#Exploding propane

[mrkanman]

The Stargazer.

clear version under the cut

oh my god he nakey!!!!!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Hazardous Substances

Asphyxiants. Gases that displace or dilute breathable air (oxygen) can cause suffocation in large quantities. (Examples: carbon dioxide and nitrogen.)

Carcinogens. Chemicals that can cause cancer after many years if you unknowingly swallow, breathe them in, or soak them up through your skin. (Examples: asbestos, radon, vinyl chloride, and benzene.)

Compressed gases. These substances are often stored in cylinders under high pre. This can knock down people or walls.

Corrosives. Acids or alkaline substances can penetrate or burn through the skin. (Examples: nitric, sulfuric, or hydrochloric acid, and sodium hydroxide.)

Flammables. Liquids, vapors, or gases that can catch fire or explode when exposed to a flame, an operating electrical tool, or even a simple static spark. (Examples: methane and propane.)

Teratogens. Chemicals that can lead to birth defects. (Examples: isotretinoin, excess vitamin A, alcohol, and thalidomide.)

Toxic chemicals. Substances that can damage the body's organs when they're inhaled, swallowed, or absorbed through the skin. (Examples: lead, cadmium, and pesticides.)

You may be at risk of accidental poisonings, chemical burns, or suffocation. It depends on where you work and the substances you handle. Knowing and following the right safety steps can help keep you safe. The above are some of the hazards you may come across.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[woso-dreamzzz]

Teenage Dirtbag II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Teen!Reader

Summary: It goes well until it doesn't

It's an honour, Mapi thinks, to watch you work.

She knows that she's talented with a pencil but that doesn't hold a candle to the way that you can create such detail on a wall with just some spray paint. You wield the cans expertly as you finish off the shading of the Barca crest on Ingrid's shirt and take a step back to survey your work.

It's picture-perfect and Mapi is stumped at how it's taken your family this long to recognise your talents.

"Alright," Ingrid says," Come on, picture time."

You groan but allow your sister to shepherd you in front of the mural to take a picture. She snaps several, inspecting each of them before finally nodding, satisfied.

She's been doing it for every stage of the process, to document it. She took pictures when you had drawn up your stencils, when you did your base layer and when you did your details.

It's a little annoying but you know you'll be glad later on when you have the pictures to post on your Instagram.

Mapi helps you cover the mural with cardboard so only the very bottom is shown. You grab your blue and red can and stab them with the scissors you've brought with you.

"You might need to back up," You say to your sister and her girlfriend," This will explode in a sec."

The cans are letting out a high-pitched squeaking sound and you usher Ingrid and Mapi back a few steps. You've blocked off the rest of your mural so only the bottom will be splattered with blaugrana colours.

"How do they work?" Mapi wonders aloud.

"Well," You reply, not turning your eyes away from the squealing of your cans," Liquid paint is mixed with a pressurised gas that remains liquid at room temperature. The ones at home that I use have di-methyl ether but I think these have a mix of propane and butane." You shrug. "So I think that means the solvent in them is acetone."

You look over at the shocked look on Mapi's face just as the cans finally explode.

"What?"

"You're incredibly smart," Is what she says in answer and you kind of shrug as you go to collect the cans and take down the cardboard.

"Okay." Ingrid claps her hands together. "Another picture. Go on."

"Ingrid," You groan," Do I have to?"

"Yes," She laughs," Go on. I'm waiting."

You begrudgingly stand in front of it but can't keep the smile off your face.

Mapi notices a change in you the following days. You've relaxed considerably in the house now. You try harder at your schoolwork, pulling your grades up to heights that Mapi could never even dream of. You're more social than ever - though you never go anywhere without your sketchbook.

The team seem pretty entranced by you as well, demanding to meet the artist that Ingrid and Mapi found to do all the murals. You've been making bank from them, drawing portraits and making paintings.

You seem happier now, less hostile than before and Mapi can get the tiniest of glimpses into how you and Ingrid used to interact just by the way you hang out now.

Ingrid's arm easily rests upon your shoulders and Norwegian is a lot more common in the house now. You happily stick to her side and proudly show her your grades when they get released.

There's no indication that you're holding something in until Mapi comes home to frosty indifference between you and your sister.

You're stewing at the kitchen table, scrawling some kind of angry swirls in your sketchpad that you're still managing to make look artistic while Ingrid is muttering angrily under her breath as she talks on the phone.

You keep throwing glares over at her before scratching your pencil across your page again.

"Hey," Mapi says," What's going on?"

You scoff. "I don't know. Why don't you ask golden child, Ingrid? Perfect, perfect Ingrid." Your tone is vicious and mean and Ingrid looks over at you to glare. You sneer back at her before standing up and going to your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

"What's up with her?"

Ingrid sighs, saying goodbye to whoever's on the phone. "I don't know," She says," I just came in and we had an argument."

"About what? She's done her homework, right?"

"Mum and Dad," Ingrid replies," She thinks they're showing favouritism again."

Mapi holds her tongue. She knows that Ingrid thinks the world of your parents and it's clear you're fairly disillusioned with them. Mapi knows that there are definitely hints of favouritism from when she's seen all of you interact with each other but she's not too sure if it's her place to speak up about it.

"I mean," Ingrid scoffs," They're talking about bringing her home now that her grades are going open. I think my brother said that they're willing to let her keep art as a hobby. They'll pay for all the supplies she wants so long as she gets a good degree."

Mapi sighs and darts her eyes away. "Ingrid..." She says finally.

"What? Mapi? What is it?"

"Nothing..."

"No, tell me."

"I don't think she would be happy going home," Mapi says eventually," I know you love your parents but...You have to admit they have high expectations-"

"Because they love us."

"Yes, I know but..." Mapi's eyes linger on your closed door. "Have you ever thought that she might not want to leave?" She bites at her lip, wary if she should say what she's going to say next. "Maybe the distance from your parents is what she needs. You have to admit, Ingrid, your parents aren't the nicest about her passions. You saw her when she was doing that mural. You know that this is what she wants to do with her life."

Ingrid looks at your door too. "I know," She says," But Mum and Dad really want her to come home. They think maybe law school."

"And what do you think? Do you think she would enjoy being in law school? Do you?"

"No." Ingrid can't stop staring at the closed door. "But...What about her friends? Maybe if she goes back to Norway, she can see them again."

"No offense, but your sister is the biggest lone wolf I've ever met. She's happy here, with us. She's more supported than she's ever been before. You need to put your foot down. She stays with us."

Ingrid sighs, looking at her phone screen. Your parents are calling again and she angrily swipes to reject the call.

She knocks on your door.

"Hey, can I come in?" She asks," I think we need to have a little chat."

There's no answer.

"Come on," She says," It's not a bad talk. We can get sushi after."

There's still no answer.

"I'm coming in," Ingrid warns," So if you're shirtless or something, cover up."

She pushes the door open, expecting to find you at your desk with your chunky headphones on but she finds nothing of the sight. The room is completely empty and Ingrid shoves her head out of your open window to spy the drainpipe that you've clearly climbed down.

"You already talk? That was quick," Mapi says as Ingrid comes back into the living room," Are we getting sushi already? 'Cause I would kill for some sushi right about now."

"Get the keys," Ingrid says," She's left out the window."

"Down the drainpipe?" Mapi asks," Damn, I only taught her how to do that for emergencies."

Ingrid sighs deeply, massaging her head with her hand. She'd deal with the clear bad influence Mapi has on you later as she whips out her phone to track your location.

You've made good progress from the time that you stormed into your room to now, making it pretty far across the city to the more rundown side of town that Ingrid knows for a fact has boarded up buildings from when businesses had to close during covid.

Mapi drives them down to some kind of packing warehouse that looks like had been broken into long before you came to stay. It's completely filthy and Ingrid just hopes that there are no squatters to contend with.

She finds you pretty quickly on the second floor. You've curled yourself into the corner on the floor, with tears streaming down your face.

Opposite you, is another mural.

It's a heartbreaking sight.

Yet again, your work is picture-perfect and, somehow, that makes it even worse.

In the background is a little girl. She's got her hands pressed up against a window, peering in. The foreground is dominated by a family. Most of their faces are made up of angry black and red swirls. Only one other person has a face.

It's clear who it is and Ingrid sits down next to you.

You don't say anything to her. You just move to lean against her. You press your head into her neck and sob.

"You're not going anywhere," She says," You're staying right here with me and Mapi."

[ask-hank]

The only stove in the hotel exploded and it'll be two weeks before anyone can come look at it. Do you have any propane grills you could recommend in the meantime? ...Preferably that sell to... Well... Hell...

@ask-vaggie

Heh heh, Why sure, what you need is the Vogner Charking Imperial. Not only will it cook a steak or burger to perfection, but propane is a clean burning fuel so you'll taste the meat and not the heat. Now let me know if Lucifer needs some propane to run the flames down there. It'll be a clean burning Hell, I tell you h'what.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Fourteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

There is a very important message after the end of the chapter. I will repost it because I know not everyone reads the messages hidden within this post!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Fourteen - Picking a Fight

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!!! Mentions of abuse, Smut (let me know if I missed any!)

Alastor was sitting in the Doomsday District when he felt his magic surge. The demon had found a half-destroyed bench to sit upon, the metal twisted upon itself from one of his previous meltdowns. With his head in his hands, Alastor sat and contemplated the past few days - days? Or had it been weeks, months, since you kissed him in Louisiana? His sense of time had no meaning anymore. 

“Hello, old pal,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. 

Vox stood before the Radio Demon, a slick smile on his face as he surveyed the mess with which he had found him in. That was satisfaction enough for the media demon. 

Alastor ran his hands through his hair - not to fix it, but to relieve the anger itching beneath his skin. Jumping right from helplessness to anger - he was so easily riled up these days, finding it harder and harder to contain his wrath. He had thought ripping up the Doomsday District would somehow help relieve that, like a slow release of propane from a gas tank about to be set on fire but it hadn’t. He should know better, the last time you had a hold on his emotions he tried the same thing, but to no avail.

“I am not in the mood for one of our little quips today. Go on home -“

And then he felt it. The magic beneath his skin surged, his aura pulsed, only, it wasn’t his magic which emanated from his skin. 

It was blue. It was your magic. 

Alarm sparked panic in his chest. This wasn’t a coincidence. 

“Yeah, I thought you’d say something like that,” Vox continued, completely unaware of the magic surging through Alastor’s veins. 

It smelled of Jasmine.

Fuck.

The media demon flips his phone around to show a picture of you, unconscious and tied to a chair. Vox smirked at the realization growing on Alastor’s face. 

He didn’t know it at the time, but Velvette had constructed two false images, including one of you. 

“Checkmate,” Vox gloated. “This is how this is going to go-“ 

Before Vox had a chance to complete his rehearsed speech, Alastor had exploded in a wave of rage - a ball of living fire - except these flames were blue. 

____________________________________________

For Alastor, everything changed the second you broke that seal. In that moment, he felt how much power you had. It radiated deep within his bones - even his soul felt it. 

You carried a power so potent even Zestial would cower at your feet and - as much as Alastor hated to admit it - even he found himself unnerved around the original Overlord. 

Roo. Here you were right in front of him the whole time. Raw power, hidden behind perfect teeth and red lips. 

All he had to do was reach out and take it. 

And then you leaned over him, had the audacity to leave yourself open. Alastor felt his body move before his mind did, his fingers itching for the handle of Velvette’s blade. 

For you, you had proven you would do whatever it takes for power - Hell, you killed Eve for it. And now you had to live with the consequences. Alastor? He hadn’t crossed that line yet - he had no memories of guilt which screamed “No stop! Don’t do this!” 

He had the memories of you, however. 

Of annoyance.

Of desire. 

Of lust. 

Of fear. 

Of worry. 

Of happiness. 

Emotions Alastor had not felt in such a long time… 

So, why was it so easy to palm that blade and stab it straight into your belly? 

Because Alastor was hungry. Like the cannibalistic murderer he is, Alastor has been chasing power long before he died - even so far as selling his soul for a drop more. And when you broke that seal and gave him but a taste of what ran through your veins, it pushed him past hungry, past starvation, the demon was dying and you were the only source of food for miles. 

It blinded him - the power consumed his mind completely, directing him towards one prerogative - kill.

You expected this. Why? Because you did the same to Eve. Because you saw it in your father’s eyes every time he beat you. 

The allure of power drowns its victim like a ship at sea in a storm. 

You’ve seen that barely contained anger in Al before. The warning signs have always been there. How he tried to hold himself back when he’s around you, his demonic form slipping in and out when he sees something that he wants. 

It wasn’t Alastor who sank that blade into your belly - it was the hunger for power, the Radio Demon within. 

After all, who hasn’t been tempted by power and chaos? 

“Absolutely beautiful,” Alastor had said. 

Absolutely beautiful…

Absolutely beautiful? 

Was he talking about you or the power…?

You broke the kiss. “Ha!” You laughed, the steel hilt deep in your belly. You didn’t even move, didn’t even flinch when Alastor stabbed you. “Oh, Mr. Alastor,” you sang, running your fingers through his bangs.

The demon sat back in his chair, completely confused. You’d die of shock seeing such an emotion on his face if you weren’t in the current situation the two of you had unfortunately found yourselves in. 

How did Alastor phrase your deal? “A mutual agreement. We stay out of each other’s way, yet seek out the other when we can benefit equally.” 

It was a verbal contract - not a written one. So, technically, the exact details weren’t drawn out. The magic was privy to the contractees’ interpretations, and magic works in funny ways.

Remember the dream the night you had your midnight meeting? Remember how Alastor attacked you and you defended yourself with your flames? Remember how it burned his clothes but didn’t hurt him.

That’s where it all began.

Anytime you had summoned your magic or Alastor had summoned his, it not only didn’t hurt you, but it empowered you. 

You have stood in his static, have been enshrouded in his magic, and yet you came out unscathed. So why should a blade in his hand, hurt you? How was that any different? 

You took the greatest gamble of your life, leaning over Alastor while he sat in that chair, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, knowing that there was a possibility that he could actually kill you. But you’re deal - it wasn’t just a quid-pro-quo, you help me out, I help you out. No, it was more than that…

… Alastor couldn’t harm you. 

Which meant he couldn’t kill you. 

And so you took the gamble. 

You smirked, knowing your red lips did nothing but taunt the demon, “Quid-pro-quo,” You laughed. Grasping the blade, you slid it easily from your belly. You showed him the steel, absent of your blood. At most, the blade merely ripped your leather.

You laugh, “You shook on it.” 

A huge fucking gamble, and it had paid off. 

You take the blade and stab it directly into his right thigh. The demon didn’t even feel it. Batting your eyelashes, you turn your head like you sometimes see him do when asking a question, “Remember?” 

Confusion turns to anger. And for the first time, you are met with a full-fledged Alastor in demonic form. The demon rips the blade from his leg and growls, his ears flattened against his head in irritation. 

Oh, you were about to get the fight you have been dying for. 

A tentacle wraps itself around your middle and flings you backward across the dirt. Landing on your back, you quickly jump to your feet, preparing for a possible second attack. 

Alastor slowly rises from his chair, the knife slipping into his Void, and summons his microphone. He slams the cane against the ground, green sparks exploding from where it makes contact with the dirt before black tentacles emerge from his back.

The demon smiles, his lips threaded with green stitching. His sclera turn black, his antlers elongate, and prongs multiply atop his head. A green glow surrounds the Radio Demon as his body contorts in a series of cracks. Then Alastor begins to grow, the power with which he has gathered now physically represented by his size.  

“Ha, ha, ha,” the demon chuckles, his laugh echoing as if through a broken radio. “Let’s begin.”

And then his tentacles lunge, the black tendrils encased in Alastor’s green static. You spin, taking flight. You fly right past the demon, weaving through his flurry of tentacles as you head for Pentagram City. 

Alastor is hot on your tail the entire time, and just as you reach the edge, a tentacle wraps itself around your leg and flings you into a nearby abandoned building. Brick and metal come crashing down upon you as the building collapses, pinning you beneath it. 

But it doesn’t slow you down. Summoning your blue flame, you set the rubble alight, and, like a newborn phoenix, you rise from the ashes. Only to be attacked by an army of… shadow demons? 

Tiny doll-like creatures sewn together from black fabric lunge for your feet. Pulling your sword from the Void, you strike, but the blade does not cut them. Instead, they merely bounce off, like a ball hitting a baseball bat. 

What the fuck are these things!? 

One jumps for your leg, giggling as it attempts to sink its teeth into your flesh. Although you know it can't hurt you, you still instinctively jump out of its reach, using your wings to gain height. Luckily, the dolls can’t fly, and you watch as they jump beneath you, their arms outstretched as they lick their lips. 

Cannibal dolls? 

A growl warns you of Alastor’s next attack. You look up fast enough to see a literal car crash into you, the horn breaking as it slams into you. You land, the crumbled car crushing you as you roll down the street. Your wings take most of the impact, shielding your skin from the asphalt. Coming to a stop, you push yourself to your feet, the magic of the Book of Knowledge still surging through your veins. Standing, you face a demonic Alastor, his tentacles, as if legs, running down the street straight for you. 

He’s made himself a target, blind with rage, drunk on the pursuit of power. It would be all too easy to summon the power you stole from Eve and turn it against the Radio Demon. You had never used it before, but there was no time like the present to learn. 

Yet, as you stood, watching Alastor barrel straight for you, you hesitated. 

No. Not because you couldn’t technically hurt him, but because you didn’t want to even try. Something within your chest twisted, stopping you. 

You’ve been keening for a fight with him, but… but you couldn’t do it. 

Instead, you stood your ground, focusing on the magic thrumming through your veins, and forced the power from the Book of Knowledge back behind its lock. The words disappeared from your skin as Alastor raised his staff. 

A clang rang out as metal hit metal, your sword against his microphone. The demon was relentless, his strikes never letting up as he backed you down the street. All you could do was block, your heart not having it in you to strike back. Screams rang out as Sinners finally understood what was going on and fled in fear. 

A crazed look in his eye, the demon continued to hack, his strikes sloppy, his weight thrown into every thrust. Technique-wise, he was no match for a skilled warrior such as yourself. You could have easily had him on his ass if you wanted to - but you didn’t. 

A tentacle wrapped around your ankle, and as Alastor swiped at you with his staff, he pulled. You landed face first, a smack against concrete, rolling just in time to dodge the blow which was aimed directly at your face. As you rolled, you climbed to your feet and flung yourself out of reach of his next physical attack in one big beat of your wings. 

The demon threw his microphone forward, just as he had done every time his tentacles came soaring for you. You readied yourself, prepared for the attack, but his tentacles remained still. The demon looked confused, so he did it again, but again, nothing happened. 

He looked at his feet. 

Oh, he wasn’t trying to attack you with his tentacles but with his shadow. The demon was commanding Rolf to attack you. 

The shadow swirled at his feet, and frowned. Rolf actually frowned and then shook his head in refusal. 

Ooooohh, and Alastor was not happy about that. 

“Aaaaah!” The Radio Demon screamed as he slammed his staff down. 

The ground cracked and broke in half, creating a chasm beneath your feet. You jumped just in time, but not fast enough to miss the Hellfire that was released from the earth. The green flames consumed you as you flew skyward, but, like all of Alastor’s other attacks, it did nothing to you. Soaring, you stopped as you reached the rooftops and got a better understanding of where you were. 

You were on the edge of the Magne District and the Bordertown - in other words, you were blocks away from Alastor’s radio tower. As you caught sight of the iron structure, you felt that thing twist in your chest again. So many memories…

Again, the demon went after you, his tentacles propelling him to the rooftop of the building you soared over. His eye twitched, his smile constrained. And as he sent the next round of attacks your way, you felt your will to fight begin to fade. You didn’t dodge as quickly. You didn’t fly with as much vigor. 

He wasn’t going to stop. Alastor wasn’t going to stop…

You’re not sure why you did it; perhaps some part of you was still holding on, but you led him right to the radio tower. 

Landing on the balcony, you slipped your sword into the Void and waited as Alastor made his way up. The demon came to a stop at the other end of the landing, the lights of Pentagram City your backdrop. You put your wings away, your demon form slipping from you until you were just standing in your ripped leather gear. 

There was a gleam in Alastor’s eye as he surveyed you. He thought he had you. God, he looked absolutely mad. You dodged as he swung, staying easily out of his reach as if it were a training exercise. Jesus, you could do this but not dance? 

You looked into his eyes as he attacked you, seeing nothing but steel, a raging fire that had consumed him completely.

And that’s when you realized… Despite the contract you had made ensuring your safety, Alastor was still trying to kill you. 

And your heart shattered. Your steps faltered, giving Alastor the opportunity to knock you to the ground. You didn’t even try to fight him as he climbed atop you, straddling your waist. The demon pulled Velvette’s blade from the Void, forgoing his microphone completely. 

And you let him. 

The Radio Demon held the edge to your throat, his entire body seething in anger and frustration at the object of all of his desires just out of reach. So close, yet so far. 

“You want this more than you want me…” You whispered. 

His mask slipped ever so slightly, his movements freezing as you spoke. 

You gritted your teeth, “Fine. Alastor. You want it so badly, enough to kill me for it, then take it. Fucking, take it.”

You were so stupid. How could you think Alastor would be any different? Everyone in your life you’ve ever cared about ends up disappointing you…

“Alastor Hartfelt, I, Mikaela Morningstar, release you from our contract.”

SNAP!

The connection between you was severed. 

And almost immediately, you felt warmth on your neck, the edge of the blade digging into your flesh just enough to draw golden blood. Alastor’s eyes were instantly drawn to it. The demon gasped. Something behind his gaze shifted at the realization of what you had just done. 

“... And that’s when I decided she was not worthy of your death,” you repeated the words Alastor spoke to you after he saved you from Vox and Velvette, a moment in time when your death had nearly broken him. “No one was. If anyone was going to draw your last breath from these lips, it was going to be me.”

The demon met your gaze, his crazed smile faltering, the fire in his eyes sputtering. 

“Make do on that promise, Radio Demon.” Your voice cracked as the tears streamed down the corners of your eyes. “You’d be doing me a fucking favor.”

A favor… because you’d rather be dead than live with the fact that Alastor would kill you for something so trivial as power. 

He made you care about him. The way he rescued you from Velvette and Vox, how he dotted over you as you healed. He was killing himself with worry when you collapsed the second time. He made jambalaya from his mother’s recipe and spent hours sitting with you on this balcony, watching the City lights. He was worried when you didn’t eat, running straight to you when he heard. He kissed you as it rained, whispering promises in your ear. The demon danced with you in Mardi Gras, bought you a fucking donut, for crying out loud, and told you things about his mother that he never told anyone else. 

Alastor made you fucking care about him, and now he was ripping out your heart and stabbing it with an Angelic blade - literally and metaphorically.

So yes, he’d be doing you a fucking favor because Alastor was killing you either way - slitting your throat was just the much less painful option. 

You closed your eyes and waited for death… 

You had taken so many lives, and yet you had never thought about your own. You never imagined how you might die because, up until recently, you didn’t know you could. 

God, you didn’t know death could be this fucking painful. 

Yet, you welcomed it. There was no afterlife for you to look forward to, which was a blessing. You didn’t have to live with this weight anymore, this burden of existence, of the trauma and torture you have been put through. Finally, you could just cease to be… 

____________________________________________

The moment the golden blood trickled from your neck, Alastor’s mind flashed to the night you killed Val.

The demon had stalked you from the shadows, having heard the explosion all the way from the Doomsday District. He watched from the darkness as you burned Valentino from the inside out, absolutely mesmerized. 

And then Velvette ran her blade across your chest, and golden liquid spewed from the wound onto the concrete. Alastor had never moved so fast in his life. In a blur, he summoned a tentacle and threw a car at Velvette and Vox, stopping them only momentarily but long enough. Then he was at your feet.

SNAP! The golden liquid disappeared, and Rolf shadowed you to the Nothing.

Alastor’s heart rammed so hard against his chest he could hear nothing else, think nothing else as he collected you in his arms. The Radio Demon had never really known true fear before, even as he died he wasn’t afraid. Such a foreign feeling… He didn’t know how to process it. It left his mind blank, his lungs devoid of air, his body aimless as he forced himself to move. 

And then you were on his bed, your golden blood pouring into his red satin sheets. Rolf acted on his own, immediately taking off for Cannibal Town without Alastor even having to command him. The demon collapsed to his knees at the edge of the bed, forcing his claws to untie the dark cloak around your neck, but his damn fingers wouldn’t work! He was shaking so much…

“Oh, my stars!” Rosie melted from the floor, curlers in her hair and wrapped in a pink bathrobe. “Alastor, what is…” She caught sight of you on the bed and the Overlord in full panic next to you. 

Alastor turned to her, desperation swimming in his eyes as he managed to utter two words, “Help me.”

____________________________________________

“Alastor,” Rosie set a steaming cup of tea before him - chai - but Alastor didn’t move to drink it. He couldn’t even pick up the cup. It reminded him too much of the coffee you made him, how you flavored it with chai leaves. It reminded him too much of you. Of the beautiful woman held together by nothing but thread in the next room.

Rosie lay a hand on his arm, moving slowly so as not to startle the demon. He had calmed down immensely but was still shaken up. “Tell me what happened.”

“She went after Valentino,” He swallowed dryly. 

“Sweetheart, that’s not what I’m asking. I can see the destruction of the Tower from your window. I’m asking what happened to you. I’ve never seen you like that before.” The demon prodded carefully. 

Rosie had asked about you before - attempting to pry information from Alastor. It’s not that she was spying on you. She didn’t need to do that. You told her everything. She wanted to know what Alastor thought of you. A matchmaker from the very beginning - from the moment you stepped foot into her Emporium and ran right into Alastor. 

Alastor looked down at the cup, the leaves of tea swimming around the steaming liquid. “I don’t know. All I know is… It hurt… I hurt…” 

Rosie cooed, “And why do you think that is?”

Alastor was speechless. Nothing coming to mind. He honestly didn’t understand what was happening to him. Why he was feeling the way that he was feeling. He’s never felt so utterly helpless and honestly couldn’t understand why. 

“Darling, let me ask you, cannibal to cannibal, what is the most important organ in the body?” Rosie smiled, her teeth wickedly sharp. 

Of course, Alastor picked the brain - so iconic and representative of his character. 

Rosie giggled. “Oh no, I think my late husband is evidence enough of that. No, dear, it’s the heart. Something so vital that keeps us alive, and yet one tiny little nick and you bleed out and die. And dying hurts, let me tell you.” She shrugged, sipping her tea. 

Rosie let Alastor stew on this for a moment before clearly spelling it out for the Overlord. “You are hurting because the Vees went after your heart.”

____________________________________________

CLANG! 

Your eyes fluttered open to find Alastor looking back at you, tears in eyes of his own. His chin trembled as he cupped your cheeks. Alastor had dropped the blade, the steel clattering between the cracks in the balcony flooring before falling to the street below. 

The demon’s forehead came to rest on your own as his demonic form receded, his green aura fading. “... a drop more might break me.” His voice shook, his words absent of his radio static, his Louisiana accent slipping through. “Rarely am I wrong about something.” He chuckled through a sob. “I just didn’t think it would be by my hand.”

“Alastor…?” You searched his eyes for an explanation. 

“My darling.” A breath. “Ma cherie.” Another. “Mon couer.” Another. “My heart.” 

Alastor’s eyes were glassy. “One cannot live without their heart.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Was he saying what you think he was saying? 

“You choose me?” You asked, hope sparking in your chest. 

The demon smiles softly. “I choose you, mon couer. I choose you…” 

You smiled as you grabbed Alastor by his shirt and pulled him in. Your mouths crashed together.

You can taste the relief on his lips, the solace evident with each swipe of his tongue. Finally, you could allow yourself to simply enjoy the taste of him. Finally, you could simply not think and only feel - no longer weighed down by the troubles plaguing your mind every time he grew close to you.

He knew your name.

He knew your secret.

He knew your power.

He knew everything.

And he had chosen you.

Nothing held the two of you back now, not emotionally or physically.

Alastor broke the kiss, already panting, his chest heaving as it matched yours, “How are your injuries?” His eyes roamed you, searching for active bleeding.

You smirked, “I’m in perfect health thanks to you,” you pulled the collar of your leather gear aside to reveal the injury Velvette gave you, the skin now pink and scarred over.

Alastor ran a finger across the mark, making you shiver beneath him. 

You had much to figure out today, but it could wait. 

The demon smiled, “Good,” he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I believe I made some promises to you that I intend to keep.” 

Alastor dipped lower, and you gasped as his tongue connected with your skin. Alastor traced the outline of the cut on your neck. His forked tongue lapped the golden liquid, not letting a single drop escape. When his lips were wet and sweet with your blood, he leaned back far enough only for you to see his eyes, his pupils blown, “You’re mine,” he breathed. 

Your body shuddered in what might have been a sob, a cry in joy as his lips found yours. 

Finally. Fucking, finally. 

You expected the kiss to be gentle - soft - a kiss that could take its time. After all, you had plenty of that now. But Alastor had warned you - he was not gentle. You moaned into his mouth, the iron tang of your blood on your lips as he crashed into you. The kiss was powerful, threatening to drown you in him completely.

The demon scooped you up in one fluid motion before you were shadowed into his bedroom and placed on red silk sheets.     

The demon had his jacket off, never breaking your connection, before crawling up on you. The demon pushed you back, laying you out on the platter of red, his own personal feast. He pressed himself into you, one leg between your thighs, and you instinctively arched as his warmth soaked into your bones, as he hardened against you. 

Alastor broke the kiss to run his tongue up your cheek, licking the golden liquid that had bled from your now-healed skin. The demon moaned, his dick throbbing in his pants in response. You took the opportunity to find the buttons of his red suit jacket, popping open the three buttons before diving into the ones on his collared shirt. 

There was something so intimate about undressing him. You could - if you had wanted to - magicked the clothes away, but where was the fun in that? There were layers to Alastor’s outfit, layers you wanted to peel back one by one; it was a privilege to do so. In a way, you felt like you had earned that privilege, and you were going to take advantage of every moment of it. 

Al pulled back, surveying your face. He ran a hand through your silver locks as they splayed out across his sheets, pushing it aside from your neck where bruises once decorated your skin. His eyes lit up, almost as if they were screaming, mine, all mine, before his lips found your neck. 

Oh, if you thought his kisses were intense before, it was nothing compared to now. Alastor held nothing back, his canines nipping at your skin till he drew blood. The pain was a beautiful burn that made your head dizzy. His tongue licked away the gold, soothing the erotic pain pooling in your core. You gasped as his hands found your hips and tugged.

He wanted your clothes off. 

SNAP!

Your leathers disappeared, leaving behind nothing but your bra and underwear. The armor didn’t have zippers or ties, it wasn’t meant to be slipped on and off, but you wanted Alastor to undress you. You wanted to feel his claws as they scraped across your skin and slid your underwear down your legs…

Alastors hand found the waistband of your underwear. The demon chuckled against your neck, after stealing a glance. “Such a naughty little thing.”

You may have changed into your favorite pair of undergarments, a dangerous matching set of silk. All in red, just for him. 

Alastor bit your neck, hard, not a full on bite, but a nibble that made you gasp. You arched up into him, his knee between your thighs. With one hand thrusted into your hair, the other went to your bra, to cup the swell of your breast. 

The demon had perfectly sized hands, your breasts a matching handful. You cried out as he squeezed. Goosebumps rise on your skin as the demon’s mouth travels south, his lips trailing to the swell of your breasts. His claws scraped across your skin, finding the strap of the garment and slowly lowered it over your shoulder. You arched, prompting him to slide both hands behind your back as he smiled up at you, his eyes promising to do terribly wonderful things to you. 

Then your bra was off, and his mouth was on your breast, and he sucked, his tongue flicking your nipple. You plunged your fingers into his hair, wrapping them around his locks. Your finger lightly brushed his ears, and the demon growled, his mouth on your breast, his hips bucking instinctively. 

Alastor pulled back despite your bark of protest - that turned into a gasp as the demon backed off the bed, wrapped his arms around your hips, and tugged. He yanked you to the edge before violently ripping off your underwear. 

Your cheeks heated as Alastor kneels before you, his face mere inches from your heat as he hooks your legs over his shoulders.

He was kneeling. The all and powerful Alastor Hartfelt was on his knees for you. No one would ever believe you…

And then he sinks two fingers inside you, all the way up to his first knuckle. You cry out, your breath stuck in your throat as your nails dig into his sheets. He slides his fingers out slowly, then shoves in hard again, practically pushing you back up the bed. 

“Oh, my - Al!” 

Alastor cuts you off with his mouth, his tongue licking your clit and setting you on fire. Instinctively, your toes curl, and your body pulls in on itself, but Alastor’s claw digs into the meat of your hip, keeping you spread open as he thrusts his fingers in again, his mouth feasting on your juices. 

Digging your nails in tighter, you swear you rip the fabric, trying to hold on. 

The demon chuckles as your next gasp turns into a moan. God, it was like Alastor was punishing you, dominating you, a relentless force pent on overpowering you in every sense of the word. 

You swore you'd never bow before another again, never let another command you, but for Alastor, you'd gladly fall to your knees if he asked.

The pressure was starting to build. Fuck, the last time this happened, you leveled a building.

“Alastor,” you choked out.   

But the demon didn’t stop, didn’t even come up for air. Alastor pulls his fingers almost all the way out before thrusting them fully in. 

“Al-”

The demon glares at you, a gleam in his eye. He wanted to push you over the edge and was not going to stop, no matter what. 

Shit. Shit. Shit!

He picks up the pace, his fingers constantly roaming in and out, his mouth working in tandem quickly working you up towards your climax.

Your head is gone now, your breathes in gasps with each pump of his fingers, each swipe of his tongue. The demon bites down on your clit between his upper teeth and lower lip. A wave of pain has you teetering.

“Al!” You scream as, on the last thrust, Alastor curls his fingers, hitting that wonderful bundle of nerves that has you flying over the edge. You arch up as spasms overcome your body, as Alastor continues to pump and continues to ride you through your high.

Be damned if you burned this place to the ground. It was worth it.

Your inner walls clench around his fingers, your entire body tensing up. Heat floods through you as you pant, breathless and dizzy. 

Alastor doesn’t stop until your back finds the sheets again, until your twitching has slowed, and your breathing has normalized. 

This entire thing feels like a dream as Alastor stands, untucks his shirt, and takes off his belt. 

“No,” you squeak out, your body and mind numb with pleasure.

Alastor freezes.

“I want to,” you practically beg, reaching out a hand. 

The demon chuckles, his face in his hands. 

Wait. 

You sit up, your mind sobering as you whip your gaze across the room. “It’s not on fire?” 

Alastor’s smile kicks up in a sideways grin, “It’s not.”

You shoot him a questioning look. You don’t know how this is happening, but you know Alastor had something to do with it. A rune? Some sort of mark in his Voodoo? 

The demon answers your question with a chuckle as he climbs atop you. Alastor’s arms frame your face, his smile lighting up yours as he towers over you. His locks were like a halo of red around his face, his antlers a few prongs larger than you remember. 

You’re so captivated by a half shirtless Alastor towering over you that you completely forget what you were supposed to do.

He pauses, his breath hot on your lips, “well?”

Well? Oh! Yes. 

Hesitantly, your fingers find his belt as you continue what he had started. Your heart is ramming against your chest, your hands suddenly very sweaty. Get it together. He’s made you orgasm twice now. You’re sitting beneath him, in his bed, wearing nothing. Why were you so nervous? 

You paused at the button of his pants. 

“Al, I… I’ve never…” You met his gaze and hoped your eyes communicated the rest of what you were trying to say. 

His cheeks turned pink, “We move at your pace, mon couer.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He was giving you time for your mind to catch up with the rest of you. 

First, thing’s first…

You force your fingers to move again and help him slide his shirt off. And then you don’t want to stop touching him. Alastor was so soft, the short fur along his torso and arms like the down coat of a fawn. It was longer around his chest, producing a fluff you were already making plans for. To spend your night sleeping on his chest…

You traced his scars, each old and grey, marking his beautiful ashen skin. Then you found the mark over his chest, the run of Transformare just over his heart. You traced the outline of it. 

“My favorite one,” he smiled. 

And that gave you the bravery to continue on. You shot up, your lips crashing into his as your fingers undid the button of his pants and began to tug down. Alastor laid you back out as he pulled off his pants and underwear in one swoop. 

You gasped as the demon pressed onto you, his cock perfectly lining up with your folds. The demon ground his hips against you, coating his shaft in your juices, hitting your throbbing clit. Your mouth went dry at the sheer size of him. You wanted him, wanted every glorious inch of him in you.  

And then you're drowning again as he kisses you, his thrusts harder and faster as he grinds atop you, Alastor the ocean wave which was pulling you deeper and deeper. And you gladly drowned. He rocks back on his hips, stealing the heat of his cock before he lines himself up, his tip pressing against your opening, and pauses. 

He was waiting for you. 

In response, you wrapped your legs around his thin waist. They sat perfectly at the crest of his hips, almost as if they were made for you, for this. The demon growled as you kissed him, and you laughed.

And then he slid in. And in. And in. Until his hips were flush with yours. Your nails dug into the muscle of his back, making the demon growl. 

Jesus, he had your eyes watering; it was like your body forgot how to breathe. He stilled, letting you adjust.     

“Are you alright?” Alastor was out of breath, his voice raspy and absent of static, as his forehead found yours, clearly bombarded with the same wave of emotions you had been. 

You nod as you pull him down on top of you. You wanted to feel Alastor, to feel his warmth, to feel his chest heaving against yours, to feel the muscles in his abbs as he thrusts into you. You have been starved for touch for so long that you have become desperate - desperate and greedy. 

The demon moved slowly, pulling out slightly before pressing back in. His hips stuttered, “Satan,” he choked. “You’re tight.”

Again, he pulled back, then thrust in. The demon fisted one hand in your hair, the other coming to rest behind your thigh, giving himself leverage as he moved. 

And as Alastor moved, his forehead on yours as you kissed, your breath building as you huffed through your noses, it became easier. It became pleasurable. It became faster, deeper. 

It made you hungry for more.

“Fuck me,” you breathe between moans. “Fuck me, Alastor.”

A fire sparks in his eyes as his hands sink to your ass. The demon has your legs wrapped around him, and off the bed, your back pressed against the wood head rest as he fills you. Every inch, every hard ridge. Alastor’s teeth find your bottom lip, and he bites down as he slams into you with enough force, that the bed shakes. 

Your moan is on the edge of a scream as blood fills your mouth. Alastor’s tongue laps at your lips, at your tongue, devouring the tangy liquid flooding your mouth and dribbling down your chin. The cannibal is determined not to waste a single drop as he feasts. You wrap your arms around his neck and hang on for dear life, your nails digging into his skin, just exciting him even more. 

There is nothing gentle about the Radio Demon - no wonder he wanted to wait, no wonder he held himself back all those nights ago. He surely would have split you in two had you begged him to try.  

But it would have been so worth it. 

Your veins sang beneath your skin with the build of your climax, your heart beating in time with Alastor’s. 

The demon released a hand to find your clit, circling as he thrusts. Immediately, you’re toeing the edge, your moans choked screams, as Alastor picks up the pace, sweat licking your bodies. 

Alastor’s claws dig into the meat of your hip as pulls you down on him with every thrust, as he buries himself over and over again, the tip of his cock brushing the entrance of your cervix. You’re there, you’re at the edge…

“I’m close!” You breathe, every edge of you burning with pleasure. You’re so wet, you’re dripping down his balls as he sinks into you. 

Not yet. No. You want to linger. You want to savor this. Every second of it. 

And then Alastor’s lips find your neck, and he bites. The pain sends you over the edge, and you scream as the orgasm tears through your body. Alastor continues to pound into you, hard and fast, drawing out your pleasure. The demon grows harder, more frenzied with his movements, and then he’s roaring as he slams into you to the hilt, spilling inside you. 

Alastor growls as his dick throbs against your clenching inner walls, milking him of every last drop. And then Alastor slows as he collapses into you, his head resting on your shoulder as he slowly thrusts in and out, his body spasming with pleasure.

And then there is silence, interrupted only by your panting breaths. 

When your souls finally return to your bodies, you take Alastor’s face in yours. The dreamy, drunk look on his face has your heart soaring. No one has ever seen Alastor like that. You’ve earned the privilege to see him like this.  

Alastor rocks in and out of you in slow, languid thrusts, like he’s savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him. 

“Mon couer,” he breathes before he kisses you, long and slow. 

You giggle, just as high as him, “mine.”

The demon freezes, giving you a look as if he didn’t hear you right. 

“I choose you, too, Alastor. You’re mine.” You beam before kissing him. His mouth is unmoving for a second before he kisses you back. The demon digs his hips into you, sinking his head in till it hits your cervix - you swear to God!

The demon lays you back down on the bed.

“I’m yours,” he smiles against your lips, and then he swallows your gasp as he thrusts again. “I’m yours, mon couer, only yours.” 

Alastor’s mouth trails down your jaw, across the bruises forming on your throat. You moan when his tongue finds the bite, the mark he used to claim you, the soreness that now represents everything. The demon uses his tongue to outline the mark, the golden blood now clotting. 

With the taste of you on his lips, the demon was growing hard again, his dick throbbing inside of you as he stroked slowly. 

This time is different. This time Alastor is slow, his fingers bunching in your hair but not tearing, his lips kissing you deeply, his mouth drunk on your taste. You breathed Alastor in as your tongue lazily played with his, as your hips moved in time with his strokes. 

This wasn’t just him claiming you. This was Alastor promising you. This was him pledging to be yours and only yours, to be all the things he was scared of being, to devote his very being in honor of you. 

And you could feel it. You could feel his growing desire. It wasn’t just in the pounding of his heart or the way his breath quickened as it mixed with yours but somehow sank into your bones. 

If your magic could be summoned as it had whenever Alastor’s lips were on yours, the colors of your magic would be singing right now. Their masterpiece a demonstration of the vow he was making you. 

You let your hands wander over every hard ridge of him. Outlining his pecs, the defined abbs on his torso, the strength in his shoulders. To his cut jawline and soft hair. You played with his locks as Alastor continued to thrust in you, your quick breaths turning to moans. 

It was slow, it was passionate, it was intense. 

Alastor breaks the kiss to decorate your neck, marking his territory, the bruises proof that this was real. Your gaze falls to where the two of you are connected, his shaft pulling away with both of your juices, turning his dick white with cum.

Oh, God the way he filled you with his cum…

You clench around him at the memory of the feeling, making the demon’s hips stutter, eliciting a growl that vibrates from his chest through yours. 

You can’t help but smile as you kiss him. The power you had over him, over his body…

Alastor responds by thrusting harder. 

CRACK! 

The bed breaks, and the next thing you know, the two of you are rolling off the side. Alastor takes the brunt of the fall, pulling you into him as his back smacks against the wooden floor. 

“Al, are you -?” 

The demon interrupts your question with a laugh. It was so genuine and absent of his usual radio static that it catches you off guard before you’re laughing right along with him. 

And then the two of you realize something: you were on top. 

You blink at each other a moment, registering what this means, but Alastor doesn’t make an attempt to move you. Instead, he grabs your hips and guides you up and down his cock. It’s awkward at first - you’ve literally never done this before - but you eventually find a rhythm that has the two of you moaning all over again.

Regardless of the position, Alastor was still in control, which was a relief - your lack of experience was frankly embarrassing. 

You dig your fingers into his fluff, using it as leverage as you bounce up and down. You can feel the wetness pooling out of you and dribbling down his cock. 

From this position you could fully appreciate Alastor, disheveled and overwhelmed by you. His chest is heaving, his hips bucking up into you, deepening the muscles on his torso. 

God, it was a beautiful sight. 

The demon reaches up and wraps his fist in your hair before using it to pull your lips down to his. His claws dig into your other hip as his thrusts quicken, as he pounds into you.

And then he’s spilling into you all over again, his warm seed filling you and then sliding down his cock. The orgasm surprises you, overtaking your body without warning. 

God, the feeling of being filled was enough to drive you over the edge. 

You collapsed on Alastor, your face in the fluff of his chest as he thrust, your orgasm milking every ounce of his seed. 

And when his hips finally slowed, Alastor collapsed fully, his hands coming to rest in your hair and on your back. The two of you lay there for a long time, not minding the mess you had just made, your minds and bodies too numb to fully comprehend anything but the aftershock of pleasure. 

You breathed him in, letting his scent of forest and musk prolong your ecstasy. The room danced in the flavor of warm vanilla, evidence of what you had just done wafting out the slightly ajar back door. The curtains were down, so no one could see in. 

When Alastor somehow found the ability to move again, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Mon couer?” 

“Hmm?” You hummed, dreamily snaking your head up to meet his half-lidded gaze through your curtain of hair. You were sleepy and oh-so-content. You could fall asleep right there on the floor and sleep for days if he let you. 

“How about a bath?” As if on cue, the sound of a faucet turning creaked from the bathroom. Running water could be heard echoing through the tile walls. 

You giggled, nodding. 

Slowly, Alastor pulled out of you. You whimpered at the sudden empty feeling, the loss of warmth that was purely Alastor filling your core. It was a feeling you were instantly missing.

The demon carried you to the tub, now steaming and filled with bubbles. He gently sat you in before climbing in behind you, letting you lay against him as he washed you. 

The fluff on his chest was like a pillow as you lay there, drowning in the scent of his shampoo. It was like being on sensory overload, except the only sense was Alastor. 

And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Alastor took his time massaging your limbs, easing the tension from your muscles. He inspected every healed cut and new scar he had never seen before until he was satisfied that you were fine and really and truly in one piece. He even took the time to wash your hair, his claws scraping against your scalp as he scrubbed. You hummed in delight, bringing a genuine smile to Alastor’s face. 

The wash was more cathartic for Alastor than it was for you. For him, he needed this. After you almost died, he needed to see you be strong again. He needed to see you at your highest before he could heal from seeing you at your lowest. And, as if to solidify it in his brain that this wasn’t a dream, and you were really and truly alive, he needed to inspect you himself - and he also did get satisfaction at seeing the new marks which he had left on your body. The slowly darkening bruises and bites he had left behind… 

The narcissist… 

When he finished with you, he washed himself. You were practically asleep when he finished - although he did do his best not to disturb you as much as he could. The demon slowly slid out from behind you to grab you a towel. It took some coaxing, but he finally got you to stand on your own as he wrapped you in the soft cotton. 

When you returned to bed, you found it perfectly made, with fresh sheets and fluffed pillows. The foot on his bed frame had snapped during your endeavors, but Alastor had it repaired while you bathed. You’d sleep soundly in a level bed tonight. 

Soft jazz clicked on as Alastor tucked you in before sliding in himself. You curled into the demon, who had crawled into bed with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, immediately seeking his warmth. 

Alastor rarely slept, but today was an exception…

With your head on his chest, your feet tangled in his, and his arms wrapped around you, you felt complete. 

And the two of you dozed off into slumber to the words of Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable.” 

Okay, Hoteliers, why did I do this? Why not have Alastor never attack Mikaela in the first place? Why didn’t he just drop the knife and kiss her, and then I write a chapter filled with some seriously overdo smut? Because there was still one thing about Alastor that had not been challenged yet - in the fanfic and in canon. Yes, Alastor had fallen for the reader, but there was still this giant thing hanging over their heads that they did not address, which needed to be hit upon in order for the two of them to finally accept their feelings for each other. What would Alastor do if something/someone he loved more than power stood in the way of him achieving it? You, as Mikaela, already made that decision when you killed Eve - you’d do anything. Yet, deep down, you knew you couldn’t do it to Alastor - you, as the reader, had decided that without me even having to write it. You were literally screaming in the comments about it as you read chapter thirteen.

Yet Alastor had never been asked that question. So we needed to see what he would do. Given the opportunity, he needed to be forced to choose, and he needed to see that that choice would have consequences. That's why I needed Alastor to stab you, to go after you, to draw blood. Why go to such lengths? Because Alastor is a stubborn, stubborn man, and changing him would not be an easy thing to do, especially when it is something so central to his character. I mean, he's a cannibalistic murderer; how much more literal does Viv need to get about his desire to consume power? Being forced to choose was not only about you but about him as well. In the writing business, we call it ~character development~.

So no, I couldn't simply have Alastor drop the knife and whisk you away into a fairytale. This moment, this part of Alastor, posed an obstacle for me: a giant wall preventing me from continuing on. I needed Alastor to grow, to unlock that part of himself that let you in, choose you over everything else, and for him to accept that.  

Don't worry, we still have more to go - they still have to learn why they are both at the Hotel, what their involvements are with Lilith, and what Mikaela’s big endgame actually is, but that stuff is trivial compared to their cannibalistic desire for power - especially considering Mikaela is Roo, the embodiment of it. I mean, that’s how this fanfic all started, right? “Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear…”  And I think it’s important to remember that because it will be a theme through to the end of this fic. 

<3 Stay smutty Hoteliers - smut is coming next chapter. You’ve earned it ;)

-> Chapter Fifteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

[patheticjayce]

Listen, I keep thinking stuff ok?

(this is not a finished thing it's literally just me rambling no editing just don't expect quality just tell me if u see the vision yes?)

also there's mentions of death (no one dies but they're gonna?), alcohol and drug use but not in a tragic way more in a necessary medical and recreational way

Cross-Faded:

Viktor knows that he’s dying, and is not getting better, but doesn’t want his family to worry about him so he hides it from everyone. His (Friend? Cousin? Sky?)  is getting married. Since he wants his family + friends to think he’s ok, he decides to bring a date to the event and pretend that they’re in love so they’ll think he’s being taken care of.

 He knows the obvious choice is Jayce, not only because his family has already spent years convinced they’re together, but because the title of “ partners” is ambiguous enough, right? It’s easy to circumvent the truth and keep everyone involved in the dark. That way he can introduce him as such, and no one would be the wiser.

The problem is that he didn’t consider the fact that the alcohol at a party from his side of the family would be boasting a proper alcohol content and not that triple-filtered watery swill they serve back in Piltover, which makes Jayce arrive at the other side of tipsy by the time they start serving dinner. Sure, he can hold his liquor pretty well but said liquor usually has a 40% water content, not… whatever there is in this murky soup of unidentifiable solids that smells like jet fuel and tastes like a tank of propane exploded inside a fruit stand.  

The problem about The Problem is that Viktor wasn’t counting on the fact that Jayce is embarrassingly in love with him, and, motivated by the romantic atmosphere and the Fruit Juice From Hell, had decided that tonight was the night he would finally make a move on Viktor. Jayce has been like an overexcited dog all night, overly attentive, and once he starts sampling the bar menu he’s handsier than he’s ever been with Viktor. By the time the dancing starts, Jayce is getting way *waaayy* too close whenever he needs to say something to Viktor, close enough that the buzz of the words in his ear sends a shock of electricity down his spine. 

The problem about Problem One and its Derivative Problem, is that there is a third problem to consider, which is the fact that Viktor is so in love with Jayce that it makes him physically ill (yes, he knows it’s not the meds. He can tell. Shut up.) and even though his tolerance to the provided spirits is much higher than his partner’s, the moment when Jayce touches his knuckles slightly with the tip of his finger to bring him back from his trips into his mind palace and viktor feels the current of warmth spreading all over his body from the single point of contact, he knows he’s fucked up. Because between the current lineup of medications, the joint he smoked once the ceremony was over ( it’s medicinal. It’s not cause it’s fun or makes him more social or relaxes him enough to get through with the social part of the situation, or that it will help his appetite so no one wonders why he isn’t eating, wait, see! That’s a medical reason!) he really shouldn’t have accepted those drinks from Jayce. Now Viktor is sitting there thoroughly cross-faded. And everything feels *so good*. ..

[ozkarrzen]

I think Sci having like really weird and non-practical inventions in really funny to me. Have him lean less into general scientist and more engineer with the shit he makes/modifies.

Half of it doesn’t even work, he just has an idea, hyperfuxates on it for 4 hours and never touches it again. He’s got a partly fused together waffle iron tied to a propane tank just waiting to explode.

Sci just being like Doctor Doofenshmirtz I'm giggling I love this

[vidrkness]

If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too (chapter 2)

Summary: A competitive spirit haunts station 19 for the Captain position , Rio and Agatha fight every day against the flames and their feelings for each other. Will it burn it down everything around them?

A/N: Hi everyone! Here’s the next chapter for the two or three of you who took your time to read this fic (tysm <3) it took me more than expected but I was trying to continue with other fic I totally abandoned a while ago lol and a new one that has been stuck in my mind since yesterday.

Anyway, hope you enjoy it and again, thank you so much for reading!

1 | 2 |

The crew was supposed to be running a drill.

Instead, they were standing around in full bunker gear under the blazing sun like a bunch of overcooked, emotionally constipated turtles. The Lieutenant running the thing was apparently having a passionate breakdown with his car an hour away, and now everyone was just marinating in heat, sweat, and unresolved workplace sexual tension.

Agatha stared at her clipboard like it was personally responsible for all her regrets.

Across the lot, Rio stood with her arms crossed and her jaw clenched so tight you could probably cut steel on it. Her helmet visor was down, but everyone could feel the tragic rom-com energy radiating off her like heat waves, like she was moments from either saving a puppy or breaking up with her emotionally unavailable coworker in the rain.

They weren’t looking at each other.

They were 100% looking at each other.

Alice nudged Jen, whispering like the tension might hear her “Should we do something? Say something?”

Jen didn’t even blink “If I die from this vibe, bury me with my skincare And make sure it’s the good one”

Eventually, Agatha snapped. Or cracked. Or whatever the hell happens when your pride gives up and your feet decide to drag you into emotional danger.

She didn’t know what she was gonna say. She just moved. Like her legs were done waiting for her brain to grow a damn spine and deal with it.

Rio saw her coming.

Didn’t budge an inch. Not a twitch. Just stood there like a hot, furious statue made of muscle, sarcasm, and unresolved issues.

They stopped toe to toe, helmets off, visors up, the sun beating down on both of them like even the weather wanted to see this shit go down.

Rio’s voice was flat as a dead battery “You wanna yell at me again?”

Agatha’s voice came out low. Tense. Like it had claws “I wanna talk”

“Oh. Now we talk” Rio snapped, ams crossed like she was holding herself together with pure spite.

Agatha didn’t flinch “I fucked up”

Rio’s eyes narrowed into full-blown laser mode “Yeah. You did”

And then they just… stared. Like absolute dumbasses. Like two emotionally stunted disasters teetering on the edge of something that was very much not talking.

Agatha cleared her throat, awkward as hell “Can we maybe not do this right here?”

Rio shrugged, all tough on the outside but her voice cracked like a damn glowstick “Where else are we gonna do it? It’s not like we know how to not be a disaster”

Right on cue, someone coughed loud enough to break the moment like a sledgehammer.

Ralph, fucking old Ralph.

Standing five feet away with very flammable substances near them and the energy of a man who did not want to explode today.

“Cool cool cool” he said, backing up “Love that you’re emotionally reconciling right in front of the explosive materials. Should I move it, or are we just letting Jesus take the wheel now?”

They shared a smile, a genuine one.

Then Agatha sighed. Long, deep. Like she was exhaling five years of repressed feelings and one very complicated dream she’d had about Rio in turnout gear and nothing else.

“Let’s just do the drill” she muttered.

“Fine” Rio said

So they did.

Everyone suited back up, falling into line like nothing happened. Like they hadn’t just dropped a soap opera moment in front of a propane tank. The Lieutenant finally showed up, sweating and apologizing, completely unaware that the station had been a pressure cooker of sexual tension and trauma bonding all damn morning.

The scenario started: warehouse fire, two rescues, time limit, full command structure.

And holy hell, Agatha and Rio snapped into action like nothing had ever been broken. The weird eye contact that made Wanda whisper “oh my god” every ten seconds.

Agatha called commands with precision. Rio flowed through the chaos like she was built for it. No hesitation, no second guessing, just sync. Like muscle memory. Like magic.

Vision timed them “That was the fastest run we’ve done all month” he said, blinking.

Wanda nodded, sipping her third tea of the hour “They’re terrifying. And weirdly hot”

Jen just whistled “Honestly, at this point, just let them co-captain and co-parent and co-own a dog or something”

Back at the truck, Agatha passed Rio a water bottle. No words. Just a look.

Rio took it.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak.

But her fingers brushed Agatha’s just a second too long.

And for once, just once ,neither of them pulled away.

The next day the station was quiet, unusually for a thursday morning. The only sound was the coffee machine getting ready to start the day and the occasional creak of old floorboards as the team shuffled in, still recovering from last night’s late call.

Agatha was already at the kitchen counter, clutching her favorite mug—the one that said “WTF: where’s the fire?” like it knew her personally. She stared out the window at the storm clouds rolling in, jaw tight, mind running laps.

The door opened behind her. She didn’t turn.

“Early again” Rio’s voice broke the silence like a match strike. No greeting, just vibes.

Agatha didn’t even blink “Someone has to set an example”

Rio breezed in, grabbed the sugar right before Agatha could. Rude. Intentional. Petty perfection “And someone has to save their energy for actual emergencies”

Two scoops, dropped with dramatic flair. Agatha rolled her eyes so hard it was audible.

“Being early doesn’t make you a better captain”

It was sharp. Not mean, just... loaded. Like a line wrapped in barbed wire and sexual tension. The kind that crawled up your spine and lived rent-free in your chest.

“Keep mouthing off, Vidal, and you’ll be the one polishing my boots when I get that promotion”

Rio didn’t even blink. Just stepped in close enough to start a small fire. Her eyes caught the light in that unfair, movie-trailer kind of way.

“Dream on, Harkness. You’ll be chasing smoke while I run this whole damn house”

A pause, maybe too long to be casual.

“Hey” Jen interrupted from the hallway, pulling on her jacket “Shift starts in five. Nicky and Billy are waiting for their morning Uber. That’s you guys, remember?”

Agatha turned to look at Wanda and Vision “Whose turn is it now?”

There was a moment of mutual betrayal before they both dove into the ancient rite of rock-paper-scissors. No warm-up. No mercy.

Wanda went scissors. Vision went rock. Wanda groaned like she'd just lost custody of her soul.

“HA! Sorry, love” Vision said, absolutely not sorry, grinning like he just won the super bowl of parental obligations.

Wanda flipped him off with her losing hand “Okay kids, let’s go before I change my mind and leave you with Ralph”

Outside, Billy and Nicky climbed into the truck. Nicky adjusted her helmet like this was war, not a school drop-off. Billy, of course, was still talking.

“I’m just saying” Billy said “If aunt Agatha and Rio would talk like actual humans instead of emotionally repressed soap villains, we wouldn’t have to witness them flirting via workplace trauma.”

“They’re competing, pure tension. Huge difference” Nicky muttered, deadpan.

Billy gave her a look. The kind of look that said bless your heart, you sweet dumb idiot.

“Sure, dude. You keep telling yourself that. Denial’s a hell of a drug”

She just rolled her eyes and went back to her phone but the idea kept buzzing in her head. A lot of things made sense looking at it from that perspective, but Nicky knew her mother would never admit it.

Later that day the station was buzzing by mid-afternoon. A controlled burn training exercise had gone sideways thanks to a wind shift, and everyone was on edge. Paperwork piled high.

Agatha stalked through the briefing room, the scent of smoke still clinging to her jacket.

“You were supposed to clear that back unit before we ignited the second structure.”

Rio looked up from the incident report she was filling out, raising a brow “I did clear it. You jumped the timing”

Agatha approached her “I followed the plan. Your timing was off”

“You’re blaming me for your mistake or just bored and wanting to give me shit again?” Rio stood and voice rising “Don’t project your screw-up onto me just because you’re rattled”

“I don’t get rattled” Agatha bit out “But I do get fed up with glory-hungry hotshots trying to cover their asses”

“Oh, screw you, Harkness!” Rio snapped, slamming the clipboard down “You think being cold and calculating makes you a leader? It just makes you impossible to work with”

“Better than being reckless, arrogant and a god fucking me-”

“Ladies” Vision tried to interfere, looking nervously at the others as the rest of the team paused what they were doing “This isn’t the-”

But it was too late.

Agatha stepped closer, blue eyes flashing “You’ve been trying for that captain's seat since you walked in the door. But it seems you want the title, not the responsibility”

Rio shoved her shoulder “Say that again”

Agatha didn’t back down “You are not ready and I don't think you ever will be, so you better stick to reality before you get yourself or the team hurt”

Rio’s hand moved fast. A sharp, open-palmed slap across Agatha’s cheek.

The room went silent.

Agatha stared at her for a second, taking her hand to her cheek. It felt warm, rapidly turning pink. Then, without warning she returned the slap with the same force.

Wanda dropped her coffee.

Vision stood between them trying to end this before something worse could happen.

“Enough!” Wanda shouted, stepping forward now “What the fuck is going on with you two?”

Agatha’s chest was heaving, her cheek red “Ask her”

“No” Wanda snapped

“I’m asking both of you. Because this-this isn’t just about a drill gone wrong. This has been building for months and it’s kind of getting so fucking exhausting”

“It’s about leadership ” Rio said with her jaw clenched

“Bullshit ” Wanda said flatly “This shit is personal”

Neither of them answered

“You two are tearing this team apart ” Wanda continued “And whatever this is-competition, jealousy, flirtation or I dont fucking know anymore is has to stop”

Agatha and Rio looked at each other again.

“You are too stubborn to deal with, figure it out. Because if you can’t work together without throwing hands, you can’t lead this station. Period”

The firehouse stayed quiet long after Wanda left the room slamming the door behind her. Vision followed her after making sure rhis two emotional constipated women were not trying to kill each other again.

Agatha’s fingers twitched at her side. Rio didn’t move either. Just… stared.

“Good, you pissed off Chucky's sister. Now she's going to kill us in our sleep ” Rio said, throwing her hands up.

Agatha rolled her eyes and turned again to face Rio “Was that really necessary?”

“Not really, I guess. But it felt good”

Agatha snorted “You hit like you drive impulsively and with zero regard for consequences”

“And you slap like you talk, calculated and smug”

Agatha narrowed her eyes at Rio, her lips curling into a small, almost taunting smile. “Maybe, but at least I don’t have to shout to make a point”

Rio snorted “You just love to throw your weight around with that ‘cool and collected’ act. But we both know you’re just one breath away from snapping at any second”

“Look” Agatha said, her voice quieter now, the edge of anger still there but tempered with exhaustion. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. Maybe Wanda's right. Maybe we should just... talk”

Rio scoffed, rolling her shoulders back. “You want to talk? About what? How you think I’m too reckless to be trusted with anything serious?” Her voice was sharp but there was a flicker of something deeper underneath it. Something vulnerable.

Agatha paused, her gaze softening slightly “I think you’re impulsive. And reckless. And… Yes, I do think sometimes you don't think things through. But I never said you couldn’t handle it. I just want to make sure we’re not flying blind, Rio”

“And I just want you to stop acting like you're the only one with a plan, I don't care if you don’t trust me or you don’t like me or whatever”

Rio shot back, her chest rising and falling with the effort of holding her ground. There was a visible pain, hurt all over her face.

“Just stop making everyone believe I’m an active grenade, stop making me believe it myself”

Agatha didn’t say a fucking word. How could she? Rios was right and even when her cheek was still burning from the first slap this one hurt way deeper.

And she didn’t even touched her again.

She hadn’t said it. Hadn’t told her that hating her was impossible. That even in her loneliest, darkest nights, it was Rio’s face she saw behind her closed eyes.

That stupid beautiful smile of hers, the one that was so full and open, that always let that cute little gap between her front teeth show—that was enough to wreck Agatha. The way she lit up a fucking room just by existing in it left her breathless. Weak. Desperate.

And that the way Rio touched people, spoke to them like they actually mattered. It made Agatha want to drop to her knees and stay there,

Begging for a scrap of that tenderness.

But she hadn’t said any of it. And now it was too fucking late.

“I should go check on wanda” Agatha started walking towards the door.

“Don’t , we are on her hit list right now. She probably wants to hit us with a brick on the head” Rio chuckled before heading to the lockers.

Later that evening the air was cleared, the team kept going as always. Wanda sat in the common area with Natasha.

“Do you think I was too harsh?” she asked

Natasha shook her head “No, you should’ve said it weeks ago”

Wanda exhaled “They’re going to combust, Nat. One way or another”

Natasha sipped her drink “Let’s just hope it’s the good kind of fire, we already deal with that kind of chaos outside ”

Their chat was interrupted, the call for an emergency intercepted them.

“Residential structure fire” Jen relayed from the dispatch line “Three-story walk-up. Family trapped on the top floor. Possible propane tank inside”

Every firefighter in Westview knew what that meant: seconds mattered. Risk was inevitable.

And Agatha and Rio had no time to keep fighting.

As soon as the call came through, the crew moved like a goddamn machine, fast, brutal, no time to second-guess. The sky was already lit up like hell itself, flames clawing their way into the clouds, smoke turning the night into something ugly and choked.

Agatha stood on the fire engine, boots planted, jaw tight, heart pounding a little too fast. Rio was beside her, silent and unreadable, that same charged tension from earlier still buzzing between them like a live wire. But instinct bulldozed ego.

There was no time to unpack the shit that had gone down.

“The building’s unstable” Wanda shouted over the radio, already yanking her mask on.

“Family on the third floor, northeast window”

Agatha didn’t even blink “We need a two-person entry. I’ll go”

Rio stepped forward instantly “So will I”

Wanda stared between them “You two better get your shit together. Don’t bring that weird-ass energy into a rescue. You need each other in there. Clear?”

Neither of them answered. No nods. No bullshit. They were already moving.

The moment they breached the inferno, the heat hit them hard. The inside was a fucking warzone, flames crawling over walls, beams groaning, the ceiling cracking above like it was ready to bury them alive. Agatha led, cutting through the smoke with her flashlight. Rio followed close, axe in hand, every breath a hiss behind her mask.

They reached the stairs. Or what was left of them.

“Shit” Rio growled “We’re not getting up that way”

Agatha scanned the collapsing mess, eyes sharp “External fire escape. Move!”

“GO!” Agatha roared, grabbing her wrist and hauling her up the last few steps like she was weightless.

They slammed through the third-floor window. Inside, smoke, chaos, and the sound of a baby crying. A woman clutching an infant, another kid curled up on the floor, sobbing, shaking. Agatha dropped to her knees, all calm control and steel-edged gentleness.

“You’re safe. We’ve got you” she said, voice low, solid.

Rio handed out masks like salvation “Hold on to us. We’re getting you out”

The woman pointed, trembling “There’s... a tank. Kitchen”

Agatha’s gut went ice cold “Propane? Fuck. Rio, we’re out of time”

They didn’t talk after that. There was no time for words—only motion, fast and frantic. Fire was eating the building alive. Every step was a gamble. The floor cracked. The ceiling screamed.

“Take the baby!” Rio shouted, shoving the infant into Agatha’s arms “I’ve got the kid”

They bolted, but the building had had enough. A beam tore free above, crashing through the fire escape. Debris flew like shrapnel.

Agatha twisted her body around the baby, shielding it as the world exploded “RIO!”

Rio ducked just in time, but her leg didn’t make it. A metal pipe ripped into her thigh, sent her sprawling with a strangled yell.

Agatha turned, eyes wild “You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine” Rio gasped, trying and failing not to scream “Just go. Get them out”

“Fuck tha,” Agatha snarled, her voice ragged, her hands shaking “You don’t get to fucking die on me, you hear me? Not like this”

Rio blinked at her. Not just at the fury in her voice, but the tremble underneath it. The part that wasn’t rage. The part that was fear.

“I’m not dying” she said, breath catching.

Agatha dropped beside her, eyes locked on hers “Then lean on me. Now, Vidal”

It wasn’t a request.

Together, barely standing, they stumbled down that crumbling hellhole of a fire escape. Smoke choking every breath. Fire right on their heels. The upper floor collapsed behind them with a deafening crash.

They hit the ground seconds before the whole side of the building gave out.

Nath and Ralph rushed in without a word, instincts taking over. The kids were shaking, the mother barely holding it together, soot streaking her face like war paint. Nath gently took the baby from Agatha’s arms while Ralph knelt to scoop up the sobbing child, murmuring something soft and steady.

“Come on” Nath said, voice low but firm “You’re safe now. We’ve got you”

Agatha and Rio stayed there for a moment, catching their breath, processing everything.

Later, under the cold white of ambulance lights, Rio sat on the curb, leg wrapped, blood and soot smeared across her skin. She watched the medics tending to the family. They were alive. That was the point.

But Agatha? She was standing off to the side, back turned, shoulders stiff.

Crying.

But hiding it.

And Rio saw it.

And said nothing.

Because some things were too fucking raw to touch.

After pulling herself together, Agatha appeared beside her. Mask off, hair a mess and soot stained face.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

Rio nodded “You?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away “You scared me”

Rio glanced up “You slapped me”

“You slapped me first ”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, almost too quietly “I don’t want to fight anymore”

Agatha sat beside her, shoulders brushing “Me either”

“I still want that promotion” Rio added.

Agatha smirked, a real smile this time “Then you’ll have to earn it”

They didn't notice when Agatha's palm rested on Rio’s leg or when her thumb began to circle it as if trying to get rid of the pain.

They didn’t say it, but something had shifted. The fire had burned away the worst of it. What was left might actually be something worth recovering ,even if neither of them was ready to name it yet.

By the time Agatha made it back to the station, everyone else had bounced—except for Ralph and Nat, who were stuck with the night shift. Rio, of course, had to be a stubborn pain in the ass and insisted on staying too.

She tried to play it off like her leg was fine, but anyone with eyes could see she was barely holding it together. The damn thing was wrapped tight, but it was throbbing, and every step she took felt like someone was twisting a knife in her.

Her brain? It was on a never-ending loop, replaying that goddamn fire over and over. The heat. The smoke. That fucking beam coming down like a death sentence and Agatha’s words. It was a miracle she was even standing. But no one was gonna hear her admit it. Not tonight.

It was nearing 10 pm when she wandered into the station’s rec room to grab some ice. Instead, she found Nicky on the couch, PlayStation controller in hand, a bag of popcorn wedged under one arm.

“Hey” Rio said, surprised “What are you doing here this late?”

Nicky didn’t look away from the screen “Mom’s doing paperwork. She said I could hang out until she finished”

She clicked a few buttons still focused on the screen “Wanna play?”

Rio hesitated.

“Call of duty, co-op” she added “No friendly fire”

She snorted “Unlike your mother and I, huh?”

That earned the tiniest smile. She handed her the second controller. They played in silence for a while, the kind that wasn’t awkward, just comfortable. Nicky was good but Rio was better. Still, she let her win the first round.

“Don’t go easy on me” she muttered.

“I wasn’t,” she lied, smirking.

Nicky paused the game, finally looking at her “Can I ask you something?”

Rio leaned back “Sure.”

She fiddled with the controller. “Do you… like my mom?”

She blinked. “Like, as in…?”

Nicky raised an eyebrow “C’mon. I’m not twelve”

Rio gave a soft laugh, but there was no teasing in her voice “It’s complicated”

“You fight a lot” she said, not accusing, just stating a fact.

“Yeah” she said quietly “We do”

“But you also saved each other’s lives today, aunt Jen told me”

Rio was quiet.

Nicky looked at her again. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I just… I see the way you look at her. And the way she talks about you when she thinks I’m not listening”

That made Rio freeze.

“She respects you” Nicky added “Even when she’s mad and that’s like 90% of time”

Rio didn’t know what to say to that. So she just stared at the screen.

“Can I tell you something?” Nicky asked.

“Yeah”

“I think you’d be good for her. If you ever stopped being so… competitive”

Rio gave a breathy chuckle “You know, your mom says the same thing about me”

“She’s not wrong” Nicky said, grinning.

They went back to playing. This time Rio didn’t hold back and still lost. Barely.

“Okay” she said, tossing the controller down “maybe you’ve got some skills after all”

Nicky mocked a bow “I’ve been training for this moment”

They shared a look. Not quite family. Not quite friends. But something was building.

“Hey” Rio said, as the game ended “For what it’s worth… I think your mom raised a good kid”

Nicky looked down, hiding a smile “Don’t tell her that. She’ll get all emotional and start baking muffins or something”

Rio laughed and elbowed her “I’ll keep it between us”

From the doorway, Agatha watched for a moment before stepping back into the shadows, unseen. Her daughter is sitting with Rio, laughing. And Rio? relaxed, gentle in a way she rarely let herself be.

She didn’t know what they were talking about but she knew it mattered, she felt the smile tug at her lips, but quickly squashed it down. The weight of the moment felt too real, how genuine. How… close. Something was happening between them.

It was there.

Lingering, like a quiet storm gathering getting ready to pour above them.

[miiiwu]

the thoughts i experience at my job would get me on a watch list if thoughtcrimes were real. like i hope something genuinely awful happens to our dumbfuck customers. i hate them and i hate my life and i hate capitalism and how hard is it to tap a fucking link on your phone to guarantee that the fuel level on your rented truck is accurate before you drive off you dipshit fat fucking idiot. uhell customers are subhumanly stupid and illiterate but have the gall to get mad about a $6 fuel charge. “it’s about the principal of the thing” kill yourself you can clearly afford it if it’s just about the principal lmao. im making 13/hour i hope the propane tank spontaneously explodes and takes this entire state off the fucking map and then i’ll be dead so i won’t have to listen to IDIOT CUSTOMERS anymore

anyways im doing fine

[kozy4stuff]

So @gabriel-grumbletoon drew Hank Hill like. Once. And I immediately came up with this.

So here's some gift art. Gift art? It's kind of cursed. Curse art. You've been cursed.

[TRANSCRIPT:

First image: Hank Hill from King of the Hill addresses Gabriel Grumbletoon, Dilly's Toontown monkey OC, who hangs on his arm like, well, a monkey.

HANK: Gabriel, I may not know what a "Grumbletoon" is, but I think there ain't nothing to grumble about you, son.

Second image: Hank puts on a fierce look and grabs a propane tank. A large one.

HANK: Now let's teach these Gear-Heads about propane and propane accessories.

Third image: Hank hurls the propane tank at one of the cog head robot things from Toontown idk what they're called I don't play Toontown but it EXPLODES with a POOM and lights up the whole room.

Fourth image: Gabriel smiles as he watches the flames.

[meatball-headache]

You might be thinking, "Meatball, you haven't babbled about Caves of Qud in like twenty minutes! What happened? Did you crash a truck full of propane into the 11' 8" bridge and get exploded so bad you were sent back in time to the Hindenburg and now you have to relive that disaster over and over again?" Well—what? No, what? Why would I have a truck full of propane? Listen, I'm a really paranoid driver, I would know my truck's height beforehand and watch for bridge signs. This is a well-known issue, it rarely happens to me anymore.

But, I had an idea, see. I have all these modded mutations, one shoots a tsunami, one gives you fins, one gives you a "serpentine form" and your legs are replaced with giant snake tail. So I'm thinking: mermaid. Okay, it's not 1:1 but whatever, right? And, where do you get mermaid names? Well, Disney went with Ariel, Futurama went with Umbriel, which means canonically, mermaid names come from the moons of Uranus. The thing is, which name shall I use? After all, there's like 28 of them.

And then I thought... well, clearly the answer is all of them :D

I'm gonna make a preset, so my mermaid is always the same. Then make a little spreadsheet with all their names, and let each one have a go at the Caves of Qud, track their progress, and see who gets farthest :D

This is very stupid and pointless and I should probably stick with a build I've had some success with but, it's also a lot of fun, so why not? I'll start tonight, maybe. I had the idea now and happened to be logged in, so, I just wanted to say. I'll keep you posted.

[diemonts]

IS THAT NASHLA PLAZA

i hope that smell in the air isn’t propane gas freaking explodes

why’d i kinda cook 😼

[rachelvelascoart]

They keep talking about the cybertruck exploding in front of trump towers as a terrorist attack but like. Cybertrucks are all fire hazards and it's super normal for someone to have fireworks in their vehicle on new years eve.

I don't know how to tell you that trump towers in New York is like the most likely place to find a cybertruck in the world.

"they had propane in the back"

Yeah. For grilling. A thing people commonly do on holidays where they are doing fireworks.

Musk is also scrambling like crazy trying to squash the response that "yeah exploding for no reason seems like something a cybertruck would do"

I don't think it's working

[xumoonhao]

oh btw this fire is in a more industrial area of the city so. well you see shits absolutely fucked

something in my town is on fire 😐

[cozmowrites]

Wistoragic: Forty Five

Chapter Forty Five - 1199 words

A child, no more than maybe 7 or 8 years old, appears on the road ahead, limping and covered in blood. His scream echoed down the dirt covered highway.

Everyone snapped to attention. Midoriya was the fastest. He surged ahead, boots pounding the cracked pavement, eyes wide. The scream sounded familiar to him.

“Kota?” he called, voice trembling with disbelief.

The kid was darting between abandoned cars, scrapes on his face and arms, hair wild. His tiny legs pumped like pistons the best he could, chased by at least six of the bitten, dragging their limbs behind them with sickening gurgles.

“Kota!” Midoriya yelled again.

The boy turned his head, eyes locking with Midoriya’s. “Deku!” he cried out, trying his best to reach out to the familiar face.

The sound punched the breath from Midoriya’s lungs. He moved faster.

Bakugou and Todoroki were right behind him, while the rest of the group scrambled to form a defensive line. Ashido and Kirishima started flanking, her daggers drawn, his bat swinging. Sero leapt in with makeshift rope, catching one of the infected around the neck and yanking it backwards.

You stayed back with Uraraka and the others, shielding the remaining group.

Midoriya reached Kota just as his foot snagged on broken asphalt. He fell forward and Midoriya caught him, scooping him into his arms as Bakugou tore past them, machete gleaming.

“Get back!” Bakugou barked.

Three swings. Three heads rolled.

Todoroki handled the rest with brutal precision, silent and focused. When the last one hit the ground, gurgling and twitching, there was only silence left. Except for Kota’s sobs.

Midoriya knelt with him, holding him close. “You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

Kota was shaking. “I-I didn’t know where to go. I remembered you told me to find people if I ever needed help. I’ve been running forever... My parents... Zombies...” You didn't understand what he was saying but Midoriya seemed to hug him tight and brush the hair out of his face, his hat falling off just before Uraraka came around.

She helped wrap a jacket of her's around him, picking up his hat and placing it back on his head. He wasn’t bitten, Aizawa checked. Just scared and exhausted.

You glanced at Bakugou, who was cleaning his blade with a rag, silent as ever. His jaw was tight.

Everyone was quiet for a while after that. Another child, still alive. The universe had offered a sliver of mercy, and it had left a strange, lingering ache.

+++

You kept walking. The group had grown again, just a small bit.

Kota rode on Kirishima’s back for part of the journey, bundled in a jacket two sizes too big. He clung to the redhead tightly but smiled when someone gave him astronaut ice cream.

A few days passed in cautious travel.

You moved from one small rest stop to another. Gas stations, motels long abandoned, empty roadside diners. Most had already been scavenged, but some yielded a few cans, a half-full propane tank, or a box of granola bars no one dared hope for.

One night though, your group camped behind a derelict gas station on the outskirts of a long-collapsed town. The concrete lot had weeds growing through the cracks. The air was still and eerily quiet.

Bakugou found a half-functional hotplate in the back room. You both stared at it like it was magic.

“Think it’ll explode?” you asked.

“Not before we eat,” he muttered.

The others were out on watch shifts or cleaning weapons. You stayed inside with him, kneeling beside a chipped sink while he cracked open a few dented cans.

He worked in silence for a while, dumping beans into one pot, soup in another. You handed him spices from a pack someone had found days ago. Salt, pepper, paprika... tiny luxuries in this broken world.

“You always cook?” you asked after a while, the scent of food slowly filling the room.

He grunted. “Only when I don’t want shit burned.”

You smirked. “So always.”

He glanced at you. “You think I’m feeding everyone just ‘cause I like you all?”

“I think you’re pretending to be meaner than you are.”

He didn’t answer right away, just stirred the beans.

A beat passed.

“...You’re not wrong,” he finally said, voice low.

You blinked. “Really?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I’ll be nice about it.”

You snorted. The sound surprised both of you. "Is that about everyone?"

He paused the stirring of the beans and soup. "Only you."

The silence returned quickly, but it wasn’t cold or awkward. It was warm. At one point, your hands brushed while passing him the lid to the soup pot. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

His pinky stayed curled against yours longer than necessary. You both pretended not to notice. But your heartbeat was another matter entirely. You saw his ears dust red from the corner of your eyes.

When the food was done, you helped him ladle it out into small, salvaged bowls. Twenty-seven people. Rations were tight, but tonight it felt a little fuller than the last few. Like hope could be measured in beans and warm broth.

“You’re getting good at this,” you murmured, watching him tuck an extra serving into a thermos for the night watch.

He scoffed. “Don’t go gettin’ sappy.”

“I’m nooooottt,” you lied, drawing out the word just a little.

He looked at you then, the corner of his mouth twitching, not quite a smile, but close. For a while, you just stood there. You could still hear the others outside. Kota’s laugh. Midoriya talking softly with Uraraka. Ashido humming as she cleaned her boots.

In here, with Bakugou, the air was still. You touched his hand again. This time, he didn’t move away and neither did you.

His hand was warm, calloused, steady, a little rough from weeks of surviving and fighting and building fires that never quite got hot enough. Yours was colder, your fingers trembling slightly despite the rising steam of soup between you. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or something else entirely.

Bakugou glanced down at where your pinky overlapped his. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb moved. It was slow and careful, but just enough to brush against yours like an answer you didn’t know you were asking for.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, voice low.

“I’m fine,” you whispered back, not trusting your voice to hold steady at full volume.

“Tch.” He turned away, but not before you caught the faintest flush along the edges of his ears. He grabbed a cracked bowl and filled it with soup, then pushed it into your hands a little too forcefully. “Eat before it gets cold. Idiot.”

You smiled, biting back something softer in your chest. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

He didn’t answer. Just started ladling his own soup, quieter than before.

The two of you were quiet. Then, "Katsuki."

You turned your heard, a tilt towards him. "Hm?" The sound came out as a hum, blowing softly on your soup to cool it down enough.

"Call me Katuski."

Your heart warmed. "Alright, Katsuki."

=====

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