you’re reading this fic, you wanna romance some boys, meaning you'll be in a school full of pretty boys.

The reader is at least somewhat attracted to monster-like/inhuman features some of the characters have, like horns or fangs and such. How much of a monsterfucker the reader is depends on you. (I am very much a monsterfucker with naga/nagas being my favorite.)

The reader knows Disney stuff. They are quite familiar with Disney and they are definitely going to be singing some Disney songs sometime. I won’t just copy and paste all the lyrics to certain songs. It’ll most be just a mention that the reader starts humming or singing a certain song, or they emphasized a certain line of lyrics for some reason.

Reader is a fan of Starkid and their musical Twisted. I highly recommend it. You can find the whole performance on youtube. You might know Starkid from one of their most famous works: A Very Potter Musical.

Reader is from this Earth. Our Earth. The one you’re living on irl. Or at least an Earth that is nearly identical. Like so identical that the only difference is that someone coughed at 12:04 on a certain day but on the other Earth that person coughed at 12:03.

        F. Warnings for General/Common Triggers That Appear in This Work and Mental Disorders the Reader Will Exhibit

·       Triggers/Content Warnings

o   Nothing super prevalent yet. Please DM me any triggers you have if you’d like me to know them. That way I can place a warning if it ever comes up.

·       Mental Disorders

o    (These are based on what I have because I feel most confident in my works if it feels genuine. The best way to make characters feel genuine and like real people is to base things off of personal experience. Especially since this is a reader insert, I’ll end up slipping in these traits without even realizing it, so I think it’s best to incorporate them anyways.)

§  Social Anxiety Disorder—I’ve had this disorder for the majority of my life, so my writing reflects that because I don’t really know how to write otherwise. So the reader will have social anxiety. There will be instances where the reader will spiral.

§  Depression—there will be hints of depression paired with social anxiety sometimes.

§  Some aspects of ADHD, like the need to fidget with something or thoughts bouncing from place to place.

  Extra Information Unrelated/ Vaguely Related to the Story

Reader is a witch— as in modern Earth’s version of a witch: making spell jars and sigils, not the flashy kaboom magic where they’re hurling fireballs around or like the magic in Harry Potter. I'm sorry, but the reader won't be able to yeet wands out of others' hands.

I use ‘y’know’ instead of ‘yanno’ when I write.

Will Mothman make an appearance? Who knows? Maybe if I feel like it, he’ll show up.

Uh…spoilers. There’s gonna be spoilers for the main storyline of Twisted Wonderland. And also the Disney villains I guess?

Will the reader be the founder of fantasy OSHA? Because if it exists, it's clear that Crowley doesn't believe in it.

  About Reposting and Plagiarizing Other’s Works

Do not plagiarize anyone's work. Never plagiarize. Always cite your sources. If you plagiarize or fail to give proper citations, you can face serious repercussions. Some years back, a college student plagiarized a scholarly work on the subject of music and got away with it for years. They were found out many years later when a student at my college was using the original work and the other person's plagiarized work as sources for a project. This eventually lead to the plagiarizer having his college degree rescinded among other consequences. As you get older, the repercussions for plagiarism only get more severe.

Extended Information About Previous Sections/Words with an Asterisk (*) Indicator

*I know that 'raison d'etre' means 'reason of being/ purpose of existence.' Think of this 'raison d'etre' as being shorthand for 'Raison d’être mal à l’aise,' which means 'reason for being uncomfortable.'

[theregoesjodariel]

Supergem: Writer’s Notes, Chapters 1-10

Hey gang! It’s a long time coming, but I finally got off my ass and finished the full notes for chapters 1-10 of Supergem, my big huge SU fic. I’m just about to finally get to work on the next batch of chapters, so I figured now would be a great time to look back on what I’ve done so far and provide some hopefully interesting commentary. Read on for that stuff!

Chapters 1-5

Right off the bat, chapter 1's title is a reference to the now-famous single-page retelling of Superman's origin story from All-Star Superman #1. There, "kindly couple" was used to summarize Clark Kent's crashlanding on Earth and discovery by the Kents.

Chapter 2 features what I feel would be the natural result of trying to fire bullets at a Gem: absolutely nothing. While Gems are obviously made of hard light and have been shown to be capable of being hurt by conventional means-- see Peridot getting Wile E. Coyote'd by the corrupted Gem in Beta-- I like to imagine that bullets are simply so small and so high-velocity that they'd pass through Gem bodies harmlessly. The science is probably wrong, but let me have my Rule of Cool.

Aside from sporting the amalgamated personalities of Lapis and Peridot, the two superheroes Turquoise takes the most inspiration from are Superman and Spider-Man. She shows at least some compassion for all people, even bad guys, like Superman, and she throws plenty of quips, especially when getting it handed to her, like Spidey.

As stated in the notes, I do not have a set design in mind for Turquoise, but I DID end up canonizing elements of a couple of designs I really like within the story. She sports the unique five-pointed hairstyle and orange suspenders of ahhween's design, as well as the cool cyan color scheme and water cape of cheerkitty1410's. Those two are just fantastic.

Axinite is a Gem OC of mine, a gladiatrix who fights in arenas on Homeworld, which function as the world's equivalent of recreational sports. A lot of the lore I have for her is regurgitated in the narration.

There are, of course, a couple of lines from "Stronger Than You" in chapter 4. There's the title, plus Turquoise correcting Val that the fight is one-on-two.

When I created the character, I actually completely failed to notice Val's considerable resemblance to Jasper, both in appearance (big, bulky and orange) and personality (haughty, judgmental). Naturally, when it hit me, I wrote in a nod to it in chapter 4.

Chapter 4 sees Turquoise and Val's fight spill into a mall, the very same one from Pearls' Night Out, currently my only other multi-chapter work. Rhiannon and Diane, both OCs from there, also make cameos (Rhiannon is the employee who points Turquoise in Val's direction, Diane is the journalist who interviews her on the street).

Pearl and Jasper handle city planning like military tacticians, because, well, they are military tacticians. They're also very overdramatic about it, natch.

Amazonite is a close friend of mine's gemsona, a former Crystal Gem who retired to become a seamstress after the corrupted Gems were all cured.

A couple of things involving Jasper take inspiration from the excellent Back to Beta. Pearl acts as Jasper's parole officer of sorts, rewarding her with Pearl Points for doing a good job and Jasper has an attachment to Earth music for its ability to say what cannot be said through simple speech, just like in there. Go read Back to Beta if you haven't, it's outstanding (it's also Jaspearl-- look at me go).

In one of many instances of Jodi Doing Too Much Research Into Things That Don't Matter, I actually broke out my copy of SU: Art & Origins to study its map of Beach City to determine just how nitpicky Pearl and Jasper were being.

Why do the Nephrites want to talk to Pearl? Maybe we'll find out....

Garnet "borrowed" Andy's plane to go to Empire City. That's a step up from "finding" a phone, don't you think?

I like to imagine that Bismuth has been rooting for Lapis and Peri to get together since the moment she met them. Her gaydar is just that good.

Believe it or not, I genuinely considered having Turquoise adopt a secret identity at one point during planning. I call myself out on it through Steven in chapter 5.

I knew I just couldn't do this story without Jasper since she is, in a way, the villain (or at least a villain) in Turquoise's origin story. As an abuse survivor, showing the ramifications of her and Lapis' time as Malachite as best I could was tantamount to the main storyline.

Chapters 6-10

The foreshadowing in chapter 6's identity should make Ms. Knight's identity a no-brainer for seasoned SU fans. No one spoil it if you figure it out, though!

Ronaldo is absolutely, positively, 100%, one of the guys who doesn't shower before the convention. That's so him it hurts.

The generally meta premise of chapters 6-9 were the result of me drafting them right after I got home from my city's local big convention, which I had a wonderful time at. I did my first ever cosplay (I was Pearl!) there and managed to hold decent conversations with Zach Callison, Deedee Magno Hall, Michaela Dietz, and Estelle. The layout of DelmarvaCon is even copied from the layout of that convention center.

In one of many moments of narrative intersecting with reality, I did some sleuthing and found that Paulette was, in her very brief on-screen appearance, voiced by Deedee Magno Hall, Pearl's voice actress. As said above, I met Deedee at the con I went to. You know how everyone on and off set never stops talking about how nice she is? They're not exaggerating, she's a fantastic person. Kim Tan is fully based on her, taking her name from a couple of Hall's other roles (Kim in Miss Saigon and a bit character named Lori Tan from an episode of Third Watch) and Lapis and Peridot's encounter with her is based on my own; while she didn't usher us ahead of the line to meet her, she did take pictures of my friend and I's cosplays for free when she was supposed to be charging for them. Seriously, nicest celebrity I've ever met.

Chapter 7 has Peridot riff that she can "observe 800 moving objects and compute their direction of travel," a phrase long used to describe Prowl in the Transformers franchise. It has no character significance here, I was on a Transformers kick at the time of writing.

The uncomfortable pulling sensation mentioned in chapter 7 is called an "itch," a callback to The Itch, the oneshot serving as prelude to this fic. There, "the itch" is used to refer to the deeply unsettling feeling a Gem gets when fitted with limb enhancers-- think the feeling you have or would have felt from a dentist fitting you with those awful rubber bands to help with the braces process, it's that kind of feeling. The feeling being given off by Ronaldo's control device is similar, "adding" to a Gem when nothing need be added.

The long opening narration in chapters 8 and 9 were inspired by the writing style of comic book writer Scott Snyder, who has a tendency to start, end, or intersperse his comics with long, expositional comparative musings on seemingly simple or mundane things (seriously, count the number of times one of his Batman comics opens with narration explaining the philosophical meaning behind the rocks used to make buildings in Gotham City).

The cost of Connie's sword is, as stated in the story proper, a rough estimate borne from around half an hour of research. While there are other pink stones that could've been used, I picked pezzotaite because of its extreme rarity, just to drive home how absurdly all-out Bismuth went on it.

Give Jasper a metal-style song in Season 6, Crewniverse!

I like to think Jasper and Greg would be good friends. Think about it: you've just found out your former moral enemies were not only led by, but had close relationships with, the person you spent your whole life idolizing. Who do you talk to about it? Why not the person who knew her more intimately than anyone else?

At the end of the Turquoise and Steven segment in chapter 10, the two sit down to watch Crying Breakfast Friends' extra-length season finale, in which a number of characters get new outfits. Now what could that be referencing?

The narration of Jasper's thoughts makes reference to the exiled Hessonite, antagonist of Steven Universe: Save the Light and a criminally underrated character.

I'd like to preface this point with a content warning for abuse, as I'll be discussing that a bit here.

So, as I mentioned briefly in the 1-5 notes, I'm an abuse survivor; I broke up with my abuser, who I had been with for just about 3 months, in February of this year. An acquaintance of mine has since drafted a document exhaustively detailing all of the bad shit they did for which receipts could be found, and my abuser has reacted with avoidance, victim blaming, and a refusal to apologize. I wasn't yet aware of just how in denial of her own mistakes they were when I wrote chapter 10, so I tried to write Pearl and Jasper's conversation as how I wished the conversation my abuser had with themselves would go, in a perfect world.

To get reflective for a moment, writing that has taught me, in a way I hadn't seen before, how Steven Universe's real, heartfelt redemption arcs, as fantastically-written and just generally good as they are, don't always apply in real-world scenarios. My shitty ex is not Jasper and they never will be.

#imadethis #intel files #su #lapidot

[londone-fog]

Heart Songs- Reddie Genderbent AU

AO3 Link

In which Ellie is really confused, Ruth throws a party, Bea reads some stuff, Billie does some cool skateboard tricks, Steph is secretly cool, Beau is an amazing human, and Mack just wants to have a good time.

Also prom, sort of.

Notes: Hey guys, I'm back. I really hope you like this, because I've been working on this for a while now. If you have any questions about the AU or just in general, you can find me on tumblr at either cacti-cool (main account) or londone-fog (writing account). Have fun! Edit: I changed a few things. First off, the rating is now mature as there is a masturbation scene and some non-explicit sexual content in later chapters. Second, I changed the name of the fic, as well as the chapter names. Every chapter is named after a different Weezer song, as well as the fic name. I recommend you listen to the title song as you read the chapters! Thank you for understanding!

Part One- Rosanna

Ellie Kaspbrak was what you might refer to as “aggressively ordinary.”

She was an ordinary girl, from a little ordinary town, in the ordinary state of Maine. She lived in a small house with her dad. He had a boyfriend of sorts.

She thought of that one Monday morning, staring at her reflection in her vanity mirror. Her brown hair framed her tired face, eyes gaunt from lack of sleep. She fiddled with her hands, picking at the dry skin around her knuckles before looking around her room. Her light grey walls were decorated with a few sparse photos. Her furniture was wood, with a white floral bedspread pulled loosely over the twin mattress in the corner.

Ellie’s eyes stopped to look at the clock on the bedside table with a sort of anxious anticipation. It was 7:33. Her boyfriend would be picking her up at 7:45, like he did everyday.

Ellie’s boyfriend was a strange staple in her life. His name was Mason. He was a football player from the high school team, and therefore very large. If not for the constant workouts he underwent with the rest of the team in anticipation for the next season, he might have been obese. Ellie liked him well enough. He wasn’t particularly interesting; if Ellie herself was ordinary, then Mason was downright bland.

Suddenly, Ellie’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She held her breath, but was pleasantly surprised to see it was Ruth texting her.

Garbage Human: prey tell, my swellest el, is my contact name still garbage human in your phone

Ellie: Depends on why you’re asking.

Garbage Human: well i might not be so garbage anymore ;)

The text was then followed by a picture of Ruth standing next to a car. Well, car might have been too glamorous a word. It was a bright orange monstrocity on wheels, the paint sunbleached and peeling in places. One of the wheels was missing a hubcap. There was a long crack running across the length of the windshield. And finally, squatting near the front tire, was Ruth. Her curly, bobbed hair was pulled away from her face, large wire-framed glasses sitting on the end of her upturned nose. Her mouth was pulled into a mock-serious line; dangling from her fingers were the keys.

Ellie: Please tell me that isn’t a car.

Garbage Human: el you wound me

Garbage Human: yes that is my car her name is bessie

Ellie couldn’t help but nearly roll her eyes to the back of her head. Ruth was an interesting person. She was loud, with wild dark hair and even wilder eyes. Her mouth never seemed to close, even when she wasn’t talking (which was rare). She only seemed to wear clothes that had a pattern in some way, with cigarette smell clinging to every fibre. Her knees, elbows and palms were always riddled in scrapes and bruises from countless tumbles with her longboard. Yes, Ruth was very interesting.

It was anyone’s guess as to why they were each other’s best friends.

Garbage Human: i could start giving you rides now if you want

Ellie could practically hear the secret pleading in Ruth’s voice. The truth was, Ellie hadn’t seen her friends nearly as much as she used to. Since Mason and her started dating a few months back, it seemed like more and more of her time went to humoring her boyfriend; going to games and practices and movie dates. She missed their group of seven and the time they used to spend together. Especially when it came to Ruth. That was why she barely hesitated to type out her response.

Ellie: I guess. Just promise me I won’t end up dying in that thing

Garbage Human: you have my complete honor as a cub scout

Ellie smiled to herself; a small secret thing she’d never admit to. A sudden, loud honk from outside surprised her out of her moment, her spine straightening harshly. She looked out the window to see Mason sitting in his car, the same as every morning. Ellie sighed, gathering up her supplies and racing down the stairs.

Her father sat in his chair, the television nattering on in the background. He saw her, and motioned for her to come over.

Ellie and her father had a somewhat odd relationship. This was largely in part to Ellie’s mother dying when she was young, making her father somewhat… overprotective. Their relationship had become somewhat strained the older and more independent Ellie got. He didn’t like her being around boys, but he especially didn’t like her being around Ruth. He still to that day had no idea that she even spoke to Beau Marsh.

“Do you have your inhaler?”

“Yes, dad.”

Ellie didn’t actually need an inhaler. She’d known for a long time, since she was thirteen years old. Her father didn’t know that she knew, because Ellie had never brought it up to him. It didn’t just stop at the inhaler. He’d been trying to get her to take other bullshit medicine since she was small. Now that she knew better, she’d developed a complicated series of lies and sleight of hand to avoid taking the pills.

“You took your pills too, right?”

“Yup.” She’d taken them, alright. They sat heavy in the front pocket of her overalls, like a collection of riverstones. She could safely say that her father knew next to nothing about who she really was; his “little girl” was a facade created to keep her sane.

“Alright, sweetheart. Have a good day at school.” He leaned his cheek out, and she pressed a quick peck to the stubbled skin there.

Ellie didn’t breathe until she slammed the door of Mason’s car behind her.

“Jesus, you’ll break a window doing that, Ellie. What’s got your goat this morning?” Mason said, voice riding the line between scolding and whining.

“It’s just my dad. He’s been pestering me.”

Mason sighed, a patronizing little thing.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed. He’s just trying to protect you.” He leaned over and placed a kiss to her cheek. Ellie resisted the urge to lean away.

They’d had the fight before; Mason believed that Ellie needed to be protected. She was small, she was skinny, she was feminine. Ellie knew that none of that was true.

“Mason, I need to ask something,” Ellie said quietly, car rumbling to life and pulling away from the house.

“Hmm.”

“I, uh…” She traced the outline of her phone through her pocket. “... well, my friend just got a car. And she lives closer to my house than you do-”

“Just spit it out, already.”

“Ruth is going to start giving me rides to school. It’s just… it’s more convenient, and I don’t get to see her as much as I used to.”

The car became deathly silent.

“So I’m taking up too much of your time? Is that it?”

Ellie’s fist clenched where is lay on her leg.

“I never said that. I just said that it’s more convenient for Ruth to pick me up in the mornings.”

“Why do you even want to spend so much time with her, anyway?”

Ellie looked away from the dashboard to her whitening knuckles, where a simple band of gold lay wrapped around her little finger. It was a ring that Ruth had given her on her sixteenth birthday, to replace the plastic cereal box ring that Ellie used to wear in childhood. It was the only jewelry that she wore everyday.

“Because she’s my best friend, Mason, and she lives closer to me than you do. Nothing more.”

The outline of the high school was rapidly approaching, and Ellie felt a little tension leak out of her body. Mason rubbed a thick hand over his face, letting out a long tired sigh.

“You know what, fine. Fine. On one condition.”

Ellie unclenched her hand slowly, quietly syphoning the air out of her body.

“What’s that?”

Mason quickly jerked the car into the parking lot, the sound of old soda cans clattering around the back seat as they pulled to a somewhat jarring stop. He pulled up the parking brake and rounded on Ellie with all the surprise of a tiger leaping from the bushes. He placed a meaty hand on her shoulder as if to keep her there, pinned, with no option but to listen to him.

“Go to prom with me.”

“What?”

“I don’t care who the hell gets you to school, as long as you say you’ll go with me.”

Ellie stared into Mason’s eyes, a nearly clear blue. Basically colorless, like looking through window and seeing absolutely nothing on the other side. Devoid of any personality or interest. She could feel her throat closing and her eyes sting, and she wondered briefly if she was going into anaphylaxis.

She wanted so badly to say no. She wanted to run out of this car and never come back. Maybe she’d just suffocate from anxiety right then.

“Sure, sounds great Mason.”

What the fuck am I saying? What is wrong with me? she thought as Mason leaned in and kissed her; it was sloppy and hit the corner of her mouth more than her actual lips. She quickly pulled away, muttering some sort of farewell as her feet hit the asphalt.

The parking lot was filled to the brim with students and shitty cars. Ellie kept her eyes to the ground, white knuckling the straps of her backpack as strangers hollered all around her. She only looked up when she heard the characteristic bark of her best friend’s laugh.

The loser’s club, as it had been known for years, consisted of the most ragtag group of teens that Derry, Maine had to offer. They all stood around Ruth’s new car, which was even more horrible in person. Billie Denbrough, their unofficial leader, was making a valiant effort to let loose with a would-be impressive string of cuss word from her place on the ground. Closer inspection showed a new hole torn in the knee of her jeans, with blood weakly dripping from the wound. Her trusty skateboard lay upended a few feet away. Ruth, as opposed to helping their friend, was laughing so hard she was nearly bent in half, black hair falling over her face. The other losers stood around in a sort of shell shocked state, not sure whether to help Billie or laugh along with Ruth.      

They all seemed to make up their minds the closer that Ellie got.

Bea rushed to check Billie’s knee, Mackenzie following with chuckle. Beau held out a hand, which Billie used to hoist herself to her feet. Steph stayed firmly in place, arms crossed with a stern look and secret smile in her eye. Ruth was practically on the ground herself at that point, Ellie’s shadow reaching across her as she approached.

“Ruth, you fucking idiot, what did you do this time?” Ellie asked, already rummaging through her bag for a band aid.

“Our darling Billie Jean can’t even do a kickflip without busting her ass,” Ruth said once she caught her breath.

“I c-c-can t-t-too, you a-a-a-fuck. I d-did this m-morning.”

Ellie shook her head, leaning down to press a bandage over the wound. If she’d been home, she would have dowsed it in hydrogen peroxide and used real gauze and bandage, but this would have to do. It was probably best, considering how dry and cracked her hands were these days.

“Thanks E-ellie,” Billie finally said.

And, at that, the bell for first period rang out, abruptly ending all shenanigans. Ellie slung her bag back over her shoulder, trying to ignore the itch under her skin from being so close to another person’s blood. Luckily, the thought was knocked out of her head by the slap of a hand against her shoulder.

“So, you seem tense. Did you have to flush yourself down the toilet to even get out of the house this morning?”

“Shut the hell up Ruth, I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

She didn’t have to look to know that Ruth’s permanent smile had faltered. Her hand went from a heavy weight to a soft comfort in a matter of seconds. In a rare moment of genuity, Ruth dropped her voice so only Ellie could hear.

“You okay, El? Is it your dad or…?”

“No, no, not really. Just kinda stressed out. And for the last time, stop calling me that. That’s a kid nickname.”

“Yeah, not happening. I know you secretly love it. You’ll thank me someday.”

She paused a moment to chew on her bottom lips, allowing a scarce ray of anxiety to shine through.

“You know what’ll make you feel better? I’m driving the losers to the quarry today, break in Bessie and all that. I know you’re probably busy with your boy toy, but you’re more than welcome to come.”

Ellie’s stomach dropped. She wanted so badly to see her friends, but she felt obligated to see Mason after everything that happened that morning. But one look at her friend’s face, and she knew where she should really be.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Ruth’s eyes lit up, and her mouth cracked open in a wide grin.

“Oh, Ellie-Belly, you won’t regret it. I knew you wouldn’t miss the chance to see my blinding white thighs.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, but allowed Ruth to throw an arm around her shoulders as they walked to class.

---

Ellie had never been a fan of spit.

She distinctly remembered the first time she’d had a panic attack. She had been about seven years old, and some boy in her class had decided it was the perfect time to let loose with a spit glob worthy of the gods. Unfortunately, Ellie had been standing near enough to be in the splash zone. It somehow was so much different than playing loogie at the quarry with with Billie and Ruth. This time, there was a wet splatter across the skirt of her jumper, and she lost it. Some combination her fathers instilled fear of germs and her own anxious tendencies brought about a cascade of tears and snot. It took a trip the restroom with both Ruth and Billie to get her to calm down enough to go back to recess.

Ellie thought of this as she sat in Mason’s car after school, his tongue making a valiant attempt to fight her tonsils.

This was an activity that took up much of her time after school. She’d never admit it to herself, but it was probably one of her least favorite parts of the day. Ellie genuinely struggled with physical contact; she’d gotten used to the losers touching her, but anyone else made her uncomfortable. Kissing Mason fell under the umbrella of uncomfortable.

Mason, on the other hand, was having a great time. Ellie was pushed further and further into the seat as he grew more and more eager. His hand was wrapped loosely around her thigh.

Ellie’s eyes opened, trying to look at the time on the clock and pretend she was interested in kissing. It was 3:24. School had ended nearly thirty minutes ago. The losers had all surely left to go to the quarry by then.

Suddenly, as if her mind had been read, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She slowly, carefully, reached her hand into her pocket to pull the phone out and held it behind Mason. The message was from Steph, saying that she needed to get to the quarry ASAP. Apparently Ruth wouldn’t stop complaining that Ellie had abandoned them.

Ellie’s mind was quickly snatched from the message when she the hand on her thigh move to cup her breast. She pulled away quickly, smacking Mason’s hand away.

“What? I thought you liked that.” he whined.

She didn’t like it. There was never a time where she said she did. Ellie tried to quickly think of an excuse.

“I, uh…”

“Come on, don’t be nervous.” Mason reached over and fiddled with one of the buckles on her overalls, trying to subtly unhook the button from the catch. An idea suddenly appeared in Ellie’s mind, and she pushed his hand away again.

“Uh, I’m wearing overalls.”

Indeed she was. They were her favorite pair, with the floral appliques on the legs that Steph had ironed on for her.

“What does that have to do with anything.”

“Well, uh, that would violate my rule.”

Ellie had the forethought when her and Mason started dating to put a rule in place: He was not allowed to touch her underneath her clothes, specifically when it came to pants.

“How’s that?”

“Overalls are like a shirt/pants combo. That breaks the rule.”

She could tell that it was a half-baked excuse, and Mason knew it too. His eyebrow was raised in confusion, but he relented and moved away. Ellie breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’ve been acting strange today.”

“No I haven’t”

Silence. Mason sighed, scrubbed at his face with his hand.

“Look, I have to do some conditioning today. You can either walk home or stay and watch. It’s up to you.”

Ellie resisted the urge to pump her fist in victory.

“I’d like to stay, but I have a lot of homework. Maybe tomorrow?”

Mason nodded, but Ellie was already out of the car.

She didn’t start running until she was sure he couldn’t see her anymore.

A genuine smile burst across her face as she pumped her legs. The air was beginning to warm, spring chill giving way to summer heat. The end of junior year was rapidly approaching, and the feeling of true freedom spurred Ellie on as she raced toward the quarry.

#My writing #it 2017 #Heart Songs #reddie #stenbrough #benverly #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #rule34 #genderbent #fanfiction #au

[dumbasstrashmouth]

When

Summary: Richie Tozier, the new kid in the business industry. His new single got his name spread across the board, and now the label wants an EP. Richie has the perfect idea that will bring him back home to Derry.

Author’s Note: this is the first time i’ve ever written like a legit fanfic? idk feel free to give feedback (there is a playlist that goes with this fanfic (also the fic was based off of “when” by dodie))

Chapter 1

It had been 5 years since Richie left Derry to pursue a career in music. It had been 5 years since Richie left all his friends behind. But there was never a day that he didn’t think about them. He wrote songs about them. He mentioned them in every interview he did. It was hard to keep contact every single day when he was a new discovery in the music industry.

On a Thursday night, Richie received a phone call. He was sitting outside in his shitty one floor house, but he was content with it, because it was small enough for one person, and it was in southern California. Southern California was where he was gonna make all of his dreams come true. And he really did. He picked up the phone. He saw that it was his manager, Keith.

“Richie Tozier comin’ at ya, how’s it going, noodlehead?”

��God damnit Tozier, if you weren’t on the radio with your first single, I’d think you should have been a radio DJ,” Keith’s staticky voice said through his phone. “Remember you have to come into the office today, the label wants to talk about ideas.”

“I got my idea layed out in perfect order, Keith ol’ buddy!”

“Wow, this is the most prepared you’ve ever been! Cali sure did do somethin’ to ya. Please come when you can. The label is bored out of their minds.”

“I’ll be there in 10,” Richie said, hanging up. He changed his outfit into something a little more formal, and grabbed his car keys hanging off the kitchen island. After making sure all the doors are locked, he hopped in his car and pulled up directions to the office. He had lived in Cali for 5 years, but only drove to the office for about 9 months. Richie had a small attention span, so remembering directions was difficult for him. If he were back in Derry, driving would have been a breeze.

When he arrived at the office, he pulled out his keys, and locked and unlocked the car three times. He made sure he had his folder with all his ideas in it. Realizing he put it in the backseat of the car, he unlocked his car again, and pulled it out. He locked and unlocked the car three more times.

He opened the doors to the office, and received lots of “Hey, Richieeee!”’s and “You flaked on our date Saturday night again...”’s from many young and beautiful secretaries. They were all very pretty, but not Richie’s type. Too perfect. Too girly. Too... female, almost.

He walked down the long hallway, engaging minimal conversation with people walking through. He would say a quick “Hey, darlin’!” or a “Whatcha been up to?” and then walk away. He reached the elevator at the end of the hallway. He clicked the up arrow button, and waited. More people walked towards the elevator, and tried to make small talk with Richie. Richie hated nothing more than small talk. He was the kind of person to sit down with someone and talk about the Kennedy conspiracy or if they believe in love at first sight.

Once the elevator reaches the third floor, Richie bolts out and turns into a small boardroom. There sits the label, and Keith. There is an open seat next to Keith, that Richie quickly sits in.

“Richie Tozier, the new kid on the block, everybody!” Keith says, giving Richie a pat on the back. The man at the head of the table flashed a very nice yet timid smile towards him. His name was Bradley.

“Well, Richie, your first single is doing amazing. The label wants a full EP from the new kid on the block. You got ideas?” Bradley asks.

“Plenty,” Richie said, smiling and setting the folder on the table, “I’ve written 6 songs. I recorded shitty demos and put them on this CD. Pop ‘er in and give ‘er a listen!” Richie pulled out the CD and handed it down the line of men in business outfits towards Bradley.

“Well, what are ya gonna call the EP?” Keith asked, as Bradley put the CD in the boombox.

“A Love Song To Derry,” Richie said. “It’s a working title, but it just means a lot to me.” Richie’s vocals and shitty acoustic guitar blasted through the boombox. For the next 22 minutes, the rest of the room was silent, listening to the melodies of true heartache. One of the men was close to crying.

Never thought my lyrics would mean that much to people, thought Richie. The whirring of the boombox came to a halt.

“So that’s the rough copy. What do you guys think?” he asked, playing with the end of his shirt.

“I have never said this before, and I work with some of the biggest people in the industry. But that was damn near perfect, Tozier,” Bradley said, trying to cover his teary eyes with a cough.

“Can you explain the track order? It seems oddly specific when I analyze the lyrics. Are these all about people you knew?” one of the men asked. Richie choked a little. He looked towards Keith, and Keith gave him a reassuring nod. Richie looked towards the rest of the board room.

“Each song represents my best friends from childhood. It’s been 5 years since I’ve seen them. The first track, 7, is about Mike Hanlon.”

“7, write that down, man.”

“The second track, Tongue Tied, is about Bill Denbrough.”

“Did ya catch that?”

“The next track, Kiwi, is about Beverly Marsh. God damn Beverly Marsh.”

“Nasty, was she?” Keith asked.

“Keith, stop,” Bradley said, “Continue, please.”

“Next is Cold Cold Man, that was for Ben Hanscom.”

“Great song. And the last two tracks?”

“The cover of El Scorcho was for Stan Uris. And the last song...” Richie forgot how to breathe for a good three seconds.

“The last song is about...” one of the men tried to assist him. All the men were expecting a name like Sydney or Ella or something more dainty. Richie swallowed and took a deep breath. He remembered everything.

“The last song, When... is about Eddie Kaspbrak.”

#it 2017 #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #stanley uris #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #it fanfiction #reddie fanfiction

[alastorsfuckassbob]

Vulnerable

Alastor x Fem!Reader- Part 3

WELCOME TO THE LOWKEY FAN SERVICEY PORTION OF OUR BROADCAST🗣️! Sorry for the long wait..uh ANYWAY- Its just a silly little steamy make out session I felt like writing lowkey unnecessarily added into the plot. Its character development This is done mostly on the grounds of I felt bad for being slow with the plot and wanted to give you radio demon lovers out there some crumbs.<3

✨The plot✨(these are getting worse as we go)

Our depressed dear y/n self deprecates in front of a "hang in there" kitten poster. before bitching about the cold on her walk home.Oh shit her house is broken into. In this life its just you and your shitty pocket knife. Nvm its a cool dress! She then spends a good half hour thinking about their old relationship's spicy times.

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-Mentions of domestic violence

-Mentions of alcohol

-Fuckass Val

-A little make-out sesh (smut is scary so you can use your little imagination to figure out what happens after)

Mornings in hell were colder than one might expect, despite the nearly constant blaze of sinner set fire. At its heart, Hell was frigidly cold, especially at night. A part of you had gotten used to the way it clawed deeply against your skin. However, the other part of you secretly begged to some god somewhere you didn't quite believe in to make the sun rise a little faster. It wasn't necessary by any means, Hell wasn't anything more than a desert. All you had to do was wait. The crisp morning would lose its glacial influence as the sunlight reached out to touch it just as it always did. You just needed to be patient. You take in a deep breath, attempting to let go of your displeasure.The sharp frosty air pierced your lungs, unknitting the last strings of warmth from your skin on impact. Your teeth began to chatter. You curl into the softness of your wings, it wasn't much, but it helped.

From your recently awakened slumber, you had briefly forgotten the events of the night before. However, upon seeing angel slumped in bed beside from you, the realisation took root. The recollection flattened your heart like a careless truck running over a measly stray bit of garbage

Your performance last night was nothing more than a falsified forgery. It was adorned with the typical strokes and details found in your normal act, but it was so hopelessly fake. Valentino could always tell when you were phoning it in. Despite his fraudulent demeanour, he demanded authenticity from you. After your previous..altercation, you just didn't have it in you to thread your harsh edges in salacious intent. You were an excellent dancer, but you hated the prying eyes that glued themselves onto your figure. Val wouldn't be happy with that. You were already voiceless, he already owned your soul. He couldn't physically take much more, but he could still make your life a relentless nightmare. The punishments he so easily gave out always had a creatively cruel flair. The thoughts brought on a familiar uneasiness. You could take whatever he threw at you, you wouldn't like it but you would endure. You didn't have to like it. Your grounds were barren in the terms of genuine will. You didn't have a reason to keep living, you just refused to die. You would endure until the red toned city around you pathetically crumbled back into the ground. You would watch the world you lived in reflect the terms of your anguish in twisted perfection over and over again...All by the hands of Valentino. You couldn't do much else. Your dimly lit soul had grown more accustomed to calloused hands and absinthe than you wanted to admit..It was just the way of things.

Great now you were cold and stressed out.

Your mind drifted to Angel. His crumpled hair and soft arms outstretched in your direction. The night before, he had spilled a glass of gin soaked secrets, revealing more than you expected him to. His drunken tears leaked into the brimstone walls of your heart. You learned his name was Anthony in life among other things. He probably didn't remember opening up to you, you were surprised you did.

He had been in Hell much longer than you had been..he had been with Valentino much longer than you had..years longer. The thought held more pain than your sore bruise lined body could feel.

Valentino had the poor habit of misguiding his frustration. As much as you pissed him off, your groans of pain just weren't as satisfying as Angels. Even if Val dragged your limp body across the studio, his nails dug deeply into the flesh of your skull, he wouldn't be satisfied if he didn't hurt Angel too. You couldn't help but wonder how he put up with it all. He was a lot stronger than people give him credit for. How long had Angel been his favourite toy? How many other souls tied to Valentino fucked up as you so often did? How did he deal with the brunt of that frustration tipped in his direction? How many times was he hurt because you didn't give Val what he wanted?

He was an angry disagreeable man he would always find some excuse to take that out on others.You knew that, you just hadn't stopped to think how many times had you been the excuse he used to justify how he treated Angel. Your hand brushed a stray strand of hair from his peaceful face. You didn't want to cause him any more pain.

Angel at least looked warm. He still slept soundly curled up towards the edge of the bed. His legs were neatly cocooned into a pile of various blankets. You stretched, shaking the sleep from your eyes and the fog from your brain.

You stood up glancing back on his sleeping form. A part of you felt bad for leaving Angel wordlessly.. His night wasn't great either, even if it was your fault, you could still help make it better. You could also make it worse. You couldn't risk that. He would get over your sudden absence, but what if you said the wrong thing and he hated you for it. He should hate you, after all it was your fault the night went to shit.

I mean even if for some reason he didn't want you to leave, it would be easier if he didn't have to explain why you're here to the literal princess of hell. Its not like you could tell her yourself. You'd rather walk home a bit early and save him the trouble.

You glance at the digital clock stationed on his nightstand, It read 5am. Hopefully the other residents of the hotel weren't early risers. that would really be hard to explain.

You walked into his bathroom to at least attempt to make yourself a bit more presentable. You let out the breathy shell of a laugh; amused by the emotionally supportive posters and positive notes that adorn the wall around the sink. He was trying in some way, he was trying to make the best of things. He didn't have anyone to remind him it was going to be okay besides the small grey kitten saying "hang in there". on one of the larger posters. You pick up a note in Angel's swirled handwriting

"You're hot in more ways than just physically! Nice ass but nicer everything else"

It was a little silly, but it made you feel better for a second. Your eye gets caught on your hellish exterior in the mirror. God- you looked rough.

The mascara stains under your eyes did nothing but highlight the heavy bags that already resided there. Your hair had awkwardly shifted back into its natural texture in some places and erupted in frizz in others. You were still wearing that burlesque outfit Valentino had picked for you. Russet red dried blood and what you assumed to be half a fruity cocktail stained the front. You looked like an extra in a poorly funded zombie film.

Ironically the outfit had been one of your favorites before then. It reminded you of Alastor- big surprise there- almost everything does at this point.

The cut of the top and the off shoulder sleeves reminded you of the dress he had bought you to celebrate your new part time gig singing at that little bar downtown. The outfit's color reflected it marvelously as well- sadly the similarities seemed to end there. The outfit had numerous cut outs and a slit up each side. It didn't leave much to the imagination, but those subtle details kept it in your good graces. Not that it mattered, it was practically ruined now. Maybe you thought too deeply, but it started to feel painfully ironic.

You had sewn into the outfit memories of an ill-fated gentle romance and a shared cup of camomile tea, but ultimately it doesn't change what it really was, stained with the shadow of lust...Just as you had been.

The outfit would never truly resemble that dress. Even if you found an ounce of similarity. Even if you dragged it to the tailor and used its corroded bones to recreate the dress exactly.They weren't the same, they could never be.

You weren't the same.

You hadn't been for quite some time.

In the end, it wouldn't matter if he would ever consider accepting you in the condition you're in. Your skin will always sustain the weight of Valentino's hand. The vulnerability in your soul had been sparked by fear as opposed to love. Whats done is done. Even if you had been crafted with the object of love in mind your heart had been distorted beyond the point of recognition, it could never really be the same again.

With that, you didn't want him to find you anymore. It would be worse to watch him fall out of love with you as he realised you weren't the same. The love you had so protectively harboured in your heart for the devilish man was cut loose. It drifted away into the rotting sea of your soul surrounding it. You couldn't bring yourself to tear down the post you had previously tied it to. Even if you told yourself you couldn't love him any longer, the hole he left in your heart was too large for your will to cover.

You shrug on the coat you had slung on the floor before crashing last night and slide on your shoes.

You grab a pen from Angel's desk-if you could even call it that. It was nothing more than an old bar stool with a jar of pens and a pink glittery notepad. You scrawled a simplistic message. You didn't want him to worry about you. Even if he said he didn't care, he was sensitive. You didn't want to hurt him any more than you had already.

" Hey Angie! I went home- don't worry I wasn't kidnapped! Eat something for breakfast or I swear to god I'll make you eat an eyebrow pencil next time I see you..Love ya lots<3" Your handwriting was a bit messier than normal but it did the job okay.

You walked to the door, opening it it quietly, the lock behind you clicking as you shut the door to Angel Dust's room.

Finding your way out of the hotel was trickier than you expected but nothing you couldn't manage. Once outside you began to shiver. You tugged your coat tightly against your skin, not that it helped much. You refused to fly in such icy temperatures. The wind would be far less intrusive at a slower speed.

The walk from your apartment to the hotel was a little over an hour. Perhaps if you weren't so hung over it wouldn't have taken you as long.The sun just begun to peak out from the horizon, simultaneously allowing enough space for the nightly wind to have free passage, and the blinding light of the sun to assault your eyes; your own special little fuck you from the universe.

The steps up leading to your third floor flat were much steeper than you had previously recalled. Hauling your body up them took a lot more energy than you care to admit. Out of breath and slightly sweaty you were finally headed down towards your room.

Your steps creak in harmony with the ancient building's crumbling walls. You glance down the hallway at what you had hoped would be a chance to decompress.

You stop abruptly a few units from your own. The door was ajar. You pull a short pocket knife from the side of your shoe. The rusted knob looked no worse than it already did. The lock however, featured a few more scratches than you recalled.

You were too tired for this bullshit, You hadn't actually used a knife before. Stabbing people seemed like an intuitive thing to do, but your inexperience left you drenched in anxiety. Nothing within you wanted to go inside, but your legs begged for rest. There really wasn't any use in preventing the inevitable. Eventually you would go inside or whoever was inside would come out. Either way its stab or be stabbed. The door whines as you slide yourself inside. You knew the situation was dangerous, all you had was a shitty knife you mostly used to open packages. If someone was here to kill you..without your voice no one would even know. You pushed the thought aside. You could still run. You could still fly. You weren't hopeless.You crept throughout the apartment with the knife raised steadily in front of you- ready to fight whatever had arrived.. Nothing ever came. By the first two rooms you had lost your concern. It was just how you left it. You stepped into your bathroom, locking the door behind you. You must have just forgotten to close the door behind you the day before.

You glanced around the bathroom before you noticed it was not in the disrepair you'd left it in. A fresh bouquet of roses sat neatly in the vase, the old dried flowers tied and hung above them to use in your next bath. The radio you had so unfortunately melted been replaced by an antique model adorned in golden trim and a stained glass depiction of a small canary. Lastly, a neatly wrapped vermillion box sat on the opposite side of your vanity, a wax sealed envelope tucked between the box and the large velvety bow.

This was a bit ( really fucking) weird. Curiosity over took you as you reached for the dark inky envelope.

You trace the underside of the waxy seal with the edge of your knife, effectively tearing it from the envelopes dark paper. You unfolded the letter unsure where something like this would even come from. You had admirers, but anything they said or gifted to you went through Valentino first. He was the only one he deemed fit to give or take anything from you. He was greedy in the gifts he received and thoughtless in the gifts he gave. None of this felt thoughtless.

Dearest y/n,

I believe it is time you were compensated for all that I have put you through these past two days. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color. If it is to your liking, please wear it tonight. I hope to see you there.

With love,

-Yours truly

Val had gifted you dresses and other fashions in the past, more for his own satisfaction than as a reward. He rarely wrote the notes himself or even delivered the gift. He left it up to an unlucky assistant or just threw the garment in your face in passing.. Nothing about this felt like anything he would do. Perhaps one of his newer assistants didn't get the memo he is a massive piece of shit.

Regardless, you were curious to see what odd fantasy you were fulfilling tonight. You untied the ribbon. Upon lifting the lid, you realised today was going to end up much stranger than you'd hoped. Nothing about this made sense. The dress reminded you of something you might have worn out in your younger days..Was Val planning some weird 20s fetish night or just attempting to fuck with you? He knew the details of your past, with the exception of Alastor's involvement. Perhaps it was some form of psychological warfare you didn't understand.

Upon closer inspection , the dress was astoundingly quite tasteful. You pulled the item from the box pleased it kept going. Usually if the purchased dress was "too long" it would be cut short before it arrived in your hands, causing you a stressful few hours with your sewing machine fixing seams and hem lines.

You slid of the shell of your dirtied clothes and stepped into the dress. It fit you like a glove. The familiar 1920's silhouette and subtle inclusion of art deco threatened to pull you back into your old habits. It really was a gorgeous dress. The beaded scarlet fabric clung to your hips before slightly flaring at your knees. It sported a neckline adorned with crystals that dipped off of your shoulders and into the sleeves The back of the dress scooped down to your lower back a deeper toned train following it. Despite your otherwise disheveled appearance, you felt beautiful.

You look down at the red fabric pooling behind you, you don't want it to, but your mind begins to shift.

1929: New Orleans: The Bar

Your hands shake more than you wished they would, no matter how many times you sang here it always left you feeling anxious. The music sways in tandem with the bars patrons, mimicking the constant lull of conversation. You began to sing.Your voice cuts through the clinking of glasses and exhilarating cheers with a crystalline ring. You glance over to the bar in view of Alastor. His eyes trapped in a half lidded love led daze, filled with nothing but adoration for you.

You glance back down at your hands. They are covered in black velvet, contrasted by a simple pearl bracelet hanging loosely from your wrist. It was one of the many from Alastor on your birthday earlier that year. You had insisted it was far too much, and he insisted you were making far too big a deal of it. He wanted you to feel appreciated and loved, what better way to accomplish that than with a meaningful gift.

He wasn't fantastic with words when it came to you. His hands craved contact with your own. The sentiment he needed to convey didn't fully exist within the bounds of english, or french for that matter. You were worth more than any riches the world could offer you. He could spend his nights bottling starlight and collecting bits of moon and lay them at your feet, and he still wouldn't feel like it was enough. His mind drifted to your past. You were private with the majority of the details. He had collected the story over time from thoughtless anecdotes you mentioned in passing. He knew life before him hadn't been kind.Your mother had died during your birth, but her face stayed firmly in your grasp. Your father hated you for that reason, and he was not a pacifistic man. He felt you had taken the love of his life and left him alone with nothing more than a portrait you hadn't yet grown into. He had been sickly the majority of your life. The more you grew in likeness to your mother the less he fought to get better. He died when you were only 14, leaving you to fend for your siblings. You had raised them just as much as you raised yourself. If the world wasn't going to gift you a delicate existence. Alastor certainly would be. In that moment he vowed to make sure you never felt worried or lost ever again, he couldn't bare the thought of it.

He was shaken from his thoughts as the song climaxed into a loud jazzy finish. You glanced over at him again with a smile. You stepped down from the stage, the red fabric trailing behind you. You walked across the bar and into his arms. He instinctively wraps around your waist, his hand nestled into your own. The moment is pure ecstasy.

"If I could on pick one sound to hear for the rest of eternity it would be your darling voice mon cher" His honey toned voice whispered into your ear. You looked marvellous but the sound of your voice was entrancing.

Your eyes roll, a satirical air taking over your tone. "How many times did you rehearse that line Al?"

" Very evidently not enough. You've made i clear I needed a bit more rehearsal" His familiar sarcastic attitude evident in his tone. "For such a pretty face you have a hard time accepting a compliment"

You giggle into his chest.He placed a kiss against your forehead. Subconsciously you lean into his touch. You can't help but want to be closer to him. Your arms stretch around his neck effectively pulling him into a hug.

"My my, someones touchy this evening" his distinctive laugh following shortly after. It was the kind of laugh you could hear across a crowded room twenty years in the future and immediately know it was him. your hands travel to either side of his face, cupping it gently. Before you know it, your lips meet his. This kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is imbued with ever ounce of love you have ever felt for each other. His grasp on your waist tightens, pulling you in as close as humanly possible. The dark brown strands of his hair tangle into your hands. The kiss heats up faster than either of you care to admit before you finally register you're in public. He quickly composes himself, as do you. A sly smile stretches across his face. He glances down at your dress, his mind floating aimlessly searching for an excuse to be alone with you. Despite how deeply he loved you, he wasn't the type to display that in public. It felt a bit unsavoury. You were his and his alone.

"Darling, I think you may have torn your dress, during your wonderful performance. Would you allow me to help you fix it in a more, secluded location"

You looked down at your dress not entirely understanding what he meant. He always had your best interest in mind, perhaps he saw something you didn't. Besides, you didn't want to ruin the dress he bought you any further than you already had unknowingly.

"Oh I didn't realise it had torn. Of course, thank you love."

You take his hand in yours and lead him into the small dressing room. It was really just an extra office the owner had put a few mirrors, a changing screen, and vanity into. You stood in front of the taller of the two mirrors attempting to locate the tear.

"Alastor love, I don't see what you mean perhaps it was the ligh-"

Before you can finish your sentence his lips are pressed against your own. You lean into the kiss grasping onto his vest to steady yourself. You're caught in your own personal whirlwind. Your hands are glued against his sepia skin.

He breaks the kiss for a moment kissing the corner of your mouth trailing down your jaw and onto your neck. He sucks lightly against your skin

You're so precious to me y/n" his voice is deeper than it normally was. It held each desire he felt and simultaneously every ounce of adoration.

You let out a soft gasp as he lightly bites the side of your neck. He travels along it as your hands tangle themselves in his hair once more. God you didn't want this to end, but you wanted to feel closer to him. You drag him away from your neck placing your lips against his once more.Your hands trace the outline of his shoulders. His hands explore the curve of your spine and the softness of your waist. He lifts you up and sits you against the vanity. Subconsciously your legs wrap around his waist deepening the kiss. (scream)

"I have never loved someone the way I love you Alastor..thank you for letting me" You breathe out in between kisses.

He wasn't one to let people in. Not truly, he had a public persona and a private one. You were glad to get to know the esteemed radio host outside of the studio. You were so glad he let you seen him the way he was so afraid to be perceived as...Vulnerable.

A/N: LOL IM SORRY THAT ONE WAS KINDA SHORT. Also please let me know it the writing style and lengths are working. I've never really written before so Idk the right way to do this. Thanks for reading :) <3

-Also congrats to me for not using a song as the crutch to come up with a title.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin alastor #im knawing at the bars of my encloser #Me writing Al in the present challenge: IMPOSSIBLE #this is so short im sorry #also was not expecting many people to read these so thank you guys i love you #you best believe the shitty song fic titles are coming back next chapter #youre meeting him and having a big ol fight next chapter i just dont want yall to be happy ig