#a deal with a demon fic

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Deal with a Demon - Part Seven

Things keep going missing at your house and at the shop. You finally decide to confront the most likely cause.

Demon!Beetlejuice x fem!witch!reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,050

Warnings: Hauntings, irritation, mentions of witchcraft and demonic activity (obv), descriptions of burnout, crying, hopelessness, and mentions of seasonal affective disorder, nonsexual intimacy. This part is a little more serious than the others have been - please mind the warnings!

Previous | Masterlist

---

If you didn’t know better, you would think that you were being haunted. 

It was ridiculous to even think that was possible… but there were a lot of things going on that you couldn’t quite explain. 

Weird noises came from the shop  - a low groaning that you had shrugged off as part of the building settling, until they had been offset by a higher-pitched whine that couldn’t possibly come from a reaction to the brisk nights. 

Certain items had gone missing from your personal supply at your house and the small workshop you’d eventually created in the basement of Sinful. That one had made you grumpy, far more so than the strange noises. You hadn’t wanted to leave materials at the shop for exactly this reason. It was dangerous to leave items used to perform magic around non-magical humans, even if you locked the door as carefully as you always did. 

But after you had gone back over the security camera footage and set special wards on every entrance to the basement workshop. When you were still missing supplies without catching intruders with either method, you were forced to consider other possibilities. Besides, there was no way anyone was breaking through the layers of stacked wards you had woven around your house. 

And that was ignoring the Presence. 

It came and went - never lasting too long, but each incident was randomly spaced and impossible to predict. You would be mind your business one moment and in the next, you would be seized by the creeping sensation of being watched. Sometimes, the feeling was so strong that you could find a way to sit with your back against a wall, if only to know that nothing was waiting behind you. 

Honestly, if your place and the shop weren’t warded to hell and back, you would think there was a ghost haunting you. 

Beetlejuice had been your immediate first guess for the culprit, but he had never been shy. You would have expected to see him lounging on your sofa or chatting with customers in the middle of the store - you had unexpectedly found him in both scenarios over the time you had known him. 

The only problem with that was that you hadn’t seen Beetlejuice in a while. You had counted the dates carefully when he still hadn’t appeared in the days leading up to Samhain, and the last time he had visited was in late August. So you were at a loss about what was going on. 

Samhain had come and gone, leaving you energized by your renewed closeness with the source of your gifts and the enjoying the temporary spike in ambient magic in the air. All witches could access that magic, but most had gorged themselves on it during the festival. You had done the same in the past, storing magic like a bear trying to fatten up before hibernation, but the shop changed things. Now, there was so much magic flowing out through your potions, charms, and spells that you were always hungry for a little more.

So you decided to take full advantage of that post-Samhain increase in magic to prep some potions. If you could get them ready over the next week, most of them needed to ferment over the dark days of winter. 

The memory potion you were working on was one of those brews, and it was almost ready. Now that everything had come to a boil, you just needed to add some rosemary and decant it quickly into an opaque glass bottle to ferment until the winter solstice. 

The large jar where you kept the sprigs of fresh rosemary - enchanted to keep them in a state of infinite freshness - was suspiciously light when you lifted it from the back of your pantry. When you pulled it out into the light of your workshop, your suspicions were confirmed: it was empty. 

No, not empty, you realized with a start. There was a single scrap of paper lying on the bottom of the glass jar, folded neatly in half. 

You stirred the potion with one hand while you unfolded the paper with the other, hoping to keep the pot from boiling over entirely while you read. 

I.O.U. - BJ

“What the hell?” you asked aloud, staring at the note. The potion let out an unhappy hiss, then a sour smell filled the air. When you ripped your gaze away from the paper, you found that the potion had turned. You grimaced, pulling the half-scorched spoon free as you repeated, “What the hell?!”

You crumpled the note in your fist, wheeling away from the stove. The smart thing would be to dump the remains of the potion before it solidified in the pot. Memory potions were known to be very sticky when allowed to sit in containers after they expired. 

All you could think about was getting an explanation.

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!” 

It was a trick you had figured out shortly after opening Sinful. If you skipped the rest of the demon’s summoning incantation in favor of using his name - the section with actual magical significance - you could call him without agreeing to make a deal. It was a workaround, a loophole. You had no idea how long it would last before someone in the demonic hierarchy figured out what was happening and ended that gap in contracting, but you would use it until then. 

Beetlejuice appeared as he always did. Instead of his typical friendly greeting, he scowled when he caught sight of you. You scowled back, but it faded when you caught a good look at him. 

The circles under Beetlejuice’s eyes were darker than normal and his hair was limp. His skin looked dull beneath the typical pallor. His expressions were subdued, like it was too much effort to be as dramatic as usual, and he was slumping slightly against a nearby counter. Even the moss on his face was a pale gray-green instead of the vibrant emerald you had grown accustomed to.

“You look rough.” 

Beetlejuice made a rude gesture in your direction, but there was no fire in it. “Like you look so great. Except that you do. Fuck. Why’d ya have to look nice today?”

You shook your head, choosing not to point out that your shirt was two washes from the rag pile and you were wearing a truly crusty pair of pants. If Beetlejuice was being sweet, you weren’t going to go out of your way to talk him out of it, but you really were concerned.

“Seriously, Beetlejuice,” you said, starting forward. 

He held up a trembling fingers. “That’s one already, babes. Ya gonna send me away? I could maybe use the break.” 

You stared. “You… want to go back? You never want to go back. What’s going on?” 

“Is it so hard to believe that someone would wanna leave the human realm?” he shot back. “Humans aren’t as great as you all pretend ya are. Now, I know ya didn’t summon me here to ask about my well-being, so what the fuck do ya want?”

It was a transparent attempt to make you mad, which made it extra embarrassing when it worked. All of your anger about the memory potion roared back to life. You glared at him, brandishing the burnt wooden spoon in his direction.

“What have you been doing?” you snapped. “You took all of my rosemary and left an IOU? Are you serious? What do you even need rosemary for?” 

“Halloween is a busy time of year for a demon,” he reminded you, tone so condescending that it put your teeth on-edge. “I needed the rosemary and some other stuff to keep my concentration while I made deals.”

“Concentra-?” you started, then thought better of it. You didn’t want excuses or circular explanations. “No, never mind. You need to refill all of the ingredients that you took. Starting with the rosemary! I was in the middle of a potion and now it’s turned.”

Beetlejuice’s lip curled. “Why don’t ya just magic some more?” 

You don’t know what made you the angriest: his careless tone or the way he wiggled his fingers when he said ‘magic’, but either way, you were seeing red.

“You had better be messing with me,” you seethed. “You came into my workshop, in my house, stole my ingredients! And you never bothered to even say hello. I haven’t seen you in months! You don’t talk to me unless I summon you, and now you’re being petty about replacing the items you used for whatever random bullshit you do when you’re making contracts and fulfilling deals. You need to-” 

“Fine!” he snapped. “I’ll go get more rosemary.”

He avoided making eye contact with you as he disappeared, but you couldn’t look away. 

When Beetlejuice left somewhere, he always disappeared with noise. It had been a pop for most of your early interactions, and you had theorized that it was the sound of the displaced air. When he was feeling ostentatious, that sound changed to a loud crack! You had even heard it turn into a rude noise when Beetlejuice was feeling cheeky. 

This time, the process was utterly silent. And it was a process. Every other time, Beetlejuice had simply disappeared from view, vanishing between one instant and the next. This time, he faded slowly from view, becoming a shade of his corporeal self until he was finally gone from your field of vision. 

You sat heavily on the stool at your workbench, letting the scorched spoon fall to the countertop with a clatter. Something was wrong. You had known something was wrong, but you let yourself get angry and overlook it instead of narrowing your focus on the problem and working to solve it. Or at least understand it. You had never seen Beetlejuice be anything but energized by signing contracts and doing deals. 

By the time Beetlejuice returned, you had managed to calm yourself down, fighting back both the anger and the guilt to keep a fairly level head. 

He held out a large bundle of fresh rosemary. It was what he had used and more - enough to cover all the memory potions you intended to brew for the rest of the season. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.” 

He just nodded, leaning against the wall and letting his head tip back against it. 

“How have you been?” 

Beetlejuice cracked one eye open, looking at you as if to gauge how sincere you were being. Whatever he found there seemed to reassure him, and he shrugged. “Fine.” 

You sighed. Rote platitudes hadn’t been what you were looking for. “No, really. I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed caustically. “Ya said that.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, catching his eye so you could try to convey how much you meant that. “I snapped at you and I shouldn’t have. You took my rosemary, but you didn’t know I would be brewing today. Now I’m worried about you. Is everything okay?” 

Beetlejuice sighed, the harsh lines of his face falling into a more relaxed expression. “I’m just tired.”

“Do you have another open deal?” you asked, worried. “Do you need someone to meet their terms? Because I can try…”

That hadn’t happened in a while. Beetlejuice was still being summoned more than he had in hundreds of years, but more of those summonings were turning into actual deals thanks to your spell. It was just a prototype, but as long as it was working, it gave you a shorter list of tweaks it needed for any future versions you might cast. If someone summoned Beetlejuice and it didn’t result in a deal, it could end up putting him in a bad spot. 

To your surprise and minor horror, Beetlejuice pulled an expression of deep disgust and horror. You recoiled from him, trying not to be offended as your ego took a hit. “No, babes. Absolutely not. I’m good. In fact, I’m lucky my dick hasn’t fallen off from overuse. Yet.” 

“Gross,” you complained, recoiling for a different reason. “And… congratulations, I think? Being busy is a good thing, right?” 

“Sorta.” 

When he didn’t seem inclined to give any further explanation, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Have you been hanging around lately? I’ve had some weird things happening, even ignoring the missing ingredients.” 

Beetlejuice studied his shoes and you were fascinated. He wasn’t embarrassed as a general rule, and you were eager to find out what had made him shy now. 

“I’ve been droppin’ by here and Sinful, even when I’m too tired to fully manifest,” he admitted. 

So that was the presence you had felt. He had probably also been the source of those strange noises. In a way, you had been haunted, just by a demon you knew rather than some unfamiliar spirit who had managed to circumvent your wards. It was a relief, even if you were concerned by the idea of Beetlejuice being too tired to gain corporeal form.

“Why?” 

The question had slipped out before you could bite it back, and you guiltily watched the way it made Beetlejuice flinch. “You don’t have to answer tha-” 

“There’s always some residual magic where you’ve been workin’,” he said quietly. “It makes me feel better. I usually take a pinch of an ingredient or a little of whatever potion you’ve got goin’ so I can pull some extra magic from it. I took the rosemary to help me concentrate. I was gettin’ sloppy with my contracts. I was too tired to focus, but bein’ home always makes me feel a little better.”

You nodded slowly, trying to conceal how touched you were at the idea that he thought of your home as his home, too. 

“I dunno,” he shrugged off, forcing a smile. “Guess I’m just off my game right now. But don’t worry - I always come back. I’m like an infection.” 

“You know, most people don’t compare themselves- Actually, never mind. Sure, an infection,” you agreed eventually. “But you’re taking care of yourself, right?” 

“Sure,” he said, sitting on the stool you had abandoned. It put him closer to you and you were struck once more by how tired he looked. “I’m eating and catching some sleep when I can. I don’t need much of either, ya know.” 

“Yeah, demon stuff,” you waved off. “But what about other things? Activities you’re interested in, seeing cool places, eating something delicious just because you can. That type of care.” 

“I-” Beetlejuice frowned, looking disconcerted. “That’s not really… my thing. Not right now, at least. It used to be, but I kinda… stopped.” 

“Maybe you should start back up again,” you suggested gently. “Some of the experiences you’ve mentioned sound like depression.” 

“I’m a demon.” Beetlejuice’s grin stretched impossibly wide, showing off far too many sharp teeth to make his point. “I don’t get depressed.” 

“Just because you haven’t in the past doesn’t mean you can’t.” You crossed your arms, leaning back against the table with a thoughtful hum. “How long has it been since you spent this much time in the human realm?” 

He was silent for a long moment. “I’ve never spent this much time in the human realm. Not without being banished at least once.” 

You shrugged, letting the idea speak for itself. 

“Are ya saying that this place has infected me with depression?” 

It was hard to fight back a smile at that. For someone who had called himself an infection only a minute before, Beetlejuice sounded enraged at the idea of something else infecting him. 

“Probably not, but it might have some kind of effects that you’re not used to having. You aren’t interested in things that used to make you happy, you’re tired and irritable, and you’re having trouble concentrating. Has that ever happened before?” 

Now Beetlejuice’s silence was the one that spoke. You gave a small nod, avoiding eye contact so he wouldn’t take your point as a confrontation. “That kind of stuff can sneak up on you.” 

“Nothing’s sneakin’ up on me!” he bit out. 

You paused to gauge his mood and eventually decided to keep pushing. “I have seasonal affective disorder. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that to you. I don’t like the winter. Especially after Samhain. I know the darker months are better for witchcraft and there’s more time for light-sensitive workings, but I’ve always leaned more toward the warmer months. I get distracted easily during this time of year. It’s hard for me to focus, even on basic tasks. I forget to check whether I have all of my ingredients before I start brewing a potion. I sleep a lot and the world feels really empty. Just… you know, so you know.” 

The inelegant ending of that made you cringe, but you let it stand. 

“That sounds real shitty,” Beetlejuice admitted. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “But I learned some coping mechanisms that help, and I know how to handle it if things get really bad.” 

He nodded slowly. “What, uh- What are they?” 

“There’s a few of them that work for me.” You watched Beetlejuice in the reflection of a glass pan you had left standing in the drying rack. From what you could tell, he was listening intently. “I make sure to have a routine, which helps me regulate how much sleep I’m getting. I try to eat healthy and get some exercise whenever I can. And I keep in contact with friends.” 

“Thought ya didn’t have friends?” Beetlejuice asked. Despite the directness of the question, his tone was mostly curious, so you didn’t take it personally. 

“I fell out of contact with most of them, but I reached out to some old friends I lost touch with,” you explained. “Plus, I joined a gardening group online. They were very helpful when I was trying to grow an indoor herb garden. I hit it off with one of the other group members and now we chat pretty often.”

Beetlejuice gave a wordless hum in acknowledgement. “What if ya didn’t have friends?” 

“I’d find someone to talk to, probably. Like you or some of the employees or even random people on the street. Any halfway pleasant interaction works, though it helps if you have enough history with them to talk about something deeper than weather or a late train.” 

You glanced sideways at him. “Plus, it helps to say nice things to yourself.” 

Beetlejuice snorted. “I don’t think talkin’ to yourself is a sign that you’re all there, toots.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” you countered. “Self-talk is common and even healthy. Especially when you’re saying things that you need to hear from someone. That’s helpful even if the someone is you.” 

“Whaddaya even say?” he asked. 

You shrugged. “Depends on what I think I need to hear. Usually, it’s something like…” 

You turned to face him directly, making full eye contact and putting on the soothing tone you’d used to talk yourself out of a panic attack in the past. “Hey. You’re doing fine. Actually, you’re doing great. I see how much work you’re putting in and I see how hard you’re trying. You’ve got this. Everything is going to turn out. Just keep going.” 

Beetlejuice blinked frantically, nodding too many times as he broke that eye contact to stare at the floor. “Yeah, I can… Can see how-” 

He cut himself off, swallowing harshly. 

“You know,” you said softly, “it’s fine if you need to hear those things, too. I’m sorry no one else has said them to you yet. And that it took me so long to say it. But I meant every word I said. You’re working hard and I’m proud of you. More importantly, you should be proud of yourself.” 

He was openly weeping by the time you finished your sentence, and it quickly escalated to heaving sobs. You abruptly found yourself with a crying demon wrapped around you, holding you as tightly as he could while you patted his back and murmured soothing nonsense. 

“I’ve been going contract-to-contract for weeks, and I haven’t had time to take a breath.” 

“I know.” 

“No one even says ‘thank you’! Then half the time, they pretend I tricked them into it.”

“I know, honey.” 

“And I didn’t even get to watch that video of the dancing guy in September!”

You bit your lip and nodded sympathetically. “You can watch that video now..?”

“It’s not the same!” he wailed. 

“Let’s go sit down on the couch,” you suggested. Beetlejuice nodded, following you like a lost child. 

The instant you settled onto the well-worn sofa, he flopped down with his head in your lap. The tears had slowed, but you stroked gentle fingertips through his hair. “That’s it. Everyone needs to blow off a little steam now and then. It’s a good thing. Completely natural.” 

Beetlejuice tensed, his expression shifting to one of apology. “Sorry, babes, but I’m really not interested in gettin’ down and dirty right now.” 

Your first reaction was amusement. Beetlejuice had sounded surprised by his own admission, even a little dismayed. But then you felt a little sad for him. If that was how he reacted to someone attempting to comfort him, it was really no wonder that Beetlejuice was so starved for positive relationships. 

“I’m not interested in sex right now, either,” you reassured him after a beat to collect yourself. “If this is making you feel better, that’s the entire point. There doesn’t need to be anything more to it than that.” 

He nodded, blinking slower and slower until he was lying utterly still with his eyes closed. You half-thought he had fallen asleep, but a tiny frown put furrows between his eyebrows.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked quietly. 

It was hard to tell if he was speaking to you or to himself, but when you made a soft, curious noise, he kept speaking. “I stored up some favors and freedom and magic, but we’re goin’ into the slow season. I won’t start gettin’ summoned until the solstice, then it’ll be dead again until early next year. I don’t like the cold, and I sure as hell don’t wanna sleep in it-”

You shushed him. “First, you need to get some rest. And when you’re feeling less tired, you can just stay home with me.” 

You put the slightest emphasis on ‘home’, trying to convey to him that you were okay with him thinking of your living space as his own.

“Ya mean I can stay here?” Beetlejuice’s eyes flew open to search your face. “Do ya really mean it?”  

“Of course,” you agreed easily. “I’ll need help with the potions since I’m so absentminded this time of year. Plus, you’re a good focus for when I stock up on the charms and spells for Sinful. I think we can get a lot done around your work schedule and mine.” 

“You’re really gonna put me right to work?” he complained, eyes twinkling playfully. “I guess I do owe ya a memory potion. I can start on it in a few minutes.” 

“I have a better idea,” you countered. “You take a nap and I’ll go get some dinner.” 

Beetlejuice beamed. “Can we have Thai?” 

“Sounds good to me,” you agreed, pulling your phone free from your pocket and typing out your usual Thai order with an extra pad kee mao for Beetlejuice. Once he had some sleep, you were willing to bet that his appetite came roaring back to life. 

Despite Beetlejuice’s loud complaints, you wriggled out from under him. “I need to change! I can’t go to the restaurant in these clothes – I’d freeze.” 

“Get it delivered,” he suggested, voice muffled with the way his cheek was pressed against the couch cushions. 

“Absolutely not.” You put on a jacket and hat, then headed back out to the living room for your boots. “They charge almost double for-” 

You stopped short, unable to fight back a grin at the sight of Beetlejuice sprawled - already sleeping - across your couch. By the time you put on your boots, he was snoring. You were still smiling as you locked the door behind you and felt the wards slide into place. 

It was startlingly domestic for a witch and a demon, but life could be strange that way.

---

Author's Note - I was so proud of myself when I thought up this chapter. I was going to write about Beetlejuice suffering through some sub drop after a night with our witch. But then everything was stressful, and I burnt out at work, and my seasonal affective disorder kicked in, and the election was a trainwreck...

After all of that, this fic is what I ended up with. A little too much relationship development and far too little smut, but I promise to write something truly filthy for next time. Thanks for reading anyway!

[benevolenterrancy]

hi!! I think your art is *so cool* o(≧∇≦o)

do you think you could draw more moshang? either post canon or that au you did last time?? (baby mobei has my heart and all I own)

(˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) oh! how about return to childhood—moshang flavor?

don't question this king, shang qinghua, he knows what he's about

[asirensrage]

Dealing with Unwanted Attention - The Hashira

An exploration of how the Hashira (+bonus) help you deal with unwanted attention from a neighbour.

Modern!AU!Demon Slayer (and female!reader).

Adult!Hashira (except for Muichiro and Tanjiro and co who are all teens)

Rating: T

Pairings: Nothing explicit but suggestive... (aside from Tengen&wives)

Warning: swearing, some violence/threats, mention of possible stalking (they've been staring at them for a while), slight poisoning, neighbour being a creep, mention of them wanting to watch women make out.Un-beta'd.

Word count: ~ 4800

Notes: Based on true events (mainly the neighbour staring and stopping the reader to confess their feelings). I wasn't planning on writing this in 2nd person pov, but it kept trying to change into it as I wrote, then when I was trying to choose between 2nd and 3rd, my friend chose 2nd and a random wheel picker chose 2nd...so I gave in to the universe. This got long. Enjoy!

Please let me know what you think and if I got the characterizations right. One of my fave lines I've written is in this, see if you can guess lol.

What they arrive to:

You try to be polite to your neighbours. There’s no need to be rude, even if you’d rather be left alone by them, but you didn’t expect it to lead to this. You know the man has been watching you. You could feel his eyes on you when you were outside and he was on his balcony, but you’ve never said more than a thank you to him for holding open the door for you so you’re not entirely sure how you’re in this mess. 

He’s confessing to you. This man that you’ve never officially met until right now, who might actually be younger than you, who is telling you he’s an alcoholic but that he’ll change. For you. How does he think this is appealing? You’re trying to find an exit, you don't want to be completely rude since you live in the same building and you’re likely going to see him again, but you want out. Now.

The reactions:

Sanemi

“Who the fuck is this?”

You let out a breath at the voice, relief setting in deep in your bones. “Sanemi,” you turn with a smile, grateful for his timing. 

He’s not looking at you. His eyes are on the man standing in front of you, who’s still trying to reach out to touch you. Again. Sanemi moves, stepping forwards until he’s in front of you, blocking the man from your view. He stares at you for a moment, taking stock of the relief he can practically feel radiating from you. “Are you ready to go?” he asks. You don’t have any plans, but you don’t care. You’ll follow him anywhere right now. 

“Yeah. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Tch. You should be,” he says. He sounds irritated but you know him better by now. 

“Excuse me,” the man behind him interrupts. “We’re in the middle of something.”

You watch as Sanemi’s expression shifts into something slightly murderous as he slowly turns to look at the other man. “Did I fucking ask?” The man steps back and Sanemi takes the motion to move forward, getting into his personal space like he tried to get into yours. “You know him?” Sanemi directs the question to you despite not looking back. 

“He lives here.” 

“I’m introducing myself,” the man says. “We’ll be friends.”

“Friends?” Sanemi scoffs. “She has enough friends.” He steps forward again, forcing the man back. “You ever make her uncomfortable again or even try to touch her again, I’ll break your fucking hands, got it?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Good. Fucking creep,” Sanemi turns back to you, ignoring him. “Come on.” He waits for you to move, keeping himself between you as he leads you away from the building. “He ever bothers you again, you tell me.”

You grin up at him. “I will. Thank you.” 

“You just got lucky I showed up.”

“...why did you come by?” 

He doesn’t answer. 

Shinobu

“My my, what’s this?” 

You turn to look at the voice, relief setting in that at least you won’t have to do this alone. Shinobu doesn’t offer you a hug, but she stands next to you, glancing at the man before looking back at you. “New friend?” Shinobu asks, a light smile on her face. 

You know better than to assume that your friend is being polite. “A neighbour,” you confirm, ignoring the flash of anger you catch on the man’s face. Great. Another thing to deal with. 

Shinobu hums lightly before she turns to the man. “Is there something you needed?” 

The man blatantly looks over her before smiling. “I am introducing myself. Hopefully, we can be friends. All of us.” He is either unaware of the danger the small woman presents or ignores it. Either one marks him as an idiot. 

“Oh? Are you incapable of making friends?” 

He blinks in surprise and you know he’s unsure whether or not to take offence. Shinobu has a way of saying things in her light voice that most men don’t realize are as cruel as she intends them to be. “What?”

“Are you unable to make friends?” she asks again, smile still in place. “I assume that’s why you’re cornering a woman who’s clearly not interested. It’s a bit pathetic, don’t you think?” 

“Pathetic?” he catches the insult and scowls at your friend. 

“Yes,” Shinobu nods. “Does that make you angry? There are ways to fix it, that don’t involve my friend.” 

“I’m not pathetic! I was–” he’s cut off as he reaches forward. Shinobu’s hand grabs his wrist before he can reach you. He tries to pull back and frowns slightly as her nails scratch him as he pulls away. “I was introducing myself,” he continues. 

“Then you’re done and now you can leave,” Shinobu nods. He looks as though he’s going to protest but he sways slightly before blinking rapidly. 

“Did you do something?” you ask Shinobu, who looks at you innocently. You know better though. 

“Hmm…it might be a reaction to the latest experiment. Perhaps it got on my nails. I’m sorry,” she smiles at the man. “You should be fine with some rest. It’s not nearly enough to be fatal.” 

The man pales. “What?”

“You should go,” Shinobu says. “Unless you’re willing to be a test subject. I’m sure no one will miss you if you’ve cornered women before. Perhaps you should be more careful, no?” 

The man basically runs from her and you watch as he leaves. 

“What was really on your nails?” you ask, looking at Shinobu. 

“A mild paralytic. He’ll survive,” she says. “I came to ask if you wanted to join me for dinner?”

“After that? Absolutely.” 

Gyomei

Someone calls your name and before you can even turn to look, you see the man in front of you blanch. You know the voice and it’s entertaining to see firsthand how intimidated someone can be by your friend behind you. Especially when you know that he’s the kindest one of you all. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Gyomei,” you greet warmly. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to see if you would join me for the afternoon. Are you busy?” 

You look at your neighbour who is still staring at the tall man in shock. 

“Oh,” Gyomei says. “My apologies for interrupting.” He turns to the man. “I am Himejima Gyomei.” 

Your neighbour introduces himself and you try not to be annoyed at how he’s stepping back now that someone else is here. Especially when it’s another man. “Are you friends?” your neighbour asks. 

Gyomei looks down at you. “I am very lucky to have her in my life.” It’s not an answer and you have a feeling he’s done it intentionally. Whatever. You’re not going to complain if it gets you out of this. 

You smile up at him. “I think I’m the lucky one,” you say. You mean it too. Gyomei is a calming presence in your life, someone steadfast that you know you can rely on. He rests his hand on your shoulder and you relax under it. You’re safe with him. 

He turns back to your neighbour. “Please, continue your conversation. I can wait.” 

“No,” your neighbour says. “It’s fine. I didn’t realize…” he trails off before wandering away without saying goodbye. 

“Are you alright?” Gyomei asks again. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I am now.” 

Obanai and Mitsuri (because ofc they're together)

You notice when his gaze shifts from you to something behind you. Then you hear it.

“You’re outside! Did you know we were coming?” 

You turn to see Mitsuri heading towards you, Obanai behind her, his eyes already on your neighbour who is staring…at Mitsuri. You turn and move, just enough to block his view. Mitsuri doesn’t have a problem showing off any of her assets, but that doesn’t mean your creep of a neighbour could stare. Ew. 

Misturi crashes into you with a hug, as though it’s been years since you’ve last seen each other and not days. You hug back just as tight, grateful for the company. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“We came to take you out!” Misturi pulls back and motions towards Obanai. “We missed you!” 

You weren’t sure if that was the truth but a quick glance at Obanai shows that he’s moved to stand between you two and your neighbour. He nods toward you and you can’t help but smile back. 

“Where are we going?” you ask. 

“Dinner,” Obanai says. 

“Excuse me!” your neighbour cuts in, moving to the side so that Obanai is no longer blocking him. "Hey, we were talking.”

“Oh!” Mitsuri turns to face him. “I’m sorry!” 

Obanai glares at the interruption. “Who are you?”

“Her neighbour. We were just getting introduced.” He gives his name again, this time reaching for Mitsuri’s hand. He does not get far. 

“You often touch people without them wanting you to?” Obanai asks, his grip tightening on the man’s wrist. Your neighbour tries to pull back but is unable to. 

“He was just introducing himself,” Mitsuri says. “Weren’t you?”

“Of course!” Your neighbour says. “Can’t people be friendly?”

“No.” 

You have to hide a smile as Mitsuri giggles at Obanai’s response. 

“Go ahead,” Obanai says. “I’d like a word with your neighbour.” He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes on the man whose wrist he’s still holding. 

“Okay!” Mitsuri grabs your hand and starts pulling you away. “Nice to meet you! Don’t be too rough, Obanai, okay?” Once they’re far enough away, Misturi lets go and looks at you. “Are you alright? You looked uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling softly. “He came out of nowhere. I’m glad you were there.” 

“Don’t worry, Obanai will let him know you’re not interested. Besides, you have us!” 

You hug Mitsuri again with one arm. “I do!” 

Muichiro

You step back as your neighbour moves forward, reaching for your hand again. Why does he keep trying to touch you?

“I don’t think she likes that,” a voice comes from the side. Both of you look and your face lights up when you see who it is. 

“Muichiro! What are you doing here?”

His head tilts slightly as he looks at you. “You said I could come any time.” 

You smile slightly as you nod. “You’re right, I did.” The kid was always welcome but it was rare to see him without his twin. “Where’s Yuichiro?” 

“He said he’d come later. He thinks he’s figured out a move that will beat me in shogi.” 

“Is this your brother?” your neighbour cuts in. He smiles at the younger boy and introduces himself. Muichiro ignores him. 

“Are you going out?” he asks. “Can we join you?”

“Yes,” your neighbour adds. “We can walk with you. Get to know each other better.” You recoil from him reaching for you again and step back.

“Not you,” Muichiro cuts in. “You are not invited.” 

“What?” 

“You’re not invited,” the kid says again. “I don’t think you should touch her anymore. She doesn’t like it.” 

“Listen, brat, no one asked you.” 

“Hey!” you cut in, scowling. Why was it always easier to defend someone else than it was to defend yourself? “He’s right. You can’t just invite yourself. Thank you, but I’m not interested.” 

He reaches for you again but Muichiro knocks him over as the boy moves forward. “She said she’s not interested.” Muichiro stares at the man on the ground for a moment. “You shouldn’t bother women who aren’t interested.” He looks back at you. “Should we call someone?”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Come on, let’s go meet Yuichiro on the way. I’ll buy dinner.” You both leave the man to pick himself up and you silently pray he gets the hint. 

Giyu

You almost don't hear your name being called. The lack of reaction doesn’t stop Giyu from moving forward and standing next to you. 

You look up at him in relief. “Giyu!”

“I called,” he says. He glances at your neighbour who is watching you. “Are you busy?” 

“No,” you shake your head, hoping that he’ll be able to at least get you out of this. Even as hopeless as he was socially, you know that he’ll pick up on your hints. You’ve known each other long enough. 

“We’re in the middle of a conversation,” your neighbour says, looking unimpressed that you’re dismissing him. 

Giyu looks at him before turning back to you. “Are you hungry? I wanted to talk.” 

“Sure!” 

“Excuse me,” your neighbour interrupts again. 

Giyu gives you an unimpressed look but turns to face him. “Can I help you?”

“You’re interrupting. I was just getting to know your friend.”

Giyu stares at the man for a moment. “I don’t think she wants to know you.”

Your neighbour’s jaw drops. “Who are you to say that?”

“Her friend.” Giyu looks at you again. “Do you want to stay?”

You shake your head slightly, just enough to convey your desire to leave. You might have to never come back. Or maybe you could convince him to move. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“There’s no need to be rude!” your neighbour snaps.

“She’s not rude,” Giyu says. “It was clear she wasn’t interested before. You should pay attention.” You try not to laugh at Giyu of all people pointing out ignoring social cues. You adore him more for it. “Let’s go.” 

“Hey!” your neighbour reaches out, aiming for Giyu’s shoulder to stop him from leading you away. He doesn’t make it. Giyu steps to the side, turning as he grabs your neighbour’s hand and directs the motion straight to the ground. 

You can’t stop the gasp at the sound of him hitting the ground. 

Giyu holds him there for a moment. “Are you done?” he asks. He finally releases him and steps back. “You should keep your hands to yourself.” Giyu looks at you again. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “We can.” 

He offers you his hand to step over your neighbour and leads you away. “If he bothers you again, call us.”

“I will.” 

Kyojuro

Someone shouts your name and as soon as you hear it, you calm down. Things are going to be okay. You turn towards the voice and grin. “Kyo!” 

“I hoped you were home!” He strides forwards towards the two of you. He looks between you both. “Am I interrupting?”

“No!” you exclaim as your neighbour says “yes.” 

Kyojuro looks at you both before he nods. “I see. My apologies regardless.” He smiles at your neighbour and offers his hand. “I am Rengoku Kyojuro. Who are you?” 

You watch as your neighbour introduces himself almost warily as if he’s not sure what to make of the situation. 

Kyojuro turns to you, stepping closer and smiling down. “Are you free today?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Continue your conversation, I will wait.” He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face your neighbour. The man looks stunned to be pinned by Kyojuro’s gaze. You know the feeling but you wait to see if he’s going to continue to confess under your friend’s stare. 

“I uh…” your neighbour glances at Kyojuro again before he looks at you. “As I was saying, I want to know you more! If you don’t like that I drink, I’ll stop.”

You look at Kyojuro whose expression hasn’t changed but you can see the tension in his form. You wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him like you do. “I heard you,” you say carefully. It’s safer now, you feel, to decline his interest outright with someone else with you. “Thank you, but I’m not interested.”

“You haven’t even given me a chance,” your neighbour says. You don’t want to. “We could just spend time together.”

“No thanks,” you say, shifting closer to Kyojuro without thinking. 

Your neighbour steps forward, reaching for your hand again. “I’m not trying–” 

“She has made herself clear,” Kyojuro interrupts, his hand on the man’s wrist, preventing him from touching you. “Do not dishonour yourself further and press for her attention.” 

“Dishonour? I’m just trying to ask her out!”

“And she refused,” Kyojuro says, still staring at the man. “I fear that if she should accept, the flame of her heart would be drowned by the weight of your desire. I cannot accept that!” 

“I didn’t ask you,” your neighbour snarls. 

“You did not! But I am here regardless and thankful for it, if only to protect her from your refusal to hear her disinterest. Leave now.”

“You can’t just–”

“I can! I trust that you will not embarrass yourself further. Should I hear that you continue to push or attempt to take advantage, I will not be as forgiving as I am now.” 

The man stares at him for a moment before Kyojuro finally lets go. Your neighbour stumbles back slightly. He glares at you both, rubbing at the wrist Kyojuro held before he walks off, heading to the building. Kyojuro watches until the man disappears into the building before he turns to you. “Are you alright?” 

You move without really thinking, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. “Thank you.” 

He pauses for a moment before he brings his arms around you, holding you against him. “It’s alright,” he says softly. “I am just glad I was able to be here.” 

You pull back. “I appreciate the help. What brings you around?”

“I wanted to see you, of course!” He lets go as you move away. “As you are not busy, would you be willing to join me? I have something I wanted to show you!”

“Of course! Let’s go!”

Tengen

An arm drapes itself over your shoulder. If you weren’t familiar with the weight of it, the scent of the man who pulls you into him, you would have recoiled. “What’s this then?”

You look up at the built man who towers over the rest of you. “Tengen! What are you doing here?” 

“Came to see you, of course! Who’s this?” Despite the cheerful tone, he doesn’t take his eyes off your neighbour. 

“My neighbour,” you say after a moment as you realize the man in question is still looking at Tengen. 

“Hm,” Tengen leans down, putting his face next to yours and ignoring your neighbour. “You miss me?” He grins as he asks, eyes on you. 

“Didn’t I just see you the other day with the others?” you quip back, used to his flirting.

“Who are you?” the man finally speaks up.

Tengen glances over at him and you can practically see him considering if he wants to deal with the man. He straightens, keeping his arm around you, and grins. “Uzui Tengen! Flashiest man around and the love of her life!”

“You’re not the love of my life,” you say automatically.

“I could be,” Tengen says. He leans down closer again and his voice lowers. “Don’t you want to give us a chance?” 

“We’re talking,” your neighbour cuts in again. “In fact, if she’s not interested, it’s all the more reason she should say yes to going out with me.” 

“I would think that the she in question should make the choice,” you mutter. 

“Why would she date someone as unflashy as you?” Tengen asks, looking unimpressed. 

Your neighbour seems taken aback by the question. “What? Why wouldn’t she?” 

Tengen makes a point of looking the man up and down. “You have no flair! No flamboyance! In fact, it’s very unflashy of you to keep ignoring her like this while you talk about her, right Angel?” 

“Hmm,” you nod in agreement. 

Tengen tightens his grip slightly “Do you want to go out with this boring man?” He asks. 

“No.”

“There you have it. Now,” Tengen leans towards your neighbour. “In fact, I don’t think you should bother her again and if you do, well…I’ll show you how flashy I can be.” 

The man swallows slightly, as though he’s suddenly reminded of Tengen’s size. “Uh sure,” your neighbour says. He glances at you. “Sorry.”

You don’t get a chance to respond because Tengen leads you away, arm still around you and heads towards your building. 

“You’re not going out anywhere, are you? Thought we could order in. Unless you want to go out. Karaoke?” 

“Are we going to invite the girls?”

He grins at you. “Of course!”

Bonus!

Tengen & his wives!

You hear the squeal first and then Suma crashes into you. You hug the woman back, used to how affectionate she is. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask,  completely distracted from the situation with your neighbour as you look to see Makio and Hinatsuru heading towards you.

“We missed you!” Suma says, pulling back. 

“Will you let her go?” Makio demands, yanking Suma back as they get close. “You’re interrupting!” 

“Sorry!” Suma lets go. “I was just excited!”

“It has been a while since we’ve seen you,” Hina agrees. She looks over at your neighbour before turning back to you. “Sorry for interrupting. We hope you don’t mind that we dropped by unannounced.” 

“Not at all,” you smile at the three women that now surround you. Makio has shifted, taking point to be in between you all and your neighbour. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I bet,” Makio says. There’s a brief moment where you all communicate silently with each other. The slight widening of the eyes, the nod and shifting of the shoulders. The way friends have communicated about the people around them for ages without words. It’s enough that the three women are all aware that you’re uncomfortable and are grateful for their help. 

“Excuse me.”

They all turn to look at your neighbour who looks delighted at the sudden prospect of more women to interact with. It probably helps that all three of the new ones are gorgeous, well-endowed and wearing low-cut tops. 

“What?” Makio asks, unimpressed. Suma shifts slightly to stand closer to you. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says before introducing himself. The women all stare at the hand he offers but none of them reach to take it. He pauses before finally dropping it, but he steps closer. “We were just getting to know each other,” he says. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” 

No, you think. You don’t get a chance to answer though because Makio turns her back on the man and faces you again. “Have you eaten?” Makio asks. 

“Oh yeah!” Suma grabs your arm and you feel a rush of affection for these women who have shown up and are trying to help. “If you have, we could get dessert!” 

“You’re not busy, are you?” Hina asks.

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Hey!” your neighbour cuts in again. “There’s no reason to be a bitch. You could have just said you were into girls. I wouldn’t have minded…especially if I can watch.”

Your jaw drops open and you can see the way the others nearly shake with anger. Before any of them can step forward, your attention is drawn behind him as Tengen appears.

“Oh ho! What’s this?” His hand slaps down on your neighbour's shoulder. You can see his grip tighten. “I didn’t just hear you call them something so unflashy, did I?” 

“Tengen!” You all call out, your voice tinged with a little more relief. As glad as you are for the company of the girls, you don’t want to subject them to your neighbour more than you have to. 

Tengen grins at the four of you before focusing back on the man he’s holding. “Now, what were you saying?” 

“What? Nothing!” 

“Liar!” Makio snaps. 

“He called her a bitch, Tengen,” Hina says softly. She loops her arm around yours on the side that doesn’t have Suma. 

“He said he wanted to watch!” Suma adds. 

“Oh really?” Tengen’s eyes narrow. “Perhaps you girls should go ahead and I’ll catch up…after I teach this one some manners.” 

“Good,” Makio nods.

“We’ll let you know where we decide to go,” Hina says softly. “Come on.” The girls usher you away from the building where Tengen is still keeping your neighbour in place. The man looks slightly terrified now but Tengen waves you all off with a grin. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Suma exclaims, still keeping her arm around yours as they walk. 

“Yeah,” Makio agrees. “How long has that creep been bothering you?”

“He’s been staring for a while but just came out of nowhere today, telling me he liked me and wanted to go out. He said he’s an alcoholic but would stop for me.” You see the look the women give each other. 

“Maybe you should stay with us,” Hina suggests. “Just for a bit.”

“Yeah!” 

You laugh slightly. “I don’t know. I’ll have to go home eventually, right? I’m sure he got the point.” 

An arm wraps around your shoulder as Tengen appears, inserting himself between you and Suma. He laughs as you both adjust to the new position. “He sure did!” He towers over all of you but Tengen has never felt threatening. At least not to you. “He won’t be bothering you anymore. And if he’s still staring, call us. We’ll deal with him,” he promises. 

You smile up at him. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank us,” Hinatsuru says softly. “We’re happy to help.”

“Yeah!” Makio adds. “He’s lucky Tengen showed up before I got to him.”

“I don’t know about that…” Tengen says, “but I know I am with such flashy girls!”

AND

Tanjiro, Nezuko, Zenitsu and Inosuke

The man is holding your hand in a light grip that tightens as you try to pull away. You’re trying not to be rude but his hand is clammy and you never wanted to be touched. You have a feeling you’re going to have to snap and then deal with the repercussions later. 

Your attention shifts to the sound of feet hitting the pavement and a familiar voice calling your name. You yank your hand from your neighbour before turning and moving back, managing to avoid Inosuke’s attempt at a tackle. You shift and watch as Zenitsu falls, his attempts to hug you failing. You’re used to these kids and at this point, it’s a game when you meet. 

Zenitsu whines at your avoidance. 

“Haha!” Inosuke slides to a stop and turns back to you. “You won’t avoid me again!” 

“Stop tackling her!” 

You ignore Zenitsu and Inosuke as they start arguing and turn to Tanjiro and Nezuko as they stop next to you. “What are you all doing here?” 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Tanjiro says softly. “We were passing by and saw you. We thought we’d stop and say hi. I tried to get them to stop from running at you. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” you wave him off. “I’m glad to see you.” Nezuko moves forward and offers a hug and you hug back, noticing the way Tanjiro moves between you and your neighbour. Your gaze softens. He’s such a good kid. They all are. 

“It’s been awhile,” Tanjiro agrees. 

“Excuse me,” your neighbour cuts in, moving around Tanjiro. “Didn’t realize you were so popular with children. Are you related?” 

“No,” you say, not willing to give more than that. 

“Who are you?” Inosuke shoves himself between you and your neighbour. You can see the man trying to move around the kid, but Inosuke has a way of making himself known. “Fight me!” he demands. 

“What? I’m not going to fight a kid.” Your neighbour looks for you but you let go of Nezuko who raises her eyebrows, silently asking if you’re okay. 

You nod back, smiling at the girl. 

“You think you’ll beat me?” Inosuke says. “You couldn’t touch me. I’m the greatest!” 

“Who is that?” Zenitsu asks quietly, coming up to your side now that Inosuke is distracted. “Do you know him?”

“He’s my neighbour,” you say. “He was just…introducing himself.” You wince as you say it. 

“You didn’t seem comfortable. Do you want to leave?” Tanjiro asks, focused on you as Inosuke drags your neighbour to more open space in his demands to fight. “We can walk you to where you’re going. Or inside,” he offers. 

“Thanks.” You smile in relief, even if they’re just kids, you’re grateful you’re no longer alone. 

“Fuck off!” All of your attention turns to the sound of your neighbour yelling at Inosuke. “You freak!” 

“Excuse me?” You move around the children, striding towards your neighbour. To hell with being polite. “What did you just say?” He turns to you, surprise crossing his features as though he’s forgotten you were there. 

“I–I was just–”

“Just what?” You snap. “He’s a kid and you’re swearing at him?”

“He’s not leaving me alone! I’m trying to talk to you!”

“I don’t want to talk!” You stride forward, aware of the eyes on you. “I haven’t shown the slightest interest and you kept pushing and trying to touch me!” His eyes widen but you don’t stop. “They’re fifteen! And they have more sense and observation than you do. You don’t treat people like that, even if they’re annoying and you don’t keep pushing your attention on to someone who doesn’t want it!” 

“I’m sorry,” he reaches for you again.

“Fuck off!” you use his own words against him. “Come on, Inosuke, don’t waste your time fighting him. You’d likely win in seconds. Let’s go.” You turn and walk back toward the others. 

“You’re so cool!” Zenitsu cheers as you return.

“That was impressive,” Tanjiro agrees. “Hopefully he’ll listen.”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll come back and show him how weak he is!” 

You smile at Inosuke and reach out to ruffle his hair. He ducks out of the way. “Thanks. Come on, let’s get out of here. You guys want to walk me to my friends?”

“Yeah!” 

“Let’s go!”

“I’m going to get there first!” 

“What!? Wait for us!”

taglist: @raith-way @chrissymunson @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse 

[14muffinz]

trying my hand at writing a propmt

Demon Twins AU where Danyal DOES die, and is sent to the zone. He happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when the Fenton Portal opens, and winds up being entangled with Danny during the explosion.

When Danny exits the portal, his body is different, everything hurts, and suddenly there's a rush of memories that he knows aren't his.

So then it's Danny Phantom, except he has the memories of a childhood inside an assassin cult to deal with, and a tugging in his core telling him to find the twin that he doesn't really have.

[cameliawrites]

the muscle cut from the bone

for @alltheworldsinmyhead

summary: Kaz and Inej, falling apart and falling back together.

(or: the angsty breakup and reunion fic I never thought I'd write.)

There’s a purple bruise at her wrist, a thumbprint at the juncture of her hand and forearm, that Inej finds herself pressing her fingertips into over and over again. She wonders if, by pressing, she can keep the bruise from fading; wonders if she can keep that vibrant purple alive just a bit longer, just enough to stop imagining the wound as the shadowed imprint of a touch she won’t receive. Rationally, she knows the wound is the mark of a slaver who’d grabbed her by the wrist and tried to wrench the knife from her hand. Rationally, she knows she should be glad to be rid of the marking. But every night, alone in her cabin with just the flickering lamp light and the waves crashing outside, she looks at the bruise and imagines it’s Kaz’s thumb pressing into her skin, clutching at her wrist. Pulling her to him. Begging her to stay.

Read more on ao3.

[spenglersglasses]

❤️‍🔥🎙️Hey there fellow SINNERS!!!! 🎙️❤️‍🔥

This is my first and very much-loved endeavor into the Hazbin Hotel fandom!

I know that the canon thought is that Alastor is asexual but in this fic he has a rare change for one person in particular and is NOT aromatic. If this is something that bothers you or if you are not a fan of the Alastor/Charlie ship (Charlastor/RadioBelle) then this is not one for you my fellow smut enjoyers.

If you aren't bothered then be prepared, this will be a wild ride!

This first chapter is a bit shorter, just for the set up!

Also, when Alastor has moments of "glitching" or that infamous radio cracking to his voice, his speech will look like this (Ĝ͎͍͓͌͠l̡̟̩͍̐̐̕͞ì͓̞̗̜̇̿͝ẗ̼c̬̮̹̔̒́h͚͇́̓ ̙͕̮̣̎͑͛̚s̟͇̽͞p̫͉͆̈e̡͇͉͐̑̊e̻͞c͙͇̆̏h̺̗̭̙̑̓̄͝), I will be making a note of what is being said, so those who have a harder time can understand it, but I thought it was an awesome effect lol.

*Special shoutout to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the GLITCH dividers!

Now without further ado!

D̢͙̯̦̙͎̎̽̇̔̾͊̿̚͜͟A̜̱̫̭̽̌̔̄R̫̬͊̈̊͜Ļ̮̗̲̤͎̙̅͒̿͒̿͊͡Í̱̮͑́͢͜͠N͔̗̘͈̲̤̳̉̅̉̀͗̔͠͝ͅG̢̻̱͐́̆͜͠ (Hazbin Hotel)

When Alastor made a deal with Charlie Morningstar, he knew it was a chance for him to ascend the ranks. Now that it's been weeks since the events of the extermination battle, Alastor decides it's time to collect…what he didn't expect was to slowly fall for the Princess of Hell. But hey, a deal's, a deal.

Chapter 1: A Deal's, A Deal...

Also available HERE on AO3.

Eventually will be NSFW below the cut!!

FḼ̯̔̅A̛̮̬̗̓͡S͚̬̹͋̌͝Ḧ̡̡͓̬̙̎͑͋͒͗͜B̥̠̭͇͚̠̉̾̔̏̍͠Á͉̙̌CK̡͔͔̱̘̣͆̿̈̐͗͝

“I know something you don’t know—” Alastor gleefully professed. His voice, rich with a smug assuredness that only he could have. It was the moment he had been waiting for. A chance that fortune had afforded him. Since the moment the head rolled out of Velvette’s filthy hands, he knew he could gain the upper hand and now was his chance.

“Huh?” Charlie asked, looking over to him in confusion as he approached her. That spine tingling smile, seething with intention, spread wide across his handsome face.  Though she had been warned numerous times about trusting him, she had to know. She was desperate. Betrayed by Vaggie, getting Heaven’s help was a bust, and the extermination was looming on the horizon—what could he know that could help? 

“Those big scary angels are not quite as indestructible as they seem…” he began.

“What are you talking about?” 

“...just that you and your little band of misfits might stand more of a chance than you think.” Alastor continued, fiddling with the leaves that hung precariously from the plant on Charlie’s bedside table.  

“How? I’ll do anything.” she pleaded. The Radio demon began turning back to face her. Amused with himself for having once again gained the upper hand. Delighted as things began to unfurl in his favor. 

“Anything?” He began his eyes growing large. Like deep pools of contemplation. It was clear from the look on his face Alastor was scheming.  

Oh fuck, What have I done ? Charlie asked herself, her mind spinning with the possibilities of what he might ask in return.

“Then—let’s make a deal.” he said, bending forward and offering up his hand. Charlie looked down at it with fear and apprehension. Her heart, pounding inside her chest as she replied. 

“You want my soul?” she asked him, slowly backing away as he seemed to inch towards her in a fluid, confident motion. 

“Your soul….” he began, his voice deepening. His face, turning sinister and cold before returning to his normal visage. “Heavens no! All I need from you is one itty bitty favor.” he explained, playing with her ponytail as he circled around behind her. Charlie tightening up as she felt the heart from the demon's hot breath against her neck. “What's a favor between friends?” he asked, wrapping his arms over her shoulders. Squeezing her tightly against him. His touch, a little too familiar—too intimate. 

Charlie quickly pulled away. Feeling a flash of fear spike within her. She felt it—his heart had been beating as fast as hers, but why? “I won’t hurt anyone for you.” she told him. Standing her ground as best she could.

Alastor perked up. Looking up through his brows as he responded, “Who's asking? One favor at a time of my choosing where you harm no one.” he promised. Charlie began chewing her bottom lip as she considered his proposal. Finding it harder and harder to look him in the eye. Though his own red, hot eyes were fixed on her. 

“...in return I tell you what I know… do we have a deal?” he continued, spinning his cane and once again reaching out his hand to shake on it. Alastor, knowing full well what he would come to ask in return. Razzle and dazzle growling at him as if they could since his sinister intentions. Charlie swallowed back the knot in her throat. Her people meant everything to her and no matter what he would ask, it would be worth the price of their salvation—wouldn’t it? 

“Deal.” she said, her horn buds began to appear. Budding out beneath her blonde tresses. Eyes glowing red as she took Alastor’s hand. As they shook hands, the power between them began emanating a haunting green light. Alastor’s true form, stitched and ominous, flickering before her. His power sealing their agreement—it was too late to go back now. Once a deal was made with the Radio Demon only the soul’s destruction could undo it. The spirits of hell began howling as they swirled around them. The hotel became shadowed in Alastor’s magic, alerting Hazbin’s inhabitants to what had happened. 

"No… No!” Vaggie pleaded, racing up the stairs before breaking into Charlie’s room. Horrified to see them hand in hand.

“Right on cue.” Alastor remarked, grinning ear to ear as Vaggie stood dumbfounded in the doorway. Pleased that she was too late to stop it. The deal was done.         

- 3 Months later -

“Yeah, well I think it’s a great plan… after all ole’ scales would appreciate the sentiment.” Angel Dust remarked, leaning back against the red velvet cabriole sofa and crossing his legs. He and husk had been discussing a night out for some time. It was clear that while the imminent threat of extermination was over, it was only a matter of time before something else happened. All of them reveling in the calm before the storm, figured it would be a good time to go out and celebrate. 

The hotel had just finished renovations. Things were going smoothly between residents, and now was as good a time as any to memorialize their friend Sir Pentious. With a round of drinks and debauchery, Husk and Angel would drag the rest of the crew with them. Even Cherri Bomb agreed to come, feeling the need of a good pick me up and some blow. Sorrowful herself at the passing of her admirer though surely, she’d never admit it.

“Nah… I don’t feel like it. You all go without me.” Vaggie huffed. Chiming up from the bar stool as she waited for the feline bartender to pour her another shot. 

Suit yourself.” Hush said, his voice gruff as ever as he handed her the glass. Both he and Angel, rolling their eyes at one another. 

“Oh come on.” Angel sneered. They had all been frustrated with her lately. Vaggie had been a bit of a killjoy for a while. Things between her and Charlie never seemed to recover as she revealed herself to be an angel. While Charlie told her that they would move on and grow from it, she wasn’t too sure. Charlie was preoccupied it seemed and even more consumed with her goals than before. Vaggie was beginning to wonder where she fit in—jealous even at the Hotel for stealing away her girlfriend’s attention. 

“Listen you gotta let loose toots, might help pull that stick you have wedged in your ass—unless you’re into that sorta thing.” Angel shrugged. Vaggie squinting and mocking.

“Well…” Vaggie began, throwing back the shot of whiskey and wiping the remnants from her mouth on her sleeve. “Fine then.” she reluctantly agreed, the room of miscreants cheering her on.

She was thankful the majority of it remained. Holding the gnawed-on scraps close to her chest, before reading. Thankfully it seemed Emily was making progress. Requesting to speak with the counsel of Archangels. 

“Argh, now where did I put that damn thing?” Charlie said, rummaging around her desk. Razzle fluttering around behind her, pieces of paper sticking out of the corners of their mouth. Charlie, turning to face her fluffy royal servant, looking guilty as sin. “Did you? Ah!” Charlie groaned, sending them a stern look, half smiling at their antics before finding the chewed-up letter on the ground. 

The letter was the first of what Charlie hoped to be many correspondences from her Angel friend. Knowing that it was important to both of them that they find out the truth behind the exterminations and find out what exactly would allow her people absolution. Though it had been a while since they talked, things had been looking up. The hotel was even host to a few new residents. 

Sev and Trix, two twin sphinxlike sinners off the streets, with the most potential. Coming to join them in hopes of avoiding the next inevitable extermination. Not quite the reasons Charlie had hoped to attract guests, but reason enough to start since no one had been officially saved as of yet. Charlie, however, was more determined than ever. If Heaven wouldn’t help her, she’d find another way. 

She sat back down at her desk, staring out of her window at Pentagram City. It seemed the Pride Ring never looked as beautiful. Despite the fires and the occasional scream, it was her own little piece of Heaven. Charlie then was startled by the sound of tuning. Alastor was broadcasting something from his tower. The sounds, cracking in and out before finally she could hear him speak.

“Hello my faithful, unsavory auditors!” he crooned. “Don’t touch that dial. You heard right—Alastor your favorite host is back! Stay tuned tomorrow for a Special Broadcast…Ȯ̱͓̻̘̒̃̈́̀͟N͍͂Ĕ̡̼̖̅͞ ̫̺͕̊̌͞Y̞̖̩̜̋̊̀̅͘͜Ō͕͚̭̥͌̋̕Ư̢̧̟̱̪̑̊̀͞ ̫̮͉̀̔̒W̳̖̓̌O̡̫̭͂́̿̉ͅN̦̪̼̬̞̓́͑̚̚'̘͍̈́͋T̻͍́̊ ̗̝͔̀̓͝Ẅ̯A̡̼̮͆̍̄͘ͅN̨͔͌͊T̹̤̪̱̆̈́̑̿ ̭̺̳̃͆̇T̢̥̺̜̂̅̈́̄̊͜Ȏ̩̊͜ ̺͙͒͐̒͢MI̎͢Š̢S͇̠̻̪̈́̓̐̎.” he finished, dropping off air as fast as he came. Leaving the pride ring a buzz with his impending return to form–wondering whose screams would grace the airwaves. 

Charlie found herself deep in thought. Ever since they shook hands things had changed, though she wasn’t quite sure how. She found herself often looking at Alastor. At first not thinking much of it, but realizing as he came close to her, that she couldn’t help but feel flush. Rosey-cheeks, more pinkened at the thought of him. That dapper way he had about him and his charming but menacing smile. 

She felt ashamed—disturbed even for having the thought. Surely Alastor had no such interest in her. Rosie had all but confirmed as much. Somewhere deep down, however, she wished things might be different. 

In quiet moments her mind would drag her down into the abyss. That dark place where her hidden desires to be all consumed by the Radio demon lie. Their flesh melting together as one, with his quick, witty oration tantalizing her ears. His eyes locked on her, and she could almost feel the fabric of his coat beneath her fingertips. 

“Argh… what is wrong with you?” she asked herself, holding her head in her hands. Frustrated with herself as she contemplated what he was up to. Her heartbeat, betraying her. 

In the recesses of his broadcast tower, Alastor sat back in his chair. Fingers, intertwining as his shadow danced along the walls. Alastor deep in thought as it tempted him to speak. Growing as impatient as he. Subconsciously waiting for the right moment to strike.  

“Soon.” Alastor hummed, his shadow smirking back at him. The sounds of crackling and distant radio sounds swirling in the air. Alastor was as powerful as ever and would grow only more so. While he had come close, too close, to perishing at the hands of the Angelic exterminators—the fight wasn’t over yet. 

“If they think I can be undone by some uptight, winged twit, Ţ̰̲͕̓̐̌͟͞͠H̪̯̽̾Ë̩́Y̬̌ ͙̮̳̥͋̑̄̽̅͜Ḩ̭̂̾Ā̭̝̯̗͇̾̇̏͡V̤͇̊͌È͙̠̹̐̿ ̯͉͐͆A̖̗̽̿N͔̣͗́̂͜O̟̣̗̟̅̾͂͞T͔͇̋͊H̪̲̾̄E̮̦̬̹͎͊̉̃̀̈́Ř̝ ̨̺̱͑͆̆TH̛̥̙̙̑̀̋͟IN̛̻̬͕̮͋̎̄G̫͇̯͋̾̕ ̱̳̉̆Č̖̣̣̎̂O̧̡̗̖͆͂̅͡M̛̘̫̞̽̓I̢͈̟͐͡͡N͍̑G.” he hissed. Static filling the room as his shadow beamed. Contorting around him as Alastor’s true form came peeking out from within. Laughing at the foolishness of anyone thinning that he was weak—Alastor knew better. 

It would take more than that to have him running away, tail tucked between his legs. He had much bigger fish to fry. He was however reminded after the close call that the time to call in his favor was close at hand. Deciding to embark on something, dare he say no one had ever imagined. The clock, ticking in his ears, reminding him that he was on borrowed time. The thought of it engulfed him in flames. Interference and static hissing and cracking as his Shadow disappeared. His antlers, growing in size as his blood began boiling—steaming hot. Angry at his forced servitude to HER. 

Suddenly it all went back to normal. Alastor, taking in a deep breath before opening his eyes to the whole of Pentagram City before him.  Returning to his usual form, he stood up. Adjusting his monocle and tapping his cane to adjust his voice. His shadow, reappearing as he set his path back into the hotel. 

“Seems almost too perfect a chance to pass up my dark, looming friend. Our beloved Princess will have no idea what hit her. Though surely, I won't be getting down on one knee.” Alastor chuckled as he disappeared into the darkness.

Great Alastor, the Radio Demon, would become Prince of Hell. Taking Charlie as his bride. 

NOTES:

Ȯ̱͓̻̘̒̃̈́̀͟N͍͂Ĕ̡̼̖̅͞ ̫̺͕̊̌͞Y̞̖̩̜̋̊̀̅͘͜Ō͕͚̭̥͌̋̕Ư̢̧̟̱̪̑̊̀͞ ̫̮͉̀̔̒W̳̖̓̌O̡̫̭͂́̿̉ͅN̦̪̼̬̞̓́͑̚̚'̘͍̈́͋T̻͍́̊ ̗̝͔̀̓͝Ẅ̯A̡̼̮͆̍̄͘ͅN̨͔͌͊T̹̤̪̱̆̈́̑̿ ̭̺̳̃͆̇T̢̥̺̜̂̅̈́̄̊͜Ȏ̩̊͜ ̺͙͒͐̒͢MI̎͢Š̢S͇̠̻̪̈́̓̐̎.- One you won’t want to miss.

Ţ̰̲͕̓̐̌͟͞͠H̪̯̽̾Ë̩́Y̬̌ ͙̮̳̥͋̑̄̽̅͜Ḩ̭̂̾Ā̭̝̯̗͇̾̇̏͡V̤͇̊͌È͙̠̹̐̿ ̯͉͐͆A̖̗̽̿N͔̣͗́̂͜O̟̣̗̟̅̾͂͞T͔͇̋͊H̪̲̾̄E̮̦̬̹͎͊̉̃̀̈́Ř̝ ̨̺̱͑͆̆TH̛̥̙̙̑̀̋͟IN̛̻̬͕̮͋̎̄G̫͇̯͋̾̕ ̱̳̉̆Č̖̣̣̎̂O̧̡̗̖͆͂̅͡M̛̘̫̞̽̓I̢͈̟͐͡͡N͍̑G- They have another thing coming.

[hazbin-alastor]

Hazbin Hotel AU where Lilith was Alastor's contract holder, but she's actually dead now. And while normally a sinner's death would render a contract null and void, the fact that she had a daughter meant that in the wake of her death Alastor's contract was automatically transferred over to Charlie — completely unbeknownst to her.

The real reason Alastor approached Charlie is because Lilith had died and he was looking for an opportunity to somehow get Charlie to release him from the contract — without her finding out about it.

Sure, he could just tell her about it and ask her upfront to release him and maybe she'd say yes, but...

Alas, Alastor is a paranoid sonuvabitch and there's no way in hell (ha) that he'd ever willingly admit to it, not without some sort of security net in place.

So, no. He's gotta find some way to get Charlie to unknowingly free him. And that's where that little incredibly vague favor comes in—!

Wouldn't you say it was weird how quickly Alastor agreed to Charlie's do-no-harm terms? He didn't hesitate, not even for a second, didn't even take a moment to think about it. Why? Because he already knew what "favor" he was going to ask of her and, knowing that it didn't involve harming anyone in the slightest, he was able to immediately agree.

He didn't hesitate to consider it because he didn't have to, not when he already knew what he was going to ask of her.

And what favor is he going to ask for? For her to free him, of course! And why hasn't he already? Well, that's a bit harder to explain...

Perhaps the prideful Mister "I'm going to hide away in my Radio Tower like a dying cat after nearly being slaughtered instead of doing the rational, sensible thing and seeking medical help, preferably from my friends and allies" would rather avoid anyone finding out he'd ever signed his soul away at all, even if it meant that it would take longer for him to be freed.

Perhaps he'd rather first figure out how to get Charlie to free him without her realizing what she was doing.

Or perhaps he wasn't even sure yet how she would be able to go about freeing him, especially considering that this is Charlie we're talking about here, not Lilith, the original contract holder, so the circumstances to do so might be different...

Or, no, wait—!

Perhaps he needs access to the actual contract in order to be freed. And, Charlie? She has no idea where it is. And as for Alastor, he is either clueless as well or he does know where it is, he just doesn't know how to access it — yet.

Perhaps he's saving up for two favors — one to have Charlie obtain the contract for him, and one to have her break it.

Either way, the only way he's getting out of this situation is with Charlie's help — hence his sudden reappearance and highly suspicious interest in her and her budding "Happy Hotel."

.

.

.

TL;DR: Lilith died and passed her contract with Alastor onto her daughter — who still has no idea this happened — and now Alastor has to somehow trick Charlie into freeing him without her finding out about it. Luckily, she just opened up this pathetic little hotel and is likely desperate for help... It's the perfect in.

[bisexualcherdegre]

D:BH Rarepairsweek 7 | @dbhrarepairs

Day 3: Hank/Markus After the revolution, Markus and Hank are both trying to deal with the new situation they've been handed. Their paths cross.

[searchingforserendipity25]

emperor covered in linens

lan wangji has been searching for his brother for three months, long enough to lose his faith half a dozen times, if lan wangji were someone who lost his faith.

lan xichen returns to cloud recesses stumbling, staggering up the mountain. the guards on duty before the feeble new wards barely recognize him, at first.

lan xichen returns - bruises beneath the eyes, startlingly thin, and without a golden core.

the first gentlemen of the cultivation world, the first in generations to challenge wen ruohan's goal to cultivate to immortality: of course wen ruohan had sent his son wen chao with the core-crushing hand to hunt him down, bring him down from the arrogant heights of power and admiration the lans sought to achieve. to diminish him, the better to humiliate the lan sect, and all their possible allies.

lan xichen kneels before the elders and apologizes for losing the treasured books of the lan sect, and all the effort put into his abilities.

he is, lan wangji thinks, hollowed out in a very true sense. an empty house of a man, and empty face with two coal-bright eyes, staring up at the elders, at lan qiren, at lan wangji. it hurts, hurts to look at him.

there is naturally no longer a place for him at the head of the sect: lan wangji must succeed him, under their uncle's guidance. lan xichen apologizes to all their ancestors. lan xichen requests to be permitted to dwell in seclusion, and not bring greater shame to their people.

he apologizes to lan wangji, too. bows lower than he ever has to his younger brother, for altering his life so sharply, failing to protect him as he had always striven to.

"brother should not bow," lan wangji says. he holds his brother's arms in both hands, presses his tongue against his teeth to avoid biting out something too sharp about their lightness, the narrow slant of bones beneath the light seclusion robes.

"there is no need for bowing, between brother," lan wangji says: and lan xichen, zewu-jun, the first gentleman of the cultivation world, lays his head on his brother's shoulder, very silently. makes heavy with salt lan wangji's brocade robes, and shakes, horribly.

there is nowhere in him lan wangji can lay a gentle hand without causing him pain; he feels sick, sick with it, all the comfort he does not like to give and would burn nightless city whole to be able to offer now.

something hardens, grows terrible and dire as steel, all through the next days and months, watching how the grass on the way to the hanshi remains untrodden but for his feet most of the day.

the lan sect, so proud of its first jade, so quick to beat and whip and punish him from first childhood into his immaculate manners, his faultless talents: they turn their back on him so quickly.

cloud recesses is burned, barely standing; all hands are needed, and his uncle chides him often for spending too long with his brother, in a room that ought to belong to the sect leader, and which lan wangji refuses to occupy. lan xichen will not be moved from the hanshi to the infirmary, will not be exiled from his house, the one he decorated with such care for feng shui of on his fifteenth year.

lan wangji does not know how to ask, how to question: but he knows the sect principles, and all the disciplines that call for some better righteousness than this.

if the healers are not inclined to continue their care strigently, then lan wangji will do it himself. brings his brother salves and pills, plays healing songs until the ache in his muscles eases, his fever lowers, his weeping eases.

lan wangji does his sect heir duties, which are more plentiful, and less suitable to his temperament; and then he does what he can, every day. brings his brother ink from the place in caiyi he favours, and tea. brings music and company, and sits with him on the steps to the garden their father planted, when lan xichen cannot lift liebing from his lap to his lips, cannot bear to produce beauty without usefulness.

there are wounds on lan xichen that take so much longer to heal than they ever had before.

lan xichen does not know how to move inside his skin, how to account for the long healing of broken bones. he is too ashamed to ask for help from anyone, to heal anew the injuries he opens again: lan wangji has to insist. it is not a burden. brother is not a burden.

he does not know how to ask - only learns how to walk a little louder, and more more slowly, so lan xichen will not startle. it is not hard, only different. they have always been careful with each other. they hace always been gentle - lan xichen taught him how, at least.

lan xichen is all out of gentleness for himself, now. he strives to meditate, shaking with pain to attempt to be upright; tries to punish himself for the weakness of the body he cannot escape.

it frightens lan wangji, in a more concrete and visceral way than his disappearance had. he does not know how to do this. he does not know -

lan wangji does not ask how his brother escaped the wen's custody. what they did to him. for how long; how badly. when he was questioned, lan xichen spoke of an abetter, a conspirator; but would name no one, refused that if nothing else to the elders.

lan wangji's brother bleeds, bleeds through his linens. it was a magical sword that struck him, many times: his leg is brother, his back. his sword arm is broken, and was to be cut; wen chao had meant to do it just before he presented him as a spoil of victory wen ruohan's throne room, as a filial gift.

wen chao had meant for the limb to be fresh, without need for conservation talismans; for the smell of blood to be that much more vivid. it was, wen chao told lan xichen many times, his father's favourite fragrance.

lan wangji knows these things, now. learns them through many long vigils. his brother speaks without being asked, without clarity, on nights when the pain sweeps through him without reprieve, and none of lan wangji's exemplary musical cultivation can seep through his ruined meridians to bring some reprieve to his fever.

wei ying, he thinks, a dozen and a hundred times. helpless, helplessly swallowing back tears, anger, tears again. wei ying, wherever you are, please live. please be well. do not leave the world, be safe.

a hundred and dozen times he nearly writes to lotus pier. lan xichen's condition has been determined to be a sect secret; lan wangji puts brush to paper, lets it blot out the empty space where his words do not exist.

a summons comes, the threat implicit in every character, the mocking derision mortifyingly clear. lan wangji is to attend a gathering of young cultivators in nightless city: wen ruohan kindly excuses his older brother from attending, being as he is no longer one such.

lan wangji burns it with a flare of barely restrained spiritual power. even lan quiren cannot scold him for it with any conviction.

"i shall tell brother," lan wangji says, and leaves before barely excusing himself. all things considered, he does not think he will be punishing himself very badly for his lack of courtesy.

it is early enough to find his brother steeping his first tea of the day.

the order has been for a screen to be raised in front of the hanshi's door, for discretion, to keep out the cold air from his sick lungs, to keep out stray eyes to his unsightly form. wangji can see him, very clearly, in the first light of the day, uncurling a hidden scroll from the bottom of his kettle, where a cluster of leaves has opened with the heat to reveal a rare blossom.

do not sow discord. do not say one thing and mean another. do not break faith and abandon right.

lan wangji hesitates. his feet over the cool grass grow damp before he walks to the other side of the screen.

the message his brother is holding up to the light would be indecipherable to him, even if the papers were not stained by tea and enchanted to confuse the eyes of those it is not written for. he can read the quick, keen light in his brother's eyes much more easily.

"i will miss you, wangji," lan xichen says, very softly. "please take care. please keep well. we shall see each other soon."

lan wangji does not ask how his brother knows of the summons. he has not asked, very carefully.

he does not ask now, either. his brother had been made into the image of benevolence, which is to say wisdom, which is to say he acts only deliberately, from a distance, a height, with a careful image of effortlessness.

the best leader, the principles agree, ought not to act, to act only as if he were doing nothing at all, unperceived. lan wangji has not done well, in becoming his brother's successor. it is very, very difficult. his brother had been an excellent cultivator, a great gentleman.

lan xichen lifts his face to him. it is early, the early hour lan wangji has carved out of his horrible schedule to visit his brother in the morning; the sky over the mountain is charchoal-dark, smudged, loose around the edges.

cloud recesses is burned, repairing itself slowly, warily waiting another attack. no other sect has reached out to them to offer aid; they have not asked for it, not permitted it.

it would only cause them to be targets to the wen's violence, all the quicker. nonetheless, the nie have written. addressed their letters to zewu-jun, all of them; lan wangji has been glad, selfishly glad, for the excuse to force the world a little further inside the hanshi, lest his brother truly close his doors to it without regret.

lan wangji ought, perhaps, not have worried. this house, that was once his father's, has been his brother's since he was fifteen.

zewu-jun looks up. smiles his flower-blooming smile at him. for the first time in months, a faltering thing, achingly slow beneath the whip marks marring the lovely lines of his cheeks - but it is a kindness lan xichen can give them both.

and lan xichen has always done best with some kindness to give. lan xichen has always been lan wangji's older brother, the one who apologized for failing to be able to protect him, broken fingers gripping tightly at lan wangji's robes.

he has no spiritual energy to burn his spy report, but there is an incense burner at the ready beside his teacup.

the smell of the sodden paper burning is thick in the air, a little cloying, ink-dark. they sit down together, the twin jades of lan, letting the tea grow cold to watch the steam rise over their heads.

something eases in lan wangji's shoulders. he breathes in, a little easier.

"i will take care," he says. his heart, pressing against his throat, is immense and alive with pride, a burning faith. in this, if nothing else; in him, if no one else. "wangji promises."

he bows low, on his way out. a vassal to their sect leader, a filial brother to his elder. lan xichen taps him lightly with the side of his crutches, lifts him up, gives him his blessings.

wen ruohan's deputy cuts his arm off, before killing him. lan wangji wraps it carefully, to send to gusu, the very night of victory.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

#OOH #don't get me wrong i adore canon Mujika we love a pacifist girlie #but damn her pulling out a sword and baring her fangs is doing things to me #i love fanart that shows off her demon features fr #its probably because of the evil blood thing but i always thought she was a bit too human-looking yk #she is a creature let her show her fangs and claws 🥰 #also prev what doodles i need to see them (via @darklight-owl on this comic by @frozentothetouch)

My bad with the wording; the doodles I was referring to are the chapter 46 and 48 bonus sketches and the concept art from the art book and mystic code book that have been out for a while.

The chapter 48 one shows her eating a whole chicken in one bite. The chapter 46 one isn't quite as noticeable, but it's a convenient visual divide between what could easily pass as human on quick glance—the angle purposely obscuring the sixth finger on hand with how they're posed—and her feet, which is what tips Ray off in chapter 45/46 that Mujika is a demon in the dark cave Sonju constructed since she was taking great care to hide her hands from him and Emma. The angle we see them at in the water further distorts their appearance, making them look even more alien, and I think it's an interesting way for Demizu to illustrate that mental divide the Grace Field children have of her at this point to an audience experiencing the series through the volume releases. She's a demon, yes, but she's not in the same category as the one they were chased by earlier or the ones they envisioned prior to escaping in their minds, and the easiest physical reminder of that is separated from her in their minds.

This is something I've mentioned before on this post about some of my gripes with the series and how there's something to be said about the anthropocentric idea of humans being the pinnacle of intelligence demons strive to maintain and the organisms they desire to physically mimic (albeit at a larger scale and not exactly one-to-one), but it's something that I can accept given the target demographic of the series, this not being a series-original sin, and most importantly, the parasitic symbolism of those in the upper echelons of a hierarchical society needing someone beneath them in order to maintain their material comforts and define their sense of self and worth in relation to the world around them to avoid cognitive dissonance and doxastic anxiety.

The mystic code book shows her and Sonju looking even more human like a lot of other early demon designs, though there's one sketch of her barring her fangs.

And art book shows some designs further along in the process.

Some other demon designs under the cut for people who haven't seen them already:

[ravenyenn19]

I didn’t plan on 700k words but like… I knew I was going to pop off. (Also didn’t plan on ever posting it for others. So so so grateful I did🥹)

[benevolenterrancy]

bros don't let bros walk around with their chest torn open

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Deal With a Demon - Part Four

You try to help Beetlejuice set up the store's information, but you both get a little distracted.

Beetlejuice x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 4100

Warnings: References to demons and witchcraft, background references to a sex shop, oral sex (fem receiving), coming untouched.

Previous | Masterlist

---

You took a deep breath in through your nose, reveling in the rush of it: Halloween. Or, as witches knew it, All Hallows’ Eve. 

Witches with a strong connection to nature got a little more out of the solstices - dark and light at winter and spring, respectively - but All Hallows’ Eve was more egalitarian. 

It was a magical time for everyone, really. The changing leaves were just at their most vibrant and the skies stretched a pale blue overhead. The crisp chill of fall gave each breath a hint of spice and the ground felt solid as iron beneath your booted feet. Spices from baked treats and flavored drinks filled the air. The world seemed to be simultaneously holding its breath and flinging itself vicariously through every moment.

The magic was growing stronger. It felt like you were tapping into the power without any effort at all, and the energy danced over your skin like a series of tingling electric shocks. 

Your senses were heightened, too. Your sight (and Sight) was improved, and you could hear even the faintest sound with clarity. A thousand invisible textures danced under your fingertips, and you could smell anything in the neighborhood from your home.

Which was why you hardly needed Beetlejuice to voice his complaints aloud: “This is so boring.” 

“You’re the one who decided to start a small business,” you pointed out, watching the leaves flutter past the open window. It was far more relaxing than focusing on the pouting pleasure demon in your living room or the intimidating number of forms spread around your ancient laptop. 

When you sensed that Beetlejuice was getting ready to launch another complaint, you gave him a stern look. “And you’re the one who decided that hypnotizing someone to give you a business license was better than doing all of the paperwork.” 

“It is better,” he muttered mutinously. “So why are we doin’ all-a this?” 

“Because,” you explained again, “if someone goes to dig up information about the store - and they will - everything needs to be legitimate.”

Maybe the explanation was harsher than was strictly necessary, but this was the dozenth time you had delivered it. You had run out of patience several hours before and relied on magical means instead. When Beetlejuice’s expression went pouty yet again, you drained what was left of the calming potion at your elbow. Well, technically, second calming potion. You had chugged the first to keep from committing murder against a being who was already dead. 

Wait. Were demons technically alive even though they had never been born? And if they couldn’t be said to be alive, they could hardly be dead, either. Maybe demons existed somewhere outside of the alive/dead dichotomy. 

You shook off the philosophical musings as Beetlejuice started muttering to himself. 

That was certainly enough of that. You weren’t about to let a petulant demon ruin your day, especially not All Hallows’ Eve. “Beetlejuice.” 

The demon in question flinched violently at your use of his name. When he saw the sternness on your face, he seemed to settle in for work. “Okay, fine, let’s do paperwork. But I’m not gonna be excited about it.” 

“Noted,” you said dryly. “Luckily for you, I’ve done most of the hard work myself. I just need some information about dates and where the funding is supposedly from. And we need to pick a new name.” 

“Ooh, a new name,” Beetlejuice said, instantly distracted by that. “What were ya thinkin’? I know I said you could change it, but I kinda like the one we got now...”

“No, it needs to be changed,” you reminded him. “If for no other reason than that it’s not very sexy.” 

Beetlejuice looked offended, baring greenish teeth at that. “Are you sayin’ my name’s not sexy, toots?” 

“It’s not,” you confirmed, but hurried to offer more of an explanation. “But only because the customers haven’t met you yet. You’re not sexy because of your name; the name is sexy because of you.”

“Oh.” He visibly relaxed. “That’s true. I am pretty irresistible.” 

You glanced at a spare piece of paper, hiding a smile. If Beetlejuice was always going to be this easily managed, maybe there was hope for this store. “I have a few ideas written down if you want to take a look. Let me know if there are any that stand out.” 

“Boring,” Beetlejuice announced, scorching a hole through the first name with his fingertip. He continued down the list even as the edges of the first hole continued to smoke and curl. “Overused. Stupid. Boring. Boring. Boring.” 

By your count, that was all of the names you had written. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to find a new copy of that particular form…”

“It needs to be something catchy,” Beetlejuice said, ignoring you and tossing the paper away in favor of framing an imaginary sign in the air. You did your best to listen as you scrambled to pick up the smoldering paper before it caught anything on fire. “It needs to snap, ya know? Grab your attention. But still be somethin’ we can work with. The name can’t overpower the store itself. Otherwise, it’s like… Ya know when you meet the worst, most boring person, but they’ve got a name like… like…”

“Beetlejuice?” you supplied dryly. 

He pointed a blackened fingernail at you. “Watch it, babes. That’s two digs at my name and two times you’ve used it. I’m gonna start taking it personally.” 

“Wish you’d take your business seriously,” you quipped, only partially joking. 

“That’s it,” he growled, eyes flashing in a way that felt more like an animal’s eyes at night than a person. Honestly, deer should have come to mind given your typical life experiences, but all you could think of was a crocodile. “I’m done listenin’ to this kind of abuse.” 

“Is there a different kind you’d prefer?” you asked, betting on the fact that Beetlejuice hadn’t seen enough old movies to be familiar with the joke. 

Sure enough, it took him a moment to work through that, but after he had finished absorbing it, his stained fingertips shot out in your direction. The grasp on your upper arm wasn’t tight, but it was… odd. Beetlejuice’s hands didn’t have the right amount of give in them, not like a normal person’s.

Before you could be swept away in another round of philosophical musings about demons, Beetlejuice used that grip to pull you toward himself. 

You watched, fascinated as his figure grew larger in your perspective, then he was gone. It wasn’t until your hands and knees hit the floor that you realized he had let you go mid-pull, flinging you past himself and onto the ground. 

“What the fuck?” you demanded. 

At the same time, Beetlejuice asked, “What the fuck?” 

While you were glaring at him, the demon was staring down at his own hands, studying them like he would see something moving beneath his pale, dirt-stained skin. 

You took a moment to collect yourself, making sure nothing was broken, sprained, or otherwise damaged. With that done, you tried to demand to know why Beetlejuice had tossed you across the room, but he was so busy talking to you that he didn’t answer any of your questions. And, to be fair, you weren’t answering any of his. And so, you decided to be the bigger person and stop talking. (It definitely wasn’t because you couldn’t concentrate if both of you were speaking at once and trying was going to give you a migraine. Not at all.)

“Fine!” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air and scrambling to your feet. “You talk first. Go!” 

“What the fuck was that? Why are you crawling with magic?” Beetlejuice demanded. Something in his tone told you it wasn’t the first time he had asked it. 

You gave him the stare that deserved. Maybe demons didn’t have as strong a connection to the day as witches, but there was no way he couldn’t feel the way magic hung thick in the air. You could feel it pulse, feel it breathe. You could have been locked in a windowless basement, wrapped in a tarp, and suffering from history’s worst head cold and you still would have known what day it was.

But you tried to be kind. It helped that you counted to ten, then twenty as you took your position on the couch once more. That brief break helped keep your tone even as you answered, “It’s All Hallows’ Eve.” 

Beetlejuice looked blank for a moment, then let out a cackle that belonged on every Halloween sound effect CD you’d grown up hearing. “That explains the power. The way it’s just spillin’ outta you.” 

The way he said it turned an already-odd statement into something dirty. When he licked his lips, tongue only serving to draw attention to his overly sharp teeth, you could tell it had been on purpose. “Don’t you dare. We still have work to do.” 

“C’mon, babes,” he purred, clearly not dissuaded by your sharp tone. “You know I feed on sex. It’ll make both of us feel better.” 

“And then I end up doing the rest of this by myself?” you demanded, gesturing broadly to the mass of papers across your coffee table. “I’ll pass, thanks. At least choose a name. Then we’ll have sex before you leave. Okay?” 

“I think better when my dick doesn’t have dibs on the blood supply,” Beetlejuice countered, unabashedly adjusting himself. “It just makes sense - I suck a little power from the person I fuck and ya have way too much power going on right now. I’m not gonna be able to focus until the two of us get down and dirty.”

“Well, we can cross sweet-talking off your list of skills,” you said dryly. 

Beetlejuice scoffed. “Toots, we both know dirty talk is the most important skill. Fuck sweet-talking. Besides, we both know how good I am with my tongue.” 

You rolled your eyes, though it wasn’t easy to look away from the dizzying display created by his waggling eyebrows. “Beej…” 

“Okay, I’ll make a deal with ya.” That got your attention. If there was one thing Beetlejuice took seriously, it was a deal. “Lemme remind ya how much ya like my tongue, then I’ll do as much boring paperwork as ya want.”

It seemed like a good deal. That in itself was suspicious. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you disappear as soon as the terms of the deal are complete?” 

“What? No, that’s not true! Who told ya-?” Beetlejuice dropped his offended act when you didn’t seem even slightly convinced. “Okay, I usually do, but it’s not a requirement. It’s just a convenient out, ya know? But I don’t have to leave right away. Don’t’cha remember the first deal we made?”

“Yeah, I do remember,” you admitted. The demon nodded, but otherwise, kept watching you expectantly. You sighed despite yourself. You didn’t want to break your concentration streak, but Beetlejuice had already done that. And you couldn’t deny that part of you was eager to see how the extra power would impact sex. 

So you fixed Beetlejuice with a hard stare. “And you promise that you’ll actually help afterward?” 

“Absolutely, doll,” he said, nodding too many times. “Anything ya want, I’ll do it. I promise. I swear.” 

“And it’s not going to hurt when you siphon power from me?” you checked. 

He shrugged. “Ya haven’t complained any of the other times.” 

The suspicion you felt must have been clear on your face, since Beetlejuice rose up on his knees. With the broken springs and worn cushions of your couch, your faces were on the same level. “One way to check.” 

Well, surely there was nothing to lose by this point… You leaned forward, tasting the mossy rain scent of Beetlejuice on the air an instant before your lips met. Someone gasped and you weren’t entirely sure whether it was you or the demon. The power had gathered where you touched him, like static electricity in a globe. It focused on the places where your skin touched, making your lips and tongue tingle as you explored just how strong an effect the magic had on you.

When you parted, both you and Beetlejuice were panting. He watched you intently, pupils blown wide with desire. You couldn’t blame him - it had felt amazing, and if he was right, you were actually losing power. How incredible would it feel if you had been gaining it instead?

“Okay,” you relented. “I guess we can- ah!”

Without warning, Beetlejuice worked his magic and stripped every stitch of clothing from you. His shirt was gone, but he was still wearing his pants. One grubby sock clung to his foot. If pressed, you would have bet that he didn’t own a pair of socks, let alone wear them. 

Before you could begin processing that, he had muscled his way between your legs and grabbed behind your knees. After a hard yank, he buried his face between your legs as you gasped and clutched his head.

Your hands flew to his hair, burying in the thick, shockingly soft strands as you tried to catch your breath and moan at the same time. “Beetle-”

Sharp teeth sank into the tender skin of your inner thigh and you let out a soft cry. “None’a that. You know the rules,” Beetlejuice murmured against you, kissing your leg gently before he set to work sucking a mark into your flesh. Just as the pressure of his lips seemed to reach an apex, the magic felt like it took a deep breath, gathering where Beetlejuice was pressed. 

The resulting pulse of magic made you groan… and pulled a whimper out of Beetlejuice. 

Before you could fully soak that noise in, though it was echoing deliciously in your ears, Beetlejuice moved back toward more sensitive places. His tongue slid out of his mouth… and out… and out, until the tip of it was wriggling against you without him moving any closer to your core. It was disturbing, almost enough to shake you from your lustful stupor, but then it brushed over your clit and you stopped caring. 

 Beetlejuice reined himself in, bringing his tongue back to a normal length as he nosed up and down your slit, laving everything with attention. Well, almost everything. He seemed to be pointedly avoiding your clit then. Part of you was grumpy about that, but with the intensity of everything else, you had to wonder if you would survive him making direct contact with all of the nerves gathered there. 

But you hardly had a moment to note the lack of stimulation before your attention was drawn elsewhere. One thick, cool finger pierced the heart of you and thrust ever deeper until it was buried as far as he could reach. The intrusion felt sharp and intense, but right in a way that felt far too important considering that it was nothing more than a finger. 

You knew he was a powerful demon and you had a half a beat to wonder if he could shift forms, or alter his usual one. Gifting himself several extra mouths and tongues was the only way you could picture him being everywhere it felt like he was. 

Of course, all of those musings were there one instant and gone the next. That was approximately how long it took the sensations to hit you, and then the only thing you could do was desperately bury your hands in Beetlejuice’s hair and ride his tongue.

He gave you plenty to work with, too. He had proven several times that he had far too long a tongue for a typical human, and he seemed determined to coax every inch of it into the tight clasp of your core. As soon as you got used to the odd flexibility of the muscle inside of you, your body clenched so hard that you thought you would push him back out. At any rate, you were quickly getting addicted to the sensation. 

When Beetlejuice withdrew his tongue, it was to give his full attention to that wonderfully sensitive bud at the top of your slit. He didn’t ease into it - no, he wrapped his lips around it and sucked hard. 

You shrieked, thighs fighting to close and push him out, but the demon simply tossed your legs over his shoulders. With your calves and feet dangling helplessly down his back, your kicks were ineffective. You were utterly at his mercy as he feasted on you, and Beetlejuice had never struck you as the merciful type. Your hips danced in his steely grip and even you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to move closer to him or further away. 

Your climax hit you out of nowhere, fully blindsiding both you and Beetlejuice. Your throat hurt with the noises you were forcing from it, but you couldn’t hear any of them. The flood of pleasure rushing through your brain made it ignore silly things, like your sense of hearing. Your fingers were sank deep in Beetlejuice’s hair, wrapped so tightly that your fingers ached with it. You used that grip to hold him against you, hips bucking as you rode his face.

The orgasm was like a feedback loop - the sounds he made sent a wave of wetness between your thighs and a wave of magic absolutely everywhere on your body. When the magic tingled its way through you, it impacted Beetlejuice as well. He was moaning helplessly, fingers convulsing on your hips. The few times you were able to pry your eyes open, you found that he had his closed. 

The pleasure stretched on and on, lasting until your body was aching and your folds were too sensitive to be touched. Beetlejuice was still working you, trying to draw out sensations that had already concluded. You couldn’t fully blame him, though: you were still holding him in place and he didn’t have a choice. 

When you managed to release your grip on his hair, Beetlejuice flopped backward, the hard impact leaving him sprawled on the floor. 

“That was… incredible,” you panted out at last.

“You’re tellin’ me, babes,” Beetlejuice said, sitting up with a wince and a glance at his crotch. “If I don’t take care’a this soon, I’m gonna peel off some skin with these pants.”

“Did you..?” you started, trailing off awkwardly. Ridiculous as it was, it seemed indelicate to ask your demonic lover if he had come in his pants. Instead, you just gave a vague sort of wave. “You know…”

“Go off like a kid who just saw his first nudie mag?” Beetlejuice asked, waggling his eyebrows. “Yeah, sure fuckin’ did.” 

“‘Nudie mag’?” you echoed, grimacing. “Are you a Beastie Boy circa 1992? Never say that again.”

“That song was ��86, but fine,” he agreed easily. “How about-?”

“Why didn’t you just magic your pants away when you did everything else?” you asked loudly, talking over the first of what promised to be a long list of euphemisms for porn. 

“Hey, it takes a lot of concentration to do what I do,” Beetlejuice informed you haughtily. “And I was a little occupied. It seemed more important to get ya naked than make sure I was, too. Just couldn’t wait to get my mouth on that cunt…” 

His gaze got a little intent at that. Your face warmed with embarrassment and your core gave a throb of either eagerness or dismay, you weren’t sure which. But since you weren’t ready to even think about going for another round, you put on your sternest look and tone. “Beetlejuice.”

“Okay, okay,” he agreed gracelessly. “I got my shirt off, but the pants… Well, it’s a delicate area. I actually went too far the other way. This isn’t even mine.” 

You watched Beetlejuice’s toes wriggling in the filthy sock - especially easy given the large hole over his big toe - and shook your head. “Anyway, I hope that was enough of a break for you. We still have work to do for your store.” 

Beetlejuice pursed his lips and made a loud farting sound. “I still think the name is fine.” 

“Yeah?” you asked challengingly. “Let me go ahead and try it out: Bee-”

A mossy-smelling hand clapped over your mouth before you could fully finish the first syllable. “Anyone ever told ya that you’re too mean for how pretty you are?” 

You would have accused him of sucking up if he didn’t sound so disgruntled. “No.” 

Beetlejuice didn’t seem to have any trouble deciphering the muffled word you’d said behind his hand. “Then you’re either meaner to me than you are to them or they’re idiots.”

“Enough sweet talk practice,” you declared. “What do you want to name your store?” 

“I dunno.” Beetlejuice folded one arm behind his head, and there was something about the angle of his elbow that looked either painful or inhuman. You started getting dizzy when you thought about it, so you focused on the wet spot on the crotch of his obnoxiously striped pants to distract yourself. It worked remarkably well. 

Beetlejuice was, of course, fully unaware of your inner distraction. He sighed, rolling his eyes so hard that you could only see the blankness of sclera between his eyelids. “Can’t we do somethin’ easy, like ‘Wicked’?” 

“I think there could be some confusion there,” you reminded him, half-chuckling. Your amusement faded when Beetlejuice gave you a nonplussed stare. “You know, the hit Broadway musical about a girl with green skin? Could be a relative, you know, though I don’t think hers was rot.”

“Mold,” he corrected. “I have mold, not rot. I wish I had rot. And I don’t really keep up on the Broadway musicals, toots. They’re always canceling the good ones and sending them out on a tour that’s probably just as good, but lacks the dependability of a permanent theater.” 

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Just… not Wicked, okay?”

“Sure, fine,” Beetlejuice agreed, sticking his tongue out in concentration. “What about somethin’ that means the same thing?” 

“A synonym?” you mused. “Sure. Let’s see… Bad, wrong, evil, corrupt…”

“Nah, not the right vibe.” 

You nodded. “There are other meanings that lean more into the religious aspect of things, if that’s more along the lines of what you want. Immoral, ungodly, unholy…”

“Unholy has a nice ring to it,” Beetlejuice admitted. “But I don’t wanna give people the wrong idea. My store has plenty of holes in it.” 

Even when you made the noise that boast deserved, Beetlejuice was still grinning. You decided to push past it. “Hateful, rotten, villainous, impure, sinful…”

“That one,” Beetlejuice said decisively, sitting up and running a hand over the hair that you had mussed so thoroughly. “Sinful. It’s got everything I like. Sinning… and being… full. Yeah, Sinful. We’ll have to change the logo.” 

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his choice to memory. You really weren’t ready to stand up yet.

“And we’ll have to change the border.” When you glanced down, Beetlejuice was giving you a knowing look. “I know how much you don’t like the dick snake.” 

“I thought it was clever, having it designed as an ouroboros,” you objected. “Maybe we should add lips to where it’s eating the head. Then it’ll look more like a blow job and less like torture.” 

“Whatever floats their boat,” Beetlejuice told you with a shrug. “I don’t object to a little C&B torture.”

“Okay, I’m done with this conversation.” You stood from the couch, brushing random fuzz from your bare ass. There was a price to be paid for being naked and sweating on cushions that were falling apart. “Give me my clothes back. Now that you’ve picked a name, I can get started on all of the branding.” 

“Ooh, branding is fun.” 

You didn’t need to be psychic to know that he wasn’t talking about company branding… or to recognize that he was messing with you. Rather than reacting, you just threw a skeptical stare over your shoulder. “If you say so. Once we’ve figured out the logo, you can get it branded somewhere delicate. Now, are you giving me my clothes back or do I have to go find something to wear?” 

Beetlejuice pouted, but your clothes were back in a moment. In recognition of his lack of complaining, you decided not to mention that you were missing underwear. 

Again.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween! In case I offended anyone, I have not had the chance to watch Beetlejuice the Musical on tour. I'm sure it's just as good, but I couldn't resist a little fourth-wall breaking.

I don't offer a taglist for mature works, but you can find more on my masterlist.

[inuhalfdemon]

Dirty Dealings (17/21)

Word Count = 3,534 Words

Rating = Mature (Language)

Chapter 17: The Chain

“Poetry.” He smiled wickedly at her. - Alastor

Alastor paused in the doorway leading to Rosie’s studio.

His shadow was stretched out languidly against the barrier to its hellish enclosure; swatting playfully at a giggling Niffty. She quickly scurried the length of the room; sliding to a stop. The shadow; melting into the form of an incredibly large black panther; growled, crouched and then leapt after her, chasing and jumping along with her as she took off and continued around and around the room.

Seeing Rosie’s approach to the sealed pentagram; the shadow turned away from Niffty and pressed itself near to her; rubbing its side all along the shimmering wall and happily chirping a low grumbling purr at her.

“You’re keeping it well fed.” Alastor noted, coming into the room now.

The shadow hurriedly morphed back into Alastor’s distorted shape; darting to the edge of the barrier where he could be nearest to its master. Its jaws gaped at Alastor in a large grin as it rose high above him; pressing itself against the walls of its temporary prison.

“Hey there, guy.” Alastor said to it; pressing his hand to the barrier. Then, leaning against it; he slid himself down so he was seated against the sealed wall; keeping himself as close to the shadow as he possibly was able. The shadow continued its purring rumble; pressing itself closely beside Alastor.

“I hope he has been well behaved.” Alastor told Rosie; his eyes only for the shadow.

“Incredibly so.” Rosie assured him. “He has been nothing but awfully well mannered; I should have expected as much.” She laughed.

Alastor leaned his head back; feeling more wholly himself since the exorcism. Niffty darted into this lap; clambering onto his shoulders to shift through his hair; hoping to find more of the delicious deer ticks he may have brought with him… Not finding any; she amused herself by playing with his long deer ears and swiping his hair in fun and funny sweeps all about with her little hands. 

“It’s very devoted to you, Alastor.” Rosie told him as she watched the shadow.

“It is.” Alastor agreed. “Something I hope it can stay…despite my mistakes…”

“You’re not here for me to return him to you yet, I hope.” Rosie said. “He’s been very beneficial in helping me clear out some of the riff-raff around here…and, you don’t seem like you’re quite up to snuff to try a handle on him quite yet.”

“No, I’m afraid I’m not, my dear.” Alastor admitted. “This whole…incident…has set me back, considerably.” He sighed. “It will take me some time to play at some catching up. There are still years left to continue the reaping…a boon, at least.”

“Alastor, sweetie…” Rosie looked at him seriously. “If anything…you are running out of time. This incident…proves that. I haven’t the faintest idea of what all could have happened in order for us to be here, where we are now but, I do know that things got desperate.”

Alastor’s ears laid flat; he was made uncomfortable by Rosie’s words. Normally; he’d have avoided her seeing this in him; but, after all that she had done for him – she deserved his honesty.

“I thought you had surely killed her.” Rosie told him. “As covered in blood as you were; but then – I thought perhaps your shadow had somehow harmed you; trying to get to her… But, that’s not the truth of it either, is it, my friend?” Rosie waited, and when he didn’t answer she continued. “Those wounds…you created them.”

Upset by their conversation; Niffty had stopped playing with Alastor’s hair. Sliding off his shoulders; and leaping to the floor, she perched herself by his knee – no longer touching him but entirely focused on him.

“Rosie…” Alastor stood up now; but still kept himself against the barrier – near to his shadow. “I have to see this through.”

“I suppose I knew that.” Rosie sighed. “If anything…the exterminations are getting messier and I’m sure you’ve caught wind of the rumors…in regards to the Morningstars.”

“Really, Rosie?” Alastor smirked. “More politics?”

“Something is…brewing here, Alastor. There’s a been a…shift or a change…I’m not sure. But, a storm is coming, heading straight for Hell, I’m sure of it.”

“You’ve never been wrong about these sort of things before.” Alastor agreed.

“As compromising as it might be to you, to continue to cope with involving yourself with this influence you experience; you might be wise to spend a fair length of time away from Hell… Without your shadow; without your power…you’re incredibly vulnerable. We can’t risk anyone finding that out.”

“This could take… more than just some time.” Alastor told her. “I need to collect more souls…and I need to finish this deal. I’m not sure when I might return…” His shadow shifted at this; trying to press itself ever closer.  

“I trust you, Alastor.” Rosie confessed. “As long as you will need; I’ll do whatever is that you may require. I just hope the reward will still be worth all of the trouble this has caused you.”

“Oh, dear Rosie.” Alastor laughed now -  eyes glowing green and his ears perking up at the thought. “It most certainly will be.”

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Alastor returned to Adeline’s apartment directly after his departure from Rosie’s.

It had taken three days since the night of the exorcism for the hellfire to completely work through Alastor’s system. His body was fully repaired; from the damage he himself had caused as well as any damage brought to him throughout the exorcising of his shadow. However; he had spent a great deal of his power in surviving the whole ordeal and; without the presence of his shadow, he was left with a considerable absence of even more of that power. It left him feeling tired, weakened, and agitated…more than that; the loss of his shadow left him feeling torn, hollowed, gutted and empty.

Alastor had never fully found any particular love song relatable…but when Dinah Washington’s “You Don’t Know What Love Is” played to him from the radio one evening in Adeline’s apartment; he thought he might just have found it. That lovesick feeling of bemoaning the loss of a lover.; his dead heart resonating in some deep regret or grief that he could hardly comprehend.

“You don’t know what love is,

Until you’ve learned the meaning of the Blues

Until you’ve loved a love you had to lose:

You don’t know what love is”

You Don’t Know What Love Is – Dinah Washington (1955)

Sing it, sister. Alastor had thought broodily; throwing back the rest of his rye whiskey.

Adeline, watching this; shook her head and wondered at his low mood. She had noted that he didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, and didn’t seem to be very much motivated by anything since the night of their Anniversary. She still felt haunted…by the questions she still had about that night but, like a lot of things that pertained to Alastor; she felt it better not to delve into it. 

When Alastor walked into the kitchen; Adeline saw right away that he was looking and feeling much chipper.

“I started on the Jambalaya, I hope that’s ok.” Adeline told him, setting aside the chicken she had been prepping.

“Of course.” He went to her; kissing her cheek. “Thank you, dearest Adeline.”

“You seem like you’re in a brighter mood.” She told him. “Hunting must have gone well.” Then, “You look tired…though. Did you want to lie down?” She asked him.

His ears swept to the side.

“Right, um…go fuck yourself or whatever makes you feel more comfortable.” She shrugged.

He huffed.

“Actually, what I had in mind takes two.” He told her, sweeping her up into his arms.

“Luc!?” She shrieked, shocked by his sudden antics. “I’m in the middle of cooking!”

“Hm…” He shifted her against his hip so that he could reach across to turn off the stove. “That’s just going to have to wait.”

Swinging around; he started for the hallway, carrying her with him into the bedroom.

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19 years later…

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

March 15th, 2020

New Orleans, Louisiana

Adeline crossed the busy street; following others as they shuffled from the crosswalk and meandered into the heart of the Big Easy. A large tree at the corner cast a dark shadow across the cemented walkway. The shadow touched Adeline as she walked by; sending a chill down her spine…and then he was there.

Alastor appeared just beside her; stepping in time with her just as if they had been walking together her entire way into downtown. It had taken him some time to re-perfect his movements among the shadows since the loss of his own…he still possessed the ability but utilizing it came much less naturally to him. He had skillfully materialized himself beside her now as the radio demon; dressed in his favorite red pinstriped suit; his bowtie and his monocle. Arriving in this form, of course, meant others could not see him; Adeline could but she chose to ignore him.

“Adeline, my dear!” Alastor greeted her energetically through his radio filter. “A pleasant day for a walk into town; to be sure!”

She kept walking; her eyes focused and forward.

“Ah,” Alastor laughed. “I’m getting a bit of the cold shoulder, I see. You know; it reminds me of a joke involving a cannibal fellow who was late to a dinner party… always one for a good laugh.” He chuckled; seemingly unbothered.

She seethed beside him; still walking and saying nothing.

“I suppose you are still rather angry with me…?”

Still nothing from her.

Shrugging, Alastor followed along beside her, humming. He could feel Adeline’s anger simmering just beneath the surface and it made him feel a bit giddy. It had been some time since he’d been able to crawl underneath her skin quite like this.

 “Adeline, Adeline, Adeline…” He softly sung her name, teasing her with it; he could almost feel her hackles rising at the nape of her neck. “You know…one is never fully dressed without a smile, my dear.” He told her with a smirk; watching the corner of her mouth twitch where it was pulled down into a disgusted frown.  

She stopped; waiting for the light to change so that she might cross this next street. She starred ahead at the traffic light; fuming.

Then, thinking of something, he switched tactics.

 “Really, Adeline, this behavior is rather beneath you…would you prefer it if I said I was sorry and I allowed you to lick my cunt?”

That did it.

“Funny…” She said dryly. She remembered briefly how not funny he had found the insult when she had thrown it at him; he certainly hadn’t been laughing then…

Rounding on him; she fixed him with a cold and icy glare.

“I said you were a cunt.” She hissed angrily at him; no longer caring that a couple people had stopped and were staring at her now. “I never said you had one.”

He snickered and it only added fuel to her rage.

“It’s been seven years, Luc. Where the fuck have you been and why did you leave!?”

“Au contraire mademoiselle…” He said smoothly in French. “But, I believe it was you who told me that I could ‘go take a hike’.”

“To cool off!” She nearly yelled at him now. “Not to just – fucking – disappear! Jesus – fuck…Luc. Honestly...” She was shaking from her exasperation; searching for all the rehearsed words she had to throw at him but unable to remember any of them.

“Poetry.” He smiled wickedly at her.

She narrowed her eyes on him.

“You never called on me.” He pointed out.

“I shouldn’t ever fucking have to.” She felt the sting of angry tears coming; but she refused to cry in front him now. “God…maybe I was wrong… you must have a cunt because you’re being a real ornery old bitch right now.”

Alastor’s ears pulled back as he looked down on Adeline.

“This conversation has lost all of it’s charm.” He told her.

“It never had it; it’s a conversation you started.” She turned away from him; finally crossing the street she wanted. He followed her.

Reaching the walk on the other side and still ignoring those people who were stopping and staring; or the ones who were nervously stepping away from her at a safe distance…Adeline turned and faced him.

“What the fuck do you want, Luc?” Her hands were shaking.

“Actually, I came here to…well, to propose a truce.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” If anything, she was becoming more angry with him.

“I’m not.” He said simply.

She groaned. “Could we at least…can we talk about this all…later? I kind of have some things I was planning on doing and now we’ve got everyone in the Big Easy uneasy…”

“Of course.” Alastor complied. “Later….tonight?”

“...sure.” She turned, walking away.

Chuckling to himself; Alastor watched her go before fading away into the shadows.

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For years; Adeline and Alastor had gone about their lives simply and happily together with each other. Alastor focused on obtaining more and more contracts in the collecting of souls; and Adeline turned her attention to finding out what more possibilities there were for her in developing her potential. Otherwise, the both of them were very nearly always together – doing something. Some nights they stayed in; enjoying each others company. Some nights they went out; dining, dancing, going to events and parties or even – on the rare occasion - traveling together.  

Then, though, there came a shift. Adeline discovered new ways to influence and make an impact on others’ lives. She helped people discover their passions; form relationships; find their purpose and even…find themselves. Several times, she even utilized Alastor as a resource, getting him to help her with some of the more trickier scenarios so that everything fell into the perfect place at the perfect time. Despite his hand in things; Alastor often berated or belittled her interest in making such an impact with others.

The people Adeline loved helping the most were the miserable and the desperate. Having been there, herself, she found that she could easily relate to and understand each and every one of their stories and their struggles. Though, she had never stepped up to the ledge – so to speak – she had seriously considered it…and because of this; she saw and recognized that kind of hopelessness in others. She wasn’t always successful, but often she would find someone circling the drain…and with enough time, patience and understanding she helped them discover whatever it was they needed to make their lives worth living.

Alastor – on the other hand – looked down upon the sort of people that Adeline was trying to help. He felt that if someone were left feeling miserable and desperate…they were only bringing the suffering to themselves. If folks simply gritted their teeth and got right to it; there wouldn’t be enough misery to go around. He held to these opinions of his firmly and voiced them rather loudly. Feeling his skepticism as something discouraging…Adeline stopped asking Alastor for his help.

Eventually, with Adeline’s interest focused toward other things; the bed she had shared with Alastor had grown cold. Once this started to happen, Alastor had began to leave – disappearing more and more – for longer and longer amounts of time. This didn’t bother Adeline in a romantic sense…but, it still hurt. This went on for a few years or so; and then – all of a sudden Alastor returned and they were as hungry for each other as they ever were. Something had been re-ignited and they fell back into their natural routine of things…until it happened again. Back and forth it went until Adeline finally began asking herself the hard questions…

She knew Alastor did not love her. She wasn’t even sure if he was truly capable of such a thing. But, she enjoyed his companionship; his company. For a time; it was something she needed. Then…things changed. Adeline began to realize that though the sex they had was…well, incredible…there was nothing substantial to it. Adeline was realizing that not only did Alastor not love her…but she did not love him, herself – nor did she believe that she would ever be capable of it. Realizing this; Adeline felt herself growing more and more…detached. With each new absence; each new length of time that Alastor chose to be elsewhere – she slowly began to understand that she simply did not need him there anymore.

Once this realization was made; they began fighting. Though, Adeline could shamelessly admit that these confrontations were always fairly one-sided. Replacing her hurt with her anger; Adeline lashed out at Alastor. He rarely responded to her bouts of anger with his own and the one night that he had met her with equal vehemence; he had simply left – disappearing from her life entirely – for seven years…until today.

Adeline reflected on all of this as she continued her way through downtown New Orleans. Alastor’s sudden return left her feeling agitated and apprehensive. A part of her still very much missed his company…but at what cost did it come? Where did this leave them in the next few years, the next seven or the next seventy? She always told herself she wouldn’t overthink it…but, all she did for the past seven fucking years was overanalyze everything.

Sighing; she turned off the sidewalk and pushed into the doorway of the old storefront. A jangle rang from a small bell throughout as she stepped into the dark of the building. She blinked a few times; adjusting to the dimness of light.

A few people were there with her; perusing the shelves and stacks of old novels within the bookstore. Paying no notice to any of them; Adeline slipped down an aisle and wound her way through the shelving of books. Finding the aisle she wanted; she slid The Odyssey from a pocket in her jacket and went to replace it into the row of books she had plucked it from days before.

“Guilt got to ya, huh?” A voice came from behind.

Startled, Adeline whirled around and saw a young man leaning against the book of shelves, watching her with a coy smile.

“Shit.” She said. “You scared me!”

“Call it karma.” The young man replied, still smiling. “Though I do appreciate you actually bringing the book back.”

“I had pulled it from the shelf to look at, I never-“ Adeline had started to tell him.

“Uh, huh…” He tilted his head. “You weren’t in here…say…3 days ago? Didn’t spend some time here…browsing through the books before you slipped that one right off the self and ducked out of here?”

“You…you remember seeing me?” Adeline asked him; not daring to believe it.

“Yeah…that’s what I’m saying.” He told her, a little irritated now. “You’re kind of hard to forget; next time you want to steal something, do something about the freckles…they’re a dead give away. Although, I’m not sure what you are doing is really considered stealing…you keep bringing books back here like it’s a library. You know this is not a library, right?”

“Wait.” Adeline gasped. “You’ve seen me….before?” 

“It’s a little concerning to me…that you think you’re hard to notice.” He explained. “I mean…you don’t try very hard to be sneaky about it or anything.”

Adeline just stood there and gapped at him.

“Now, I should tell you.” He stood up straight now; considering her seriously. “I own this store. I’m not big into letting thieves come in here and swipe stuff off the shelves…but, if you keep returning them – in the condition you found them in – I guess I don’t really care.”

“Wait…” Adeline said again. “What?”

The young man laughed. Adeline realized that he was the only one she ever saw working here. He usually manned the counter at the back of the store or was putting out new inventory throughout the store. He was somewhere in his late 20’s maybe…his head was a pile of brown curls and behind his glasses she saw that his eyes were a beautiful shade of green.

“Did you want me to help you find anything to sneak out today?” He snickered.

“Um, no…I think I’m good.” She told him.

“You’re sure? I just got in a copy of Beowulf.” 

She hesitated; really not knowing what she should say or do here.

“Hold on,” He told her. “I’ll go grab it for you.”

She followed him to the back of the store; her mind racing. None of this made any sense. How was it possible that he remembered her?

But, then he went behind the counter, his back fully and completely turned to her, bending down and grabbing the book; he stood back up and turned to face her again.

“Here.” He slid the book over to her. “You can just bring it back whenever.”

Adeline took the book; starring at it as she tried to process all that was happening right now.

“It’s really ok.” The man was telling her; likely noticing the shaking of her hands.

Adeline looked back at him. A “thank you” forming in her mouth just as she saw it…a thick, heavy shackle and chain – shimmering darkly in a vibrant glowing green - hanging from the young man’s neck.

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Chapter 18

[ravens-dagger]

Writing this arcane fic has had the unexpected side-effect of me unironically falling for Jayce oh my god this man is such a sweetie pie. For a long time in my head he was Just A Guy™️

Also this is me saying I'm writing an arcane fic lmao. I looked at those cosmic soulmates and went "what if there was a third?" And now I'm nearly 10k words deep. This is how I cope with Viktor dying I am pathologically avoiding it no thank you what if the mere presence of a third person actually saved them from being destroyed by the acceleration rune? Hm? Did you ever consider that?

[nyxyooni]

(3) Honey Ties

Prev/Next

hello! i'm back!!! i know its been a little over a year, trust me. out of all the fics that i have not updated this is the one that haunts my nightmares the most. BUT enough of that, im here! this is here!!!!! not only is this an update, but ive also just made up my mind, literally as im typing this out as to what this whole thing is gonna be. and im thinking of a slice-of-life-esque collection of loosely connected chapters with very little plot scattered about.

and! before you continue, this is also my informal invitation for you, my dear and wonderful readers, to make requests for any future updates! i'll make another update as to what im comfortable with writing for this particular story later! so, without further ado, lets go!

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In retrospect, the man kept a decent amount of distance between himself and Bruce, one hand was steadily holding out a flute of champagne while the one next to Bruce clutched the opposite lapel of his suit jacket. Really, he was most likely leaning closer to their father simply to speak clearly to him. His eyes, although hard to see through the glare of the glasses covering them were looking at Bruce's face with respectful interest, an easy smile on his moving lips. There was nothing scummy about the man, nothing threatening—well except maybe for the sheer size of him but then again, his shoulders were slumped, rounded despite their broadness.

"Jason!" Hissing as he reached a hand to the bigger man in front of him, so close to being able to grab him, and lamenting when his hands failed short a mere inch. At least Jason wasn't bulldozing people out of the way, small victories he guessed. "Jason!" Near desperate Dick threw himself at the hulking figure of his younger brother stuttering to a stop just as Jason froze, suddenly becoming a brick wall. "Jason for the love of god, get your issues under control you absolute freak—"

And they were right in front of Bruce and the stranger, except that the stranger wasn't a stranger at all.

"Mr. Kent?" Straightening in order to stand next to his brother, Dick suddenly felt a little stupid for being even remotely suspicious of Clark Kent, granted he hadn't known it was him, but still, the man couldn't hurt a fly even if he tried.

"Hm? Oh!" Straightening up with a little jolt Clark Kent patted his free hand against his thigh, letting go of the suit to reveal the fact it didn't quite fit properly but he was smiling gently, dimples sinking into his tan cheeks, "hello, Mr. Grayson, Mr. Todd." Nodding at both of them, voice sure and body steady. "I don't mean to be rude or overstep my boundaries, but it is a wonder to see you at one of these events, Mr. Todd."

Huffing, relaxing at long last Jason popped out one of his hips as he crossed his arms, beside him Dick also deflated, taking a nice, slow deep breath and lifting his head to smile at the reporter. "Mr. Kent, you know how we feel about you addressing us like that," Dick would probably say out loud in his next interview, that Clark Kent was his favorite reporter of all time. Something about the man felt incredibly warm.

Laughing, somehow in a way that felt like walking out onto the porch of a country house on a warm summer morning, Clark Kent's smile grew. It dulled the intricate glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.  "And if I remember clearly, I said that the only way I would stop was if you would stop calling me as such," peeling away fully from Bruce and the baby, Damian following the movement with a small sway of his body, Clark stood a couple of steps away from their father, "in that regard, I can see the family resemblance..."

It was slow, it was gentle, and somehow, despite being in the middle of a gala, full of old, rich people with money stuffed all the way up their asses, they looked at each other as though they were alone. Dick took a step closer, his body moving on its own.

"I am here to pry. What is a man such as yourself doing here, Mr. Kent?" Jason's voice cut through Dick, it made little baby Damian snap his head over with his mouth open. Only Bruce remained serene, with a gentle smile as he looked at everyone gathered around him, gently bouncing Damian. "Out of all the stuck-up people who just love to talk about themselves, you're here, bothering our father and—"

"Jason..." Bruce's voice wasn't hard, it never was, and never had been, and if Dick were to bet money on it, couldn't be. "Let's not be rude, Mr. Kent and I were just having a nice conversation," in his arms the baby seemed to focus on Clark Kent, body leaning over, to stretch out towards the reporter, hands flailing and mouth moving in words that were not words and could not be heard over all the other noise. "What is it, baby, hm?"

Moving Damian, shifting him so that he held him up in front of his face from somewhere under his shoulders, hands wrapped securely around his body, cradling his ribs. However, Damian leaned over to the side, hands reaching and reaching. Toward Clark Kent.

All four of them stared at the baby, shock clear across their faces, Clark Kent stared blankly until a smile broke out on his face, so very unlike the previous one. Somehow it shined brighter, it made Dick take half a step back and made Jason go rigid. It was obvious, he was whole-heartedly and unabashedly endeared with the little bundle of joy currently trying to claw his way into his arms and out of his father.

Raising a hand, curled weakly, Clark Kent used two of his fingers to pinch the baby's cheeks, he did not take Damian into his arms the way the baby wanted, but he did give him attention. The man stepped closer, hunched down so that he could look into those priceless jewel-green eyes, and smiled. "I don't know, baby, maybe you should stay with your daddy?" It was near deafening, the soft tenor and sway of Clark Kent's voice amidst the maddening constant buzz of the crowd around them. "Who is he gonna hold if I'm the one holding you, hm?" Letting go of the soft supple skin to instead gently rub with the back of his index finger the man smiled again.

Damian whined, high and reedy and short, he wriggled one last time and sighed. As though a wave of sleepiness hit him all at once he settled against Bruce's chest. Blinking slowly and instinctively moving his hand up to his mouth so he could suck on his curled fist.

No one moved, no one made so much as a sound. Even when around them the buzz seemed to be near a delirious height the baby's body relaxed, chest rising and caving slowly and steadily like. Damian had fallen asleep.

Awestruck, Dick reached out to gently poke one of Damian's soft, chubby cheeks as though he couldn't possibly believe what the baby had done. It wasn't that Damian struggled to sleep, at least not when he was comfortable and in a quiet peaceful space, not silent, the baby seemed to love the sound of their father's voice, or the soft chirping of birds, the trickle of water from a stream, the pitter-patter of gentle rain. Never silent, simply calm. The beating of their father's heart as he slipped away into slumber atop his chest.

Damian disliked loud, chaos that held no rhyme not reason, crashes, bangs, or pops, just like any baby. Damian loved the sound of his family, just like any baby.

"Well, would you look at that," gently maneuvering the baby so he was being cradled in his arms, Bruce smiled up at Clark Kent, that utterly wonderful and disarming smile and made his eyes crinkle and his dimples show. "It seems that my baby was all tuckered out, it has been a very exciting day for him," halfway through his sentence, Bruce had instead focused on Damian, speaking down to him in a hushed tone. Leaning down to plant a dry kiss on the baby's forehead. "Does anyone have the time?"

All three of them snapped to attention at finally being addressed, neither Dick nor Jason had their phones on them, Alfred insisting that it was ruining their suits pointlessly so. Still standing beside their father, Clark Kent brought his wrist up in a quick, sharp movement and slid his sleeve down so he could peer down to his watch for about three seconds.

"It seems to be a quarter to eleven," came the man's smooth voice. His glasses had slid down his nose, resting at the very tip. Swiftly he pushed them up with his middle finger in a practiced motion from years that had transformed it to instinct.

"Dad." Jason called out, voice taking that tall-tale brattish tone that had irked Dick to insanity when they were still getting used to being around each other. The shock of having the young man call their father as such settled in right after the irritating bit of nostalgia. "If you still want to hang around and..." trailing off, pointedly looking Clark Kent up and down, he finished with a clear expression of distaste. "Mingle... I'll take Damian up to his room."

Bruce looked from his son to Clark Kent, he wasn't stupid, he knew his children. Knew how to read their moods, how to soothe them, and how to speak to them, Bruce knew when they lied to him and when they kept secrets from him. Like how he knew there was something all of his kids were keeping something from, something big, that no matter how much he wanted to know, no matter how it hurt to not be trusted, would wait for them to tell him. Bruce knew his children, and because he knew his children, he was keenly aware that Jason did not likeClark Kent.

"Oh Jason," stepping forward to his son, not for the first and definitely not for the last time, startled at how the young man was taller than him, "don't worry about that, I'll take him up, get him nice and settled." Cupping the side of his face, Bruce smiled when Jason's shoulder's relaxed, "stay here, make sure nobody tries to steal Dick away, or worse, Tim." Grinning, he dropped his hand, stepping away and towards the way out, "I'm worried that he'll try and bite someone again."

Dick's laughter leaves his chest before he even realized it. Someone had once made the mistake of trying to... cozy up with Tim while the boy was practically falling asleep on his feet, never mind the fact he was still very underage. The outcome had been hilarious. And very satisfying, Bruce had unleashed hell on the degenerate and was banished from any and all future galas that he hosted.

"Mm, I don't know..." Jason rested his chin on the webbing between his index finger and thumb, "it was pretty funny last time... something tells me it'll be pretty funny a second time..."

Huffing fondly, with a roll of his eyes, their father shook his head as he turned around. Maneuvering around people with an amount of tact and ease that made all three men jealous.

"Well... that went great!" Dick turned to Clark Kent with a clap of his hands and a smile on his face. Beside him Jason grumbled, refusing to look at the reporter and instead surveyed the hall, glad that in about an hour or so, everyone would be gone and their home would return to the peaceful atmosphere he had learned to appreciate. "We understand that you and Dad were talking and... we want to apologize for interrupting—"

"I don't."

"—since you two seemed to get along and, while I shouldn't be saying this, Dad doesn't have many friends, so I appreciate that he had you to talk to tonight." Finished Dick, as though he hadn't been interrupted at all. 

Clark Kent looked at them both with mirth dancing in his blue eyes, the shade was darker than their father's, it was almost like the blue that inked the ocean, low and mellow, or the rich blue spanning over a field of wheat, reminiscent of serenity. As they gazed at them, however, it matched the blue of kings, the reflection of the lights against his lenses made due for the golden accents. His smirk charming, the curls of his hair that fell just right over his forehead enough to distract from the ill-fitted suit. Flute of champagne half empty in his hands. 

"Please! None of that!" He was smiling, dimples deep, he looked younger this way, disarming, Dick narrowed his eyes, careful to safeguard his own smile. "It was entirely my pleasure, not many people can say that they've had the privilege of speaking with Bruce Wayne, to count myself as one of the lucky few, well... it's almost a dream come true." Clark Kent's voice was smooth, almost impossibly so. 

Jason felt a sneer pulling at the edges of his mouth, that wasn't what a friend would say. He knew something was up with Kent, if it wasn't to try to wheedle some bullshit to fill half a collum on the front page of The Daily Planet, then, of course, it was to get nice and cozy with their father. 

"If you two would excuse me," the man was speaking again, dimples and curls and big blues, "it's been a rather exciting day and an even more exciting night." He was bowing his head, in respect, "and well, I find myself a long way from home. Good night, Mr. Grayson," he held a hand out towards Dick, who took it and shook it, amiably. "Mr. Todd." Then out to Jason, who took the hand, and squeezed a little harder than he should've, in return, the dimples and the man deepened. 

Watching the man walking away, lacking the same grace of his father but still impressive in his own manner, a bad feeling began to stir in their stomachs.