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chestcongestion · 6 months ago

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Practical Ill Effects: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Finally finished! The "faking someone else's sickness" trope with Al/ast/or. Fic is under the cut as always, I had a lot of fun working with this and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! ^^

Word count: 6.5K

Content warnings: Manipulation/ Gaslighting, Drugging, Food tampering (This whole fic is basically "Al/ast/or gets gaslit for 6 thousand words")

“This blows,” Angel scoffed, sitting on top of a dumpster in an alley that was a brisk walk away from the hotel. Husk was sitting on the dumpster to his right, and Niffty was running around in circles, stepping on ants with her tiny feet.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Husk said, taking a swig of whiskey from his flask before slipping it back into his pocket.

The trio of demons were gathered in the alley for a meeting of minds of sorts. In two days, Charlie and Vaggie would be leaving with Lucifer on a trip to the Wrath Ring, and while they were gone, the rest of the group would be heading to LuLu World as a reward for their incredible progress.

However, Vaggie was skeptical about the group behaving themselves in public without a ‘sane, responsible adult present’, and elected to- ironically- put Alastor in charge of chaperoning them for the trip, something the Radio Demon took glee in accepting.

“How he is the responsible one out of the four of us, I have no fuckin’ idea,” Husk grumbled, folding his arms.

“Maybe it’s just ‘cause he’s the oldest,” Niffty offered.

“We’re all basically the same age, that’s bullshit,” Angel replied, massaging his temples, “How’re we gonna ditch ‘im?”

“Ooo! We could hit him in the head with something heavy! Like a piano!” Niffty proposed, jittering in place at the idea.

“This ain’t a cartoon, Niff, we’re not droppin’ a piano on his head,” Angel argued, “I don’t think he’ll let us get close enough to ‘im to do somethin’ like that anyways.”

Husk leaned back against the brick wall behind the dumpster, a mischievous grin spreading onto his feline face, “Charlie’d probably force him to stay behind and let us go on our own if he was sick,” he said.

“But he ain’t,” Angel replied.

“Who says Charlie has to know that?” Husk said, his smile widening as he hopped off of the dumpster, dusting off the seat of his pants.

“But he’d just tell ‘er he’s fine,” Angel said, still sounding skeptical.

“He’d do that anyways, he’d insist that he’s fine even if you were wavin’ positive test results in his face… if anything, that’ll help,” Husk explained, cracking his knuckles, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Alright, spill, I’m all ears,” Angel said, kicking his feet as Husk paced back and forth between the dumpsters.

“I know that fucker’s allergic to oak moss… he used to force me to shower every time I tried to wear cologne,” Husk grumbled, “If all three of us wore it… just a little, it’d be enough to set him off without anybody noticing.”

“O ooo, that’s so bad, I love it,” Angel said, sighing wistfully as he hopped down from his dumpster perch, stretching out his back.

“That ain’t the entire plan, but it is the first step, I’m gonna have to explain it quick, that motherfucker’s always eavesdropping,” Husk explained.

After a brief huddle, the triad of demons went back into the hotel through the rear entrance, disappearing into separate rooms for about an hour.

Later on that evening, Alastor was sitting in his armchair in the parlor and reading a book, when Husk wandered downstairs, taking his station at the bar and taking inventory of the bottles, gently ruffling his wings.

Alastor sniffled quietly, swiping a finger under his nostrils before returning to his book.

“Feet up, Alastor! I need to get a stain out of the carpet!” Niffty requested, ducking underneath Alastor’s feet and scrubbing away at the rug with a washcloth, the smear of oak moss perfume oil that Husk placed on the back of her neck wafting up towards Alastor.

Alastor sniffled a bit harder, his sinuses and the back of his throat beginning to itch, “Hmm,” he hummed to himself, getting up from his chair and swallowing experimentally, feeling a scratchiness in the back of his throat.

“Heya Alastor, Fat Nuggets stole one ‘o your slippers earlier, wanted to let ya’ know I put it back,” Angel said, gently pushing up his chest fluff, pretending to glance at Alastor’s hair, “I’ve been meanin’ to ask… was this your natural color back when you were alive?”

While looking, Angel gently reached around and smeared a bit of oak moss perfume residue on the back of Alastor’s neck, pretending to reach out and touch his red locks.

Alastor sniffled, nudging Angel away with his microphone and struggling to keep his hands away from his twitching nose, “Hh… H-hihh… No, no it wasn’t, my hair was dark brown, thank you… hHih!” he replied, covering his nose and mouth with one hand when the oak moss fumes from the oil on his neck made his nose start to run, a speedy trickle threatening to run all the way down to his chin.

“You alright, Smiles?” Angel asked, fluffing out his hair and watching as another mist of allergenic droplets wafted into Alastor’s face.

“Y-Yihh… Ehh… Hh!!” Alastor paused, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping off his drippy nostrils before accidentally letting out a heavy, congested sniffle, “SDdfFF! SnFF-SnrRK!”

A silence fell over the room, and Alastor wanted to disappear under the floorboards. What was happening to him? He couldn’t smell anything suspicious before and with the sudden rush of congestion, he certainly wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

“You didn’t hear that,” Alastor threatened, feeling another bloom of histamine tickling his nose, “SnFF-SnFF! Hehh… Ehh…H-hehh!” Alastor fanned a hand in front of his face, the overwhelming urge to sneeze building to a crescendo so quickly that he didn’t have time to teleport someplace to hide- as a matter of fact, the urge was so great he ended up dropping his microphone to free up both hands.

Angel opened his mouth to make a sly remark, only to be interrupted by a harsh feedback sound as Alastor was thrown into a sneezing fit.

“H-hehh’KZzhht! He-eh’KTxhhiew! Eh’KzZHht! Hnk’Kxhht-sShew!” Alastor sneezed, straightening his posture and wiping hopelessly at his streaming nose, “Sdfff…SnFF!”

“Gesundheit,” Husk said casually, holding in his laughter as he centered his focus on cleaning beer mugs, “Never heard you let loose like that around so many people.”

“Awww, maybe he’s warmin’ up to us, in’t that sweet?” Angel crooned, sneakily reaching out and tracing a heart on Alastor’s chest with his oil-contaminated hand before Alastor slapped it away.

“Oh hush, I simply didn’t have the time to use any discre-ehh… E-Eh’KXHHT-sShhiew!” Alastor replied, punctuating his sentence with a particularly wet, heavy sneeze, right when Charlie wandered into the room.

“Bingo,” Husk whispered to himself, knowing that Alastor’s ears were just stuffy enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“Oh, Bless you, Alastor!” Charlie exclaimed, “I heard someone sneeze a couple minutes ago, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Thank you- SnFF!- pardon me, I’m not sure what came over me to cause that… outburst,” Alastor replied, turning away from Charlie to blow his nose, expecting to yield no results, only to wince at the gurgling rumble of congestion leaving his sinuses, his handkerchief growing damp before he pulled away, “Euch…”

Charlie remained silent for a moment, as though mentally shuffling through responses and making sure she didn’t pick one out that reflected her quiet disgust, “That was… a lot… are you feeling okay? Sounds like you might be getting a cold,” she probed, noticing the irritated skin on Alastor’s nose.

“Of course n’dot- SnFF!- of course not, I’m perfectly fine, there’s just… something in this room that appears to be irritating a sensitivity of mine,” Alastor replied, somehow giving off a perfect mixture of nonchalant and offended.

“You’re only set off by strong scents: lavender, teakwood, citronella, oak moss, the kinda shit you really only find in perfume and cologne,” Husk argued, fighting tooth and nail to hide his amused smile, “If somethin’ like that was in here, we’d all be able to smell it.”

“That’s true, I don’t smell anything out of the ordinary here,” Charlie observed.

“Hmph! Well thed… SnFF!” Alastor replied, an indignant scowl on his face as he scrubbed at his nostrils with the back of his hand, “I’m n’dot exactly sure what it could be.”

“Maybe you should head to bed early tonight! Extra rest always helps me when I’m fighting something,” Charlie offered, “Hopefully you can kick it before it settles.”

“Of course,” Alastor said with a sigh, “Thank you for the recommendation, Charlotte.”

“No problem!” Charlie replied, turning to leave the room when Alastor’s nose began to twitch again.

“h-HiIhh’Kxzzhhtt-SsCHEW! Ih’Kxhht-SscHiEW!” Alastor sneezed, gently rubbing his irritated nose.

“Bless you!” Charlie said before vanishing through the doorway.

“Th- Tha…ank- Hih’xXSschew! Hi-IH’KxXHHT!” Alastor replied, wrinkling his nose with a damp, heavy sniffle, rubbing at his watery eyes with the heel of his palm before vanishing into his own shadow.

“That was almost too easy,” Angel chuckled in a hushed voice.

“It only gets easier,” Husk snickered, pouring a glass of rye whiskey and stirring it with a contaminated claw before leaving it on the bar counter as bait.

“Alright, as fun as this is, I’m takin’ a shower, this stuff is so sticky it’s mattin’ my fur,” Angel scoffed, arching his back to stretch as he wandered up the stairs, Husk following after him.

Niffty, left to her own devices, skipped into the hotel’s basement to chase after families of cockroaches and centipedes with a broom, swatting at them even as the night stretched onward.

A few hours later, Husk and Angel were curled up in Angel’s bed- Angel scrolling listlessly through his phone while Husk kneaded at the mattress and sheets with his large paws- when they heard a sound coming from a few doors down.

Husk’s ear twitched, and his eyes widened as he attempted to focus on the sound, sitting up in bed and waiting in breathless silence.

“What’s up-” Angel began to ask, only for Husk to shush him, tilting his head to the side and twitching his left ear, “What is it?” Angel whispered.

The sound of wheezy, irritated, desperate coughing from the other room became audible, making Husk’s face melt into a smug smile, the ticklish coughs occasionally being muffled by bursts of static.

“He drank the whiskey,” Husk whispered, stretching out a bit further in bed and waiting patiently.

“khff…Khff-Khff…KHHFF!”

“Bullseye,” Husk yawned, gently pawing at the air in front of him before nuzzling against Angel’s fluffy torso and dozing off, with Angel following close behind.

Alastor, however, had managed to cough himself awake. He felt as though he was losing his mind- eyes watering, nose streaming, and his throat so unbearably itchy that it couldn’t be soothed even after inflating his bladder with glass after glass of water.

“Oh for- Khhff!- goodness sake- KHFF! Khff…khff!” Alastor muttered to himself, pacing in a tight circle and trying to muffle his ceaseless coughing behind both of his hands, his struggle stretching across the entire night until the tickle in his throat managed to fade around sunrise.

Leaning against the back of his armchair, Alastor attempted to straighten his posture and stand on his own two feet, finger-combing his hair and feeling around on his person for his handkerchief to blow his hopelessly stuffy nose.

“I have n’do clue what’s happend’ig… Snff!” Alastor said, pinching his handkerchief around his nostrils and letting out a heavy, wet blow, feeling his sinus cavity vibrate from the release, “hh…H-hihh… Hi-Ih’DddTsSchiEW! Hnk’tchhew!”

With his nose still buried in his handkerchief and exhaustion tugging at his heels, Alastor bit the bullet and wandered downstairs to start his day in earnest.

Upon arriving downstairs, Alastor grabbed his favorite mug and quietly filled it with water, taking slow sips in an attempt to drown the scratchy sensation in his throat and sinus cavity- to no avail- as people slowly entered the room after him.

“Good Morning, Alastor!” Charlie greeted with her usual bouncy and colorful demeanor, rocking back and forth on her heels, “Feeling any better?”

“Yes, a good night’s sleep was all I needed,” Alastor replied, looking away from Charlie to avoid dwelling on the exhaustion that was weighing him down, making his steps and movements seem much slower, much more deliberate.

Charlie shot a brief glance at the dark rings underneath Alastor’s eyes, “Are you sure you got any sleep? You were coughing a lot last night,” she probed.

Alastor felt a pit open up in his stomach, but maintained his nonchalant expression and scoffed, “Nonsense- snff!- I slept incredibly peacefully last night, you must have heard someone else.”

Charlie looked unconvinced, but turned to Husk and Angel with a shrug, “Was it you guys?” she asked.

Husk laughed, “Nope, those were too dry to be mine,” he said, letting out a sharp exhale that rattled his lungs, “Not after a life and afterlife of puffin’ on cigars.”

“They were too normal to be mine,” Angel said with a scoff, “Every time I start coughin’ it sounds like a seal fucked a chew toy.”

“Dad went out last night and didn’t come home until morning, and it was a male voice… so it had to be you, Alastor,” Charlie insisted, “Maybe you were just coughing in your sleep, so you didn’t notice.”

Alastor swallowed, silently cursing the stinging sensation that radiated through his raw throat, “I suppose so,” he said, relenting as his left ear twitched slightly, “Regardless, I’m still feeling much be-eehh… EH’KXxht-shhiew! Eh’KzZhht-Sshew!”

Husk snickered as he watched Alastor blearily wipe his nose, watery mess trickling into his handkerchief as friction from the fabric reddened his sensitive nostrils.

“Bless you, Alastor,” Charlie said, “It’s okay if you’re still feeling sick, you don’t have to hide it. As long as it doesn’t get any worse you’ll still be okay to go to Lulu World with everyone!”

“Mbarvelous- snff!” Alastor replied, blowing his nose into his handkerchief until the fabric was damp and the sensitive skin on his nose began to burn from the constant rubbing.

Charlie vanished upstairs, having a few more things to pack for her trip, leaving the scheming trio of sinners to enact the next phase of their plan.

Two hours after his conversation with Charlie, Alastor was relaxing in his armchair in the parlor, reading a book he’d been meaning to finish. Annoyingly, every few pages Alastor was forced to set the book down, using his finger as a bookmark, to scrub furiously at his nose with the heel of his palm in an attempt to quell the persistent itching, or to desperately cover a wet sneeze with the back of his wrist.

“E-ehh’Kxhht-chew! EH’Kxhht-Sshew!” Alastor sneezed, his stomach churning with disgust after he looked at the damp patch of fabric on his sleeve from soaking up about thirty sneezes’ worth of spray.

Suddenly, Alastor felt a tug on his pant leg, and he looked down through rheumy eyes to see Niffty, eagerly clutching a container of ice cream.

“Hello Ndiffty- snff!- pardon mbe… what can I do for you?” Alastor asked, quietly twirling a stray lock of Niffty’s hair around his finger.

“Nothing… I just wanted to see if you wanted this butter pecan ice cream, I found it while I was clearing out the freezer!” Niffty offered, handing Alastor the small pint of ice cream and a spoon.

Alastor licked his lips, butter pecan was a classic, and it was one of the only sugary things he considered an exception in his indifference towards sweets. Plus, the thought of smooth, cool ice cream cascading down his scratchy throat sounded heavenly.

After a reluctant glance away, Alastor dug into the ice cream, eating spoonful after spoonful with so much gusto that he didn’t notice that the ice cream container was not properly sealed.

“It’s delicious, thank you Niffty… He-EH’KXHHT-Chhew!... pardon mbe,” Alastor sighed, scraping the bottom of the ice cream container for one last spoonful before Niffty plucked the empty carton out of his hands.

After Niffty scurried away to continue cleaning, Alastor returned to his book, thumbing through the pages and pausing every so often to sneeze, until he felt a drowsiness come over him like a dreary fog. Alastor yawned, stretching out in his armchair and rubbing his eyes.

Three pages later, Alastor yawned again, suddenly fighting to keep his eyelids up as each blink seemed to drag on just a bit longer than the last.

“Ehh…Eh’kxhh-shhew! Hnk’tshew!”

Alastor rubbed at his raw nostrils with his cold, damp handkerchief, muttering drowsily at his waning energy seemingly affecting his sneezes.

Two more pages and another intense yawn later, and Alastor finally lost the battle against his own body, drooping his head to one side and falling fast asleep, still loosely clutching his book in one hand and snoring softly- the snores occasionally being interrupted by a congested sniffle.

Niffty smiled from her position on the other side of the room dusting the curtains, quickly racing upstairs before coming back down with Husk and Angel following behind her.

“Look, I did it! That was easy!” Niffty cheered, clapping for herself as her two friends stared in awe at the unconscious Radio Demon.

“How the hell’d you get him to sleep?” Angel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I crushed up some of Husk’s gabapentin, some Hell-Dryl, and a couple of sleeping pills into a carton of ice cream! He ate the whole thing!” Niffty explained.

“You are one twisted little doll, y’know that?” Husk asked, ruffling Niffty’s hair, “He’d kill us if he knew we were doin’ this.”

“Welp, he don’t, so we’re fine,” Angel snickered, pulling out his plugged-in curling iron and holding the hot metal close to Alastor’s face until he could see a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and flush on Alastor’s cheeks to match his friction-reddened nose. Carefully, Angel moved the exposed metal over and brushed it against the insides of Alastor’s ears.

“I’ll be damned, if I didn’t know about this, I’d be convinced… he looks pathetic,” Husk said, watching Alastor’s chest rise and fall as he peacefully snored, “Hurry and go get ‘er before his ears cool down, I’ll hide the curling iron.”

“Got it,” Angel replied, handing Husk the iron before quietly practicing his lines to himself, putting on a skeptical but concerned face, and wandering hurriedly up the stairs, “Charlie?!” he called out, disappearing around a corner.

“He’s a damn good actor when he’s not readin’ someone else’s trash script, I’ll tell you that much,” Husk mumbled, stashing the curling iron behind the bar counter on a heat-safe cloth and pretending to look busy, grabbing a beer mug and polishing it with a rag right as Charlie followed Angel into the parlor from upstairs.

“Oh, Angel, you’re right, he looks awful,” Charlie crooned, pressing her hands against her cheeks in dismay, “And he’d never fall asleep just out in the open like this, either…”

Alastor, still unconscious, shuddered a bit due to a residual chill from demolishing the pint of ice cream so quickly.

“He’s shaking,” Charlie said, sympathy dripping from her every word as she carefully reached out and pressed her palm against Alastor’s artificially-warmed forehead, feeling the heat and sweat on his skin, “He feels warm, too.”

“Want me to go get the ear thermometer?” Angel offered, celebrating internally when Charlie shook her head.

“No, no need, we’re already pushing our luck as it is, Alastor hates being touched… he obviously has a fever, I don’t need to know the specifics until he wakes up,” Charlie said, “This is horrible, he was so excited to go to Lulu World with you guys.”

“It’s a damn shame,” Angel said solemnly, “We’ll bring back somethin’ for ‘im.”

“Awww, that’s sweet,” Charlie replied, smiling before turning her attention to Husk, “Do you think you can keep things in order while you guys are at the park? I don’t want you guys to miss out on your fun time just because Al has to stay home.”

“No worries Princess, I got it,” Husk said with a confident smile.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” Charlie said with a sigh, looking at Alastor’s unconscious, snoring form and wincing with discomfort at the strange angle the Radio Demon was positioned in, “He’d be so much more comfortable in bed, but I don’t wanna wake him up.”

Husk quietly shook Alastor’s shoulder as an experiment to see how much movement he would tolerate before he woke up, looking pleasantly surprised when Alastor didn’t react- the cocktail of drugs he’d been given had lulled him into a comfortable and deep sleep.

“I think if I’m careful, I can just-” Husk scooped Alastor up into his arms, supporting his back with one hand and his knees with the other, “-there we go. I got ‘im from here, I’ve done this song and dance a couple times before when he was drunk.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Husk, that’s so nice!” Charlie replied, clasping her hands together as a warm smile spread across her face, “I have to finish packing, but I’ll come check on him later.”

Husk gave Charlie an understanding nod as she disappeared up the stairs. Once Charlie was gone, Husk carried Alastor upstairs and opened the door to his room one-handed.

Husk rummaged through Alastor’s clothes until he found a pair of linen pajamas, removing Alastor’s suit and slacks and changing him into the pajamas in about four minutes.

Once Alastor was dressed for bed, Husk sighed, peering into the dense brush of the wet Louisiana forest pocket dimension that occupied the other side of Alastor’s room. “Where the hell’d you move your bed to this time?” Husk inquired rhetorically, balancing Alastor’s sleeping form on his hip before venturing into the forest.

“Snff…Snff-snff!” Alastor’s pitiful sniffling could be heard from his position with his head resting against Husk’s shoulder.

Husk rolled his eyes, peering around bushes and behind trees until he found Alastor’s bed in a corner near a stream, hidden slightly by a curtain of hanging plants. Husk peeled back the duvet and sheets from their position neatly tucked underneath the pillows, gently laid Alastor down onto his mattress, and pulled the covers back up until they reached the Radio Demon’s shoulders.

“There we go,” Husk said with a triumphant smile, “Nighty night, sucker.”

Laughing at his victory, Husk wandered out of the dense forest, folding Alastor’s suit, vest, and slacks before placing the neatly folded clothes on a chair up against the wall, shutting off the lights, and closing the door behind him.

Alastor remained peacefully asleep, his congestion clearing up and his hopelessly itchy throat returning to normal as the allergens on his clothes were no longer present to irritate his system.

In the blissful darkness of Alastor’s room, his shadow slipped out from underneath his bed frame, a mischievous smile on its face as it pulled back the covers on Alastor’s bed and unbuttoned his pajama shirt.

A cool breeze swept through the humid air in the forest, sending a chill down Alastor’s spine as he slept. Shuddering, Alastor curled in on himself in an attempt to stay warm as the cool air hit the exposed skin on his chest and neck.

“Hnk’tchew! Hnk’tshiww!”

Alastor’s nose twitched, and he sleepily rubbed the back of his hand against it to ward off a building itch before falling back into his deep slumber as the chilled air continued to blow on his sweat-dampened skin.

Early the next morning, Alastor woke up to the sight of Charlie jostling his shoulders while standing at his bedside.

“Mm… what time is it? When did I get here?” Alastor asked with a scratchy yawn, rubbing his eyes.

“Husk brought you to bed yesterday after you dozed off downstairs,” Charlie explained, “They left for Lulu World already, but I didn’t want to leave for our trip until you woke up.”

“They left without mbe?!” Alastor asked, moving to get out of bed, only for Charlie to press a hand against his bare chest, gently pushing him back against his pillows.

“Yes, Husk promised he’d keep everything under control, but they left without you,” Charlie said, “I’m sorry, Alastor, I know it’s disappointing but you really shouldn’t be out and about while you’re this sick.”

“I explained this before, Charlie, I amb perfectly he-ehh…Eh’Kxhht-shhew! Eh’KzZht-chiew! EH’KXHHT-SHEW!” Alastor argued, pawing around on his bed for his handkerchief as his nose began to run, “snff!”

“Yeah, this is what ‘perfectly healthy’ sounds like,” Charlie scoffed, “I hate to break it to you Alastor, but you’ve been sniffling and sneezing for three days now-” cautiously, Charlie held the back of her hand up to Alastor’s forehead, “-and you have a fever. You’re sick, there’s nothing wrong with that, it happens to everyone.”

Alastor folded his arms, refusing to look Charlie in the eyes, “If you say so,” he muttered.

“Will you be okay by yourself? I can call Rosie and ask her to come over if you want, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright before we leave,” Charlie offered.

“I’ll be fide, thank you- snff! Snff!- pardon mbe,” Alastor said, grumbling as he pulled a handkerchief out of the ether, pinching the fabric around his nose and letting out a heavy, gurgling blow, “Uch…e-Eh’KZzhht-chew!”

“Alright, if you say so,” Charlie said in reply, stepping away from Alastor’s bed, “Call us if you need anything, okay?”

“Alright, have a ndice trip- snff!” Alastor said, blowing his nose again as Charlie and Vaggie left the hotel to meet Lucifer outside. Once they were gone, Alastor got out of bed, staggering a bit once he got to his feet. He felt strangely tired, almost weak.

“I know those scoundrels were up to sombething- snrkk!- I ab ndot sick,” Alastor grumbled to himself, only to pause when a sudden chill made him shiver, buttoning up his pajama shirt and tugging on his red dressing gown, sighing in relief at the comfortable warmth of the plush fabric.

“I should go to that park and give those three a piece of mby mbind,” Alastor said, balling his fists and pacing back and forth across his floor, “Eh’KzZhht-chhiew!”

Alastor’s ears twitched as he waned, rubbing at his eyes and deciding against going out, “I can always just-” he yawned, “-give themb a piece of mby mbind when they get back… snff!”

Alastor wandered downstairs into the kitchen, forgoing his usual mug of coffee for a cup of tea, deciding that the fragrant vapors and smoother texture would be more helpful against his hopelessly plugged sinuses and the throbbing sensation in the back of his throat.

‘I am not sick, everyone gets a little… irritated when they’ve just woken up, I’m fine’

Alastor picked up his mug of tea, only for his shadow to quietly slide the jar of honey over to him, gesturing towards it.

“I don’t wandt a’dy hondey- snff!- guhh…The tea is fide by itself,” Alastor argued, turning away to clear his throat.

Alastor’s shadow looked away, rolling its nonexistent eyes before wrapping its incorporeal fingers around Alastor’s neck, raising its eyebrows and gesturing back to the jar of honey.

“Mby throat isd’t sore- snff! Snrkk!- euch… hold od-” Alastor said, turning away to blow his nose with a heavy rumble of congestion that eventually devolved into a loud honk, “There, much better.”

Alastor’s shadow folded its arms, looking at him incredulously.

“It isn’t!” Alastor yelled, his voice straining until he coughed into his wrist, swallowing harshly and wincing at how dry and tender his throat felt. His shadow snickered at him, smirking.

Alastor relented, ceding a bit of ground, “I suppose- khff!- it is a bit scratchy,” he said, staring longingly at the jar of honey before grabbing the stirrer and drizzling about a tablespoon’s worth of honey into his tea.

Alastor sighed when his shadow began to snicker playfully again, staring at him with a knowing smile.

“This doesn’t mean anything- snff!- I am not sick, I’m not, I’m fine… E-Eh’Kxhht-ChHIEW! EH’KZzs-Sshew!” Alastor argued, running the back of his hand under his nostrils before he took a lengthy sip of his tea, relieved by the smooth sensation cascading down his raw throat, “Mmm…”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite so frazzled, it’s the cat’s pajamas, I’ve gotta say,”

Alastor blinked, looking around the room, “Who said that? Show yourself!” he demanded, setting down his cup and chewing on his tongue as sweat began to trickle down his forehead.

“Oh calm down, mes amis, you know me, I’m right here,”

Alastor looked ahead of him and saw his shadow, still technically attached to his heels, staring at him with a playful smirk.

“You can’t talk, don’t toy with me, who are you?” Alastor asked, jabbing at his shadow with his microphone, grumbling in frustration when his weapon of choice simply phased through the dark figure’s torso, “You… you can talk?”

“Of course I can,” the shadow replied, “I just save it for special occasions, like when you’re living in denial, trying to convince yourself that you can change reality if you ignore it hard enough.”

“What are you going on about?” Alastor asked, “snff-snff! SnFF!”

“Blow your nose already and stop sniffling!” the shadow said with a frustrated hiss, rolling its eyes when Alastor gave his nose another gurgling blow, wiping hopelessly at his nostrils and frowning at the irritated skin that moved down the bridge of his nose to the tip.

“Mby ndose is just itchyy-Ye-eh’Ksshhew! Eh’KzZshhew!” Alastor argued, blowing his nose again, “Eehh-EH’KzZSshew! Uch… I’b ndot sick, I dond’t care what you think- snff!- if you even have a braid to think with.”

The shadow scoffed, “Your nose is only itchy because it’s full of cold,” it said, poking the tip of Alastor’s nose, “Just like the rest of you.”

“Eh’KzZshew! E-ihh’KsShew!” Alastor sneezed, wiping at his nostrils with his soaked handkerchief, “Keep your hands off mbe!”

“Or what? You’ll sneeze on me? That ship’s sailed ages ago,” the shadow said, poking Alastor’s nose again.

“e-ehh…Eh…Eeh’KZzhht-CHEW! Eh’KzZsst-ChiEW! E-ehh’KsSshew!” Alastor sneezed, his sinuses irritated and tingly as a feathery tickle lingered in his nose after the third sneeze, causing his nose to twitch, “snff-snff! E-ehh…Hehh… Wh-wha…ehh”

Alastor’s shadow grinned as he watched the Radio Demon fanning a desperate hand in front of his face, wrinkling and unwrinkling his nose, “Need a hand?” it asked.

“N-nuhh… H-huhh… Ndo…snff-snff! SnRKK! Ndo I d-du-huhh… Hehh! E-ehh!” Alastor struggled to reply, still resting perfectly on the precipice of a sneeze, “I just… Ha…ahh…a-Ahh-”

“Have to sneeze? Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“Ndo…I don’t ne-eed your help…H-heh…Ehh…e-ehh!”

Alastor scrubbed desperately at his nose with his handkerchief and the back of his hand, desperate to quell the ceaseless itching.

“Fide… help mbe, ple-ease…I-ihh…hehh- hh-” Alastor begged, his rheumy eyes beginning to water as the ticklish hitching continued.

“Alright, I’ll help you, but you have to admit it first,” the shadow insisted.

“A-ahh… admi-ihh… admit what?!”

“That you’re a vulnerable, pathetic, cold-ridden mess, so desperate you need someone to poke your twitchy little nose for you,”

“SnfF! Ndever- I-ihh… Ehh…H-heh!” Alastor hitched, sniffling hopelessly and grumbling in frustration at his shadow’s smug smile.

Alastor’s heartbeat quickened as he watched his shadow teasingly trace a finger down the length of his nose, and then around his nostrils, so close that its presence against the sensitive skin made Alastor’s nose twitch and wiggle like a rabbit’s, but not close enough to grant him the satisfaction of the sneeze he’d been stuck on for nearly twelve minutes.

“Eh…E-ehh..HEHH-!” Alastor hitched again, “F-fide! I have a cold, I admit it- just he-hehhlp- mbe sdeeze!”

The shadow smiled, poking Alastor’s nose and reclining in midair to watch the fireworks.

“He-ehh-EH’KZzTCHEW! EH’KzZhhhiew! EH’KXhht-CHEW! H-hEH’KzZsShiew! EH’KZz-TsShIEW!....E-EHH’KZzSsHHEW!” Alastor exploded into a fit of sneezes, his eyes watering profusely and his nose streaming down his face, the undersides of his eyes hopelessly puffy and red.

“There we go,” the shadow snickered, “How pathetic, I wish you could see yourself.”

Alastor’s usual facade of neutral amusement fell, and he leapt at his own shadow in a fit of white hot rage, throwing punches at the intangible figure and attempting to strangle it.

“I’ve had it with you- KhFF!- you insufferable bastard!” Alastor shouted, rolling across the floor of the kitchen, wringing his shadow by its neck until he became exhausted, collapsing against the kitchen floor as his eyelids began to droop, staring at his shadow as it teased him from a safe distance.

“Alastor?”

Alastor turned, rolling over to face the kitchen entryway, and sniffling to shift the congestion that threatened to escape from his sinuses, when he saw the concerned face of a familiar friend.

“Rosie?” Alastor inquired, blinking as he struggled to sit upright, choking back a cough, “What are you doing here?”

“Charlie gave me a call and said you weren’t feelin’ well, I figured I’d stop by… didn’t expect to see you down there,” Rosie replied, “Did you fall?”

“Ndo… I was fighting mby shadow,” Alastor said with an angry hiss, “The bastard has been mbocking mbe for hours- E-ehh’KxXhht-CHEW!”

“Gesundheit!” Rosie said, helping Alastor to his feet and noticing how his legs struggled under his weight, “Your shadow’s been makin’ fun of you?”

“Yes,” Alastor replied, leaning almost helplessly against Rosie as she supported him with one arm when he managed to hold steady on his feet.

Rosie looked away from Alastor briefly and rolled her eyes, turning to look at Alastor’s shadow, who simply shrugged in response to Alastor’s accusation, “Well, I’ll straighten ‘im out for you, he should know better than to antagonize a sick person,” she crooned, scratching behind one of Alastor’s ears.

“Snff! Snff-snff! I’m not sick,” Alastor said, pouting as he wiped off his irritated nostrils with his handkerchief.

Rosie turned Alastor around to face her and shot him a skeptical look, leaning her head forward as though waiting for him to tell her the truth.

Alastor scoffed, turning away from Rosie’s piercing dark eyes, “It’s only a cold… E-Eihh’KzZhht-shhew!” he insisted, blowing his nose and wincing at the heavy congestion that left his sinuses and soaked another handkerchief, “A particularly wet one… but still just a cold.”

Rosie sighed, pressing a manicured hand up against Alastor’s cheek, “Well, you feel a little warm… how about we get you comfortable and put somethin’ in your stomach so you can take a nap?” she said in an all-too-familiar way that Alastor recognized meant he had no choice in the matter.

“Fine,” Alastor relented, letting Rosie guide him into the parlor and sit him down on the loveseat adjacent to the sofa. Kicking off his slippers, Alastor curled into a reclined position with his back against the loveseat’s armrest.

Rosie quietly untied and removed Alastor’s dressing gown before draping a blanket over him in its place, “Comfortable?” she asked, watching Alastor yawn as he settled into his new position, his eyelids drooping.

“Mmhm,”

“Good,” Rosie said with a triumphant smile, frowning after shooting a glance at the clock on the wall, “Oh goodness, Alastor I’ve gotta split for an important meeting, are you gonna be alright on your own?”

“I think so- snff!- I feel much better,”

“Okay, if you’re sure, but I wanna make sure you have this,” Rosie said, handing Alastor a thermos, “It’s tomato soup… I used a blood broth base like I usually do.”

“Delicious,” Alastor mumbled sleepily, rubbing his face against the side of the thermos, “Mmm…thank you so much Rosiie- E-EHH’KxZzHTT-CHEW! Eh’kZzSshhhew! Pardon me.”

“My pleasure, anything for such a dear friend,” Rosie whispered, gently stroking Alastor’s feverish cheek, “Get some rest, okay?”

“I will,” Alastor replied, punctuating his sentence with a hoarse cough before setting the thermos down on the table beside the loveseat and letting out a yawn, “Goodbye Rosie.”

“See ya ‘round, Alastor! Feel better!” Rosie said, leaving through the front doors, leaving the Radio Demon alone once again.

Sniffling into his handkerchief, Alastor rolled onto his side, struggling to keep his eyelids open, “I’m so tired,” he yawned to himself, rubbing his slightly puffy eyes, “I suppose nothing bad would happen if I just took a little nap… I’ll be awake when they get home… E-ehh’kZzShew! Eh’kzZht-chew!”

Alastor shut his eyes, promising himself that he’d only be asleep for a short while as he drifted off and the world went comfortably dark.

Hours passed by as Alastor relaxed, lost in a deep and relaxing slumber with no sounds to disturb him other than his own irritated coughing and KeeKee’s relaxed purring whenever she nuzzled up to his sleeping form.

The front doors of the hotel opened, and Husk, Angel and Niffty walked inside. Niffty was carrying a large stuffed dog, jittering in place after a day of devouring caramel apples, funnel cake, and cotton candy with nothing but soda to wash it down with, getting so excited that Husk eventually had to tether her to his pants with a bungee cord. Angel and Husk walked into the hotel behind Niffty, quietly holding hands while Angel clutched a stuffed pig that Husk won him at a ring toss in one of his arms.

“Alastor’s probably figured us out by now… fun’s over,” Angel said to Husk as the two watched Niffty race upstairs with speed rivaling a stray bullet, “Alastor? We’re back…”

“Eh- H-he-ihh’KZzzhht-chhew! Eh’KZzShhew! Eh’Kxhht-CHEW!”

Angel and Husk exchanged a puzzled look, wandering into the parlor to find Alastor curled up comfortably in his position on the loveseat, blowing his nose into his handkerchief. His nose was flushed an irritated red and his cheeks were still rouged from his slight fever, a relaxed smile on his face as he waved at his friends.

“Oh, you’re back- E-eihh’Kxhhtshhew! ‘Scuse mbe,” Alastor said softly, shifting the congestion in his sinuses with a few wet sniffles, “Did you have fun?”

“Mmhm,” Husk replied, testing the waters to see whether or not Alastor was aware of their ruse, “You feelin’ alright?”

Alastor gestured vaguely with his left hand, “A bit better, but not really- snff snff!- I commend you and Angel for your awareness… ‘Kxhht-shhew! ‘KXxhht-sschiew!... you and Charlie seemed to know I was coming down with something before I did,” he said, wiping his nostrils with his handkerchief, “or at least before I was ready to admit it.”

Angel and Husk silently breathed a massive sigh of relief, practically exchanging a telepathic fist bump before turning back to address Alastor.

“Niffty won ‘ya a stuffed zebra,” Angel piped up, handing the plush animal to Alastor and watching as the slightly-delirious Radio Demon cuddled up to it with a soft smile, “Need anythin’ else before we hit the sack?”

Alastor shook his head, “I’mb alright- snff!- I’m going to get some more rest, see you both tomorrow morning,” he said with a scratchy yawn, nestling comfortably into his blankets and falling back asleep.

Angel and Husk turned out the lights in the parlor, tip-toeing past Alastor’s sleeping form, before quietly shaking hands triumphantly.

“Guess he must’ve actually been gettin’ a cold,” Angel whispered, “Wanna celebrate?”

Husk noticed the risque expression on Angel’s face, “If you’re quiet, then yes… don’t wanna wake him up if he’s actually sick,” he replied.

“Sounds like a plan!” Angel replied, planting a kiss on Husk’s cheek as the two quietly hurried upstairs, leaving the parlor and the hotel’s downstairs completely silent.

Except of course, for Alastor’s congested snoring… interrupted by an occasional-

“e-Ehhh’Kxhht-shhew!”

That. By that.

#ha/zb/in ho/tel #snz #illness kink #snz kink #snz fic #gingey.rtf

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

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bill doesnt really strike me as the type to be really into listening to music, but if he were, do you think there are any particular genres/artists he would enjoy/hate less?

You're in luck because I've put COPIOUS thought into this.

Here's all the canon and semi-canon info about Bill's musical tastes I can recall off the top of my head:

ONE. From the AMA, his favorite "song" is a rising Shepard tone.

*MY FAVORITE SONG: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rzIiF7LpPU

youtube

TWO. He is interested in the "good stuff" out of human pop culture, which includes the song "96 Tears" by Question Mark & The Mysterians.

Are you at all interested in human pop culture?

JUST THE GOOD STUFF! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7uC5m-IRns

youtube

THREE. He knows the song "Stacy's Mom". This says nothing about whether he likes the song, but he's knowledgeable enough about recent human pop culture that he can casually drop a reference to it in a joke. It's probably safe to assume he's familiar with a broad variety of popular human music.

Hey Bill. What's up with Wendy's mom?

WENDY'S MOM HAS GOT IT GOING ON. SHE'S ALL I WANT AND I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG.

FOUR. When he gives himself a super cool car its radio is playing a rap song. I wasn't able to find any identification for the song, but it sounds to me like it could potentially be by Lil Bigg Dawggg, the same in-universe artist behind "Straight Blanchin'"—so, extremely popular mainstream rap. (Song heard at 2:50).

youtube

FIVE. He's got some kind of generic-sounding electronic dance music playing during his Fearamid party.

youtube

SIX. The "We'll Meet Again" scene. He can play the piano. I suppose you could choose to believe that Mr. All-Seeing All-Knowing Eye can play any instrument and he just happens to pick the piano for effect—he might not even actually be playing, since the song keeps playing itself when he turns away—but I choose to believe he's playing it and at some point he actually made the choice to learn piano for fun just because he wanted to. As someone who took piano lessons for over a decade, assuming that is indeed his own playing, I'd rate him as competent and skilled (that's a pretty impressive run at the start), but no virtuoso. He'd be a hit at the family holiday party but not in a concert hall. The choice of "We'll Meet Again" might mean he's got a soft spot for WW2-era popular music but might just be a "he knows human popular music and will freely reference it for a joke" thing.

youtube

SEVEN. "No! Synthesized music! It hurts!" Considering the circumstances, this may or may not actually apply to his musical tastes. Maybe only this particular synthesized music hurt him because Mabel had specifically decided that Xyler and Craz's music would injure Bill, maybe only extremely 80s-sounding synthesizers hurt him, etc. Most damning to the theory that he's got some kind of synthesized music allergy is the fact that almost all the music he's shown to voluntarily listen to and presumably enjoy (rising Shepard tones, the rap song, the party music) makes use of synthesized sounds. Still, it's worth mentioning that this is something he said at one point. (At 2:06.)

youtube

If anyone else recalls anything I missed about Bill's musical listening habits, toss it at me.

So, that's what we've got canonically. On that basis, here's what I headcanon about his tastes:

ONE: favorite music

His absolute favorite "music" is stuff that doesn't sound like music to humans at all. So sounds that are created to follow certain patterns (not quite as random as, say, pure white noise); and on top of that, sounds that, subjectively, sound extra creepy to humans or make humans anxious (think how folks claim Shepard tones can drive people "insane"). So think nuclear alarm sirens, unnerving tornado sirens, War of the World tripod horns, Saturn, foghorns, The Backwards Music Station. If you want some actual music that sounds as close to these kinds of sounds as possible, thus far I've collected Curious Noises & Distant Voices, 20210310, Happy Happy Happy—and if you want to start drifting into more "musical" sounding genres, Tira Me a Las Aranas or Ledge.

I feel like noise as a genre ought to have a lot of music that fits the sound I'm looking for, but in practice a lot of what I've crossed paths with is really harsh/loud—sounds like breaking machines and blasting microphones—rather than the more swoopy tones I'm looking for. I think of all the noise subgenres I've sampled, death industrial noise is the closest subgenre to what I want, but it's not quite there either. I've had some success looking at hauntology artists, but that's a pretty big umbrella stylistically speaking. Does anybody know a genre that sits somewhere halfway between noise & ambient?

TWO: favorite human music

So that's that for Bill's alien musical tastes. As far as his human musical tastes, he cites Question Mark & The Mysterians specifically as "the good stuff"—so I imagine that's probably his idea of the best kind of music humanity's produced. So: extremely sixties. Hammond organs out the wazoo. Bands with occult-sounding names and lead singers who claim to be Martians that lived with dinosaurs and will be alive in the year 10,000. I tend to tilt him toward bands/songs that fall under the "psychedelic" umbrella, considering that the aesthetic tends to be kinda, well... just go google "psychedelic art."

Tell me this isn't what Earth would look like by Weirdmageddon day 30 when Bill starts to get bored. I mean come on. The only difference is Bill's version would have more fire and blood.

So start with some of your traditional psychedelic songs—Incense and Peppermints, White Rabbit, Breathe (In The Air), Time Of The Season, Purple Haze, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, etc.—and branch out from there. Slap on any decent psychedelic/hippie-themed playlist and you're good: try this hippie playlist, this psychedelic pop/rock playlist, or this dark psychedelic playlist.

Once you get past the more mainstream stuff, I go toward weird things that sound like they ought to be from a lost 1960s art house film that accidentally predicted the rise of UFO cults—things that vibe with Bill's occult + conspiracy theory + faux religious figure vibes. Think Bruce Haack, such as the album Electric Lucifer, particularly Electric to Me Turn, Cherubic Hymn, or War; Joe Meek's album I Hear a New World, particularly the title track or Orbit Around the Moon; or the particularly alien-sounding The Red Weed (Part 1) off Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds.

And after all that, I poke at modern psychedelic rock songs that lean more heavily into witchy & occult imagery—such as Astral Sabbat or Come a Little Closer—but by this point we're really on the fringe of the sound I'm looking for. There isn't nearly enough Hammond organ.

THREE: favorite human party music

Now, compared to the last couple of sections, this section is gonna be something of a cop-out, because I've done less musical digging; but when it comes to what he'll slap on for a party—which I imagine makes up probably a good 75% of his casual music consumption—he's just gonna slap on any popular current music he thinks is good for a party.

Currently? That probably means a lot of hip hop and EDM. Okay. In the 80s he probably woulda put on disco. In the 21st century he'd put on Get Low, First of the Year, Shots, DotA, Intergalactic, and Dragostea Din Tei (hardstyle remix), in a row, without a second thought, and with no heed to the humans going "what the FUCK is this party mix." These are not the best examples of what he'd play; just the first, most cringe, and most discordant examples I could think of. The more easily a potential party song can be described as stylistically or lyrically "obnoxious," the more likely it is to make his playlist. Does it sound like it should be played extremely loud? Would it offend the neighbors? Does it have a bass line that sounds like it could crack concrete and break ribs? Would humans recognize it as part of a widely-known meme, but not know whether Bill (an alien) is oblivious or if Bill (a troll) added it for that reason? It's going on, he's hitting shuffle, and it's not coming off the party playlist until he gets bored of it and finds something newer and even more obnoxious to replace it with.

If anyone has any good recommendations for specific genres that would yield a reasonable pool of Party Songs That Would Get Noise Complaints Filed (And Also Don't Go Together At All), I'm willing to take them. My gut says crunk and dubstep, but my hip hop knowledge is lacking and my EDM knowledge is extremely eclectic.

(Anyway if you made it this far I'm rewarding you with a link to my Bill Cipher spotify playlist I listen to when writing fic. It's 50% songs that I think actually match the "music he'd like" categories, 50% songs that are about him but that he wouldn't necessarily like, 50% songs about his relationship issues, 10% songs that are NONE OF THE ABOVE but that need to be in there because I need them for fic-writing vibes, and one single solitary song that is not actually about Bill at all, but rather about Pacifica, but that i put on the playlist anyway because it's a REALLY GOOD Pacifica song and I don't have any other Gravity Falls themed playlists so here it is. "That adds up to 160%—" and what of it. The percentages aren't even accurate.)

#(Don't talk to me about characters' musical tastes i will Really Get Into It and you are not escaping. This post took me three days.)#bill cipher #headcanons #meta #music #gravity falls

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thislovintime · 7 months ago

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The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees was released on April 22, 1968.

To mark the occasion, here are three of Peter's songs - two written by him, one a cover - that didn't appear on the studio album but date from around this time:

"Come On In"

"Lady's Baby"

"Tear The Top Right Off My Head"

Q: “The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees sessions was a productive time in the studio for The Monkees. However, none of your stuff like ‘Lady’s Baby’ and ‘Tear The Top Right Off My Head’ made it to the album. How come?”

Peter Tork: “To tell you truth… I… I never was able in those days particularly — I’m getting better at it these days — but in those days I was almost entirely unable to fight for what I saw as quality. If I didn’t get somebody fighting on my behalf then it didn’t, just didn’t come to pass. And none of the other guys was much interested in supporting my sense of quality, they had their own agendas and each one of them… I mean, not that I was left out in this regard, no one of us really supported any of the others except that, that I like to think that I tried to support Micky in a way which, for some reason, he never did pick up on. I mean, I think that Micky has a certain kind of genius that he was never able to acknowledge in himself. But be any of that as it may, I just basically think that I wasn’t feeling a part of anymore already by that point, I’d already felt like I was odd man out, and of course I quit almost immediately thereafter. In fact, I think it’s The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees that has some tunes that were recorded after I quit.”

Q: “Peter, what’s the one thing you remember the most about The Birds & The Bees album?”

PT: “The thing I remember off Birds & Bees is that on the back, they had, you know, the four-petaled flower with the individual pictures, and each person put down a message. But I had a, like, almost a scowl on my face and I just didn’t have any message at all. That was me feeling… feeling, like, feeling pretty punk about the whole idea. I was — I was not happy. Not a happy Monkee in those days.” - Headquarters radio, September 1989

And, of course, the album also includes:

“With ‘Daydream Believer,’ I was on the piano and I came up with this opening lick which I thought was just sparklingly original. When you play it today, everyone thinks of ‘Daydream Believer.’” - Peter Tork, Rolling Stone, 2016

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #60s Tork #Tork songs #The Monkees #Monkees #The Birds The Bees & The Monkees #long read #Peter deserved better #Daydream Believer #can you queue it

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thatbanditqueen · 1 year ago

Text

Basic Training Chapter 5

Summary: Bess has plans to spend the evening having a picnic dinner with Elvis on post, and tries to juggle her family and keeping her relationship with Elvis a secret as her father presses her about her future.

Warnings: Some very heavy petting, dry humping, female orgasm (gasp), and discussions of mental illness, the Holocaust and Cold War operations. And all the usual typos.

WC: 6K

A (very very late) response to the prompt "Hey, quit splashin' me."

Many thanks to my lovely sister wives @whositmcwhatsit, @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @ellie-24 who helped me write this.

If you need to catch up, you can read the previous chapters of this fic about Elvis at Fort Hood in 1958 here

Notes:

This one got more into Bess family life, but it won't always be this top heavy in the future.

Maus and spatz are german terms of endearment. Illsa is a German nickname for Elizabeth.

Schatzeleh, bubeleh, mamaleh, these are all Yiddish terms of endearment. The Yiddish phrase "shayna maidel" means beautiful girl.

Deutsch ist die Muttersprache - German is the mother tongue.

INCOMS - abbreviation for Army Intelligence

The USIA was really a wacky Cold War PR agency for the U.S. government that set up a radio system to blast US music and news into other countries, and promote art and performers and entertainers around the world, along with other stiff. What every fic needs, more Cold War history ;)

Wednesday, April 9, 1958

Schwartz Residence, Killeen TX

6:45 a.m.

Bess hovered over her sister’s shoulder and grabbed a piece of toast off her plate, scooping up some scrambled eggs and chewing as she dodged Kay’s swats to pour a cup of coffee.

“Curlers again? Jeeze, Bess, that’s the third day in a row you’ve worn curlers to sleep.”

Bess hit the back of her sister’s head with her elbow.

Their father’s eyes did not leave his newspaper as Kay yelped and Bess stuck her tongue out.

“Elizabeth, you are not a nomad. Sit and eat.”

“I gotta finish getting ready, Papa.”

“Is there anything special going on today, maus?” Her father raised his eyebrows as Kay giggled.

“Or maybe someone speci - ouch!” Kay got a pinch at her back.

“Oh, no, nothing special, just wanted to look nice, I told Emily we’d go shopping after work today, Papa.”

Papa folded his newspaper, crisping the edges at Bess' expectant eyes.

“Well?”

Kay grinned into her juice.

“I was just wondering if it was ok to take my own car in again, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Ja, fine. Do you anticipate driving separately all week?”

Bess nodded, slowly, swallowing more coffee as her father’s eyes went from one daughter to the other.

“Hmm, sure are getting dolled up to go shopping with Emily OWfff.”

Kay got another swift pinch to her shoulder before Bess washed out her coffee cup and left to fix her hair. Just as she got to the kitchen door, she heard the piano in the living room and looked back at her father.

“Did Mama wake up and go right back to work on the piano?”

“No.” Her Papa’s face went back to the newspaper.

Kay’s eyes met Bess’. “She’s been in there all night.”

“All night?”

Papa calmly set down his paper. “Your mother is fine, you know how she is. Once she starts a project, she becomes very focused. You both would benefit from such discipline. You just need to let her get it out of her system.”

Bess shook her head and ran to the living room to find her mother at the upright piano, hair wild as she wiped sweat from her brow. Mama had been hunched over sorting through a pile of tuning instruments, but her face lit up with excited energy at Bess.

“Oh Bessie, you’re doing your hair fancy again today, huh? Oh my sweet shayna maidel. Brains and beauty.” Mama stroked Bess’ cheek, then went back to hitting a key on the piano. “Ughh, hear that? Can’t get the D flat right.”

Bess tugged on her mothers house dress, the same one she had been wearing yesterday.

“C’mon, Mama, it will be easier if you rest the ole noggin, come back after you get some sleep.”

Her mother brushed off her hand.

“No, Bess, can’t you hear it? It’s all gooey, everything is gooey, when it should be tight. I can’t possible leave the plunkers gooey, it makes the whole room go orange, bubeleh.”

Bess rubbed her mother’s shoulders as she leaned her chin into Mama’s neck.

“You know the bedroom upstairs is all light and yellow, Mama, it will help you center yourself.”

Mama shook her head, and Bess sighed as she returned to the kitchen and mixed some of the thalidomide barbiturates hidden above the spice cabinet into a glass of milk.

Kay paused washing the dishes.

“Papa left.”

“Of course he did. A one star General who strikes fear into the Army Intelligence training officers, but won’t deal with his own wife.”

“That is not fair, Bess, Mama has been better since the treatment. Papa said she was great on the trip, she just needs to get back to routine and get the jitters out of her system.”

“Jitters, jitters is bupkis and you know it. Did you know Aunt Rachel came down to babysit Mama when they were in D.C.?"

Bess sighed and finished stirring the milk, and was finally able to coax Mama upstairs where she undressed her and tucked her into bed with a kiss.

“Oh Bessie, you have a yellow halo around your head schatzeleh, good things await you today, my pretty girl. “

“Thanks mamaleh, get some sleep.”

The black pumps were the last thing Bess slipped on before heading off to work, dropping Kay at school on the way. It was not far to Killeen High School, an easy 10 minute walk for Kay in her saddle shoes, but Bess wanted to talk with her.

“Can you come straight home after school? Keep an eye on Mama, maybe try to get her some sun gardening or going for a walk.

Kay nodded, tightening the scarf around her ponytail, “Sure Bess, she’s ok. I 'm telling you, she just needs rest after goin’ to DC and New York for two weeks.”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

A car of high school boys pulled up next to them, their radio blasted as they made their way to the student parking lot. The boys looked over, whistling and laughing at Bess and Kay.

“Ugh, high school boys.” Kay moaned, fluffing her hair.

“Speaking of which, my dear sister. I thought we had a deal, ixnay on the elvisay or I’ll spill the beans on how often you sneak out with Dickey and tell Papa and Mama you’re spending the night at Gloria’s.”

“Aww, heck, Bess, you know I am not doing anything wrong, not since you scared me half to death about getting pregnant and having to get a back alley abortion.”

“I wasn't trying to scare you, Kay. I just want to make sure you take precautions. And that you understand it, are sure about it, ya know, when you are ready. Sex isn’t bad,it can just have consequences. You know you can always talk to me about that stuff.”

Kay rolled her eyes and hit Bess before getting out of the car.

******************************************************************

5:15 p.m. Fort Hood Front Office

“She’s cooking brisket, and singing along with the radio.”

Bess held the phone receiver to her ear, she could hear her mother’s voice in the background along with Doris Day's. Guilt had been tugging at her heartstrings all afternoon, telling her what a selfish daughter she was to make plans with Elvis instead of going home to check on her mother. She kept listening to her sister talk as Dori come out of her father’s office and waved the CO on, telling him to bring the car around front.

“You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes, Bess, jeeze, go already. Have fun with Emily.” Bess grimaced momentarily at Kay’s sarcasm then remembered she was trying to smile back at Dori.

Mabel was typing along, making no sign that she registered any human life in the office. Hanging up the phone, Bess began to cover her type writer.

“So y’all really don’t think I should go walk my lil ole self round about his barracks?”

The clacks from Mabel’s typewriter paused as she exhaled a deep huff of smoke, meeting Bess’s eyes for a split second before returning to her paperwork.

“Uh, no, Dori, you don’t want to be another girl chasing after Elvis Presley.”

Bess mused that quite a few members of Fort Hood’s female workforce seemed to have business near the 37th’s barracks lately. She avoided Mabel’s stoic, knowing stare as she explained that she had not seen Elvis since the night of the dance.

“He is a world famous entertainer, Doreen, adjusting to the first phase of basic training, the hardest phase. Women are probably the last thing on his mind.”

This elicited an eyebrow raise from Mabel behind Dori’s back, as the blonde conceded with a sigh that Bess was probably right and skulked out of the Command’s Front Office, flinging her handbag around in disappointment.

“The most eligible Southern bachelor in the world is at my base, even takes me on a date, but has to live in a shack with forty other men and no phone while doing drills all day.” She stomped her foot. “Jus’ isn’t fair.”

Bess stopped watching Dori walk down the hallway and pulled out her compact, giving her lipstick one last check.

“I am just glad the Executive Officer has three male children.”

“Mabel, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Like hell you don’t, that boy is gonna start world war three at this command, getting involved with two generals’ daughters. And, by the way, you need to come up with a better cover, one that doesn’t involve anyone on post.”

Flicking her cigarette, Mabel looked Bess directly in the eyes.

“General Schwartz was asking me about Emily in the switchboard office while you were at lunch.”

Bess swallowed, putting her compact away and rolling her feet back into her heels.

“Huh. Maybe I don’t give the old man enough credit?”

Mabel’s eyes were back on her typewriter. “You should go, before your father returns from his meeting and finds what is waiting for you at the bottom of the stairwell.”

Bess hesitated before she left. “I, um, I mean it, thanks, you know, for -”

“Git already, before I beat you down there and steal him for myself.”

Bess smiled as she tried very very hard to walk with calm composure down the hall and into the back stairs. Just the thought of Elvis’ touch made her tingle and Bess had to use her hands to try and keep her dress from blowing up as she danced down the stairs, heels clicking like Ginger Rogers. Heart in her throat, she nearly did a two-step on the landing mid-flight when she caught sight of a light green cap below. The cap tilted slightly, revealing lips, lips that curled into a welcome reprieve as Bess bounded down to meet him. The beat of her heart matched the sound of her breath as she launched herself onto Elvis’ mouth. He was a cushion and Bess threw herself into him unabashedly, feeling her body lift off the ground as Elvis twirled her around. It was exhilarating.

His light chuckle tickled her forehead and hands pulled her forward. “Happy to see me?”

“I guess.” Bess murmured into his clavicle. “You think too highly of yourself, Tupelo, just happy to be done with work, mostly. I actually forgot you were meeting me.”

He pulled her chin up and Bess heard her voice falter as his eyes melted her nervous system into a giddy mess.

“That why you are runnin' down these stairs like ya got a burr in ya saddle? Maybe I should check.”

His voice became slower as his hands moved from her waist to her bottom, pulling on her skirt as if to inspect it.

“Leave my saddle be, dirty boy.”

Bess cheeks flushed red swatting off Elvis’ hands and he grinned, fingers returning to their deliberate pace at her waist. Just their slow movement heated her belly, a sensation intensified by the warm air from Elvis nostrils as he nudged her eyelid. Bess was happy to see him, happy to have his arms around her, happy to have his fingers pushing the fabric of her dress back and forth over her skin. Those insistent, needy thumbs took her away from all her turmoil and into the comfort of his arms.

“So you aren't excited to see me? Go on then, tell me, tell me why you got ya hair all done up and ya lips all painted up, huh? Meeting someone else?”

Bess traced the top of his lip with her index finger, she was so close to him she could smell the faint hints of cologne, sweat and gun powder on his neck.

“I’m not meeting anyone else.” She looked up, not sure how she was summoning the strength to form words. “I just want to be here. With you.”

“Me too baby, me too.” He ran his finger over her nose. “Got lucky, boy, did I get lucky, that night I caught you stealing - ”

“ - reallocating Army resources.”

“Imma reallocate some Army resources.” He kissed her forehead, right between her eyebrows. “Right here.” She closed her eyes at the way his arms tightened around her. “Right now. For important morale operations.”

Bess’ nodded her forehead sideways into his nose and let her hands roll up his shoulders, the heat between them buzzed up her body. She sucked her bottom lip and the sound of air clicking from her mouth seemed louder in the still concrete stairwell. Bess kissed him gently at first and then with her entire being, grinding up as he thrust back into her and his hands moved to cup her face while his hips becoming sharper and more desperate. A moan escaped her mouth and Elvis stepped back, chuckling as he wiped the lipstick from his mouth.

“Let’s get out of here, huh?” Bess murmured, grasping at his waist to steady herself.

Bess tripped into him as they walked to her car, her head rotating from side-to-side, wondering if any one saw them and could tell how intimately Elvis gripped her hand. He didn’t seem to care, popping open her car door and sliding across the leather as if it were his own. His fingers were instantly over her shoulder, always pursuing physical contact, and he whistled at basket of food on the back seat.

“Watcha cook up for me, lil girl?”

“Um, just, ya, uh know, meatloaf sandwiches, potato salad, some pop.”

“Mmhmm, sounds real good, yessir boberino, real good.” Elvis growled and nibbled into Bess’ shoulder and she suddenly found driving very challenging.

Her struggle to hold the steering wheel only got worse as Elvis mumbled into her cheek while his fingers smoothed the small of her back. She tried, unsuccessfully, to elbow him away as he smirked at her breathy response. It was very clear to Bess that Elvis knew exactly what his fingers did to her as she drove them to a park at the back of Fort Hood’s residential area. Elvis lips trailed up and down her cheek in a way that made Bess not want to get out of the car, made her forget that she was hungry, made her forget her own name. Grinning, he pulled back and pinched her side.

“Les eat, I’m so hooonnngry I could eat the north bound end of a south bound polecat.”

Elvis carried the basket of food with one hand, the other in Bess’ as she led them to a picnic table near a very small man made pond. She clucked at him to help even out the table cloth, and he grinned at the way Bess set out plates, cups and food methodically. Elvis caught her wrist as she moved to sit across from him, and guided her on to his lap.

“Where you goin’ baby? Don’t want you to get any splinters in that fine caboose.”

“Ha, ha, ha. How chivalrous.”

Bess pushed a spoon of potato salad into his mouth to shut him up as she set out the sandwiches for them, and opened the red cream soda with a bottle opener. Elvis took his pop, sucking it down.

“Just for future reference darlin, I like Pepsi.”

Bess grabbed the drink out of his hand with a playful sniff.

“This is the best cream soda this side of Little Rock, you can use it to make punch, jello, dye dresses red and clean your carburetor. And if you don’t like it, you can get your own drinks.”

Elvis pulled it back, stuffing meatloaf sandwich in his mouth before talking through his chews and taking another swig.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, now, no need to get sore.” He slapped her bottom, making her bounce up as she chewed some sandwich. “Jus’ sayin’ I like Pepsi best. ‘Sides, Dori said you were from New York, how come -” He paused to take another gulp, “How come you like this local fizz so much?”

Bess took the bottle of Big Red from him, letting her mouth linger down and back up over the top as she sipped it, enjoying the way he raised his eyebrows while he chewed.

“Well, Private, I was born in New York. But I have lived in Killeen, Texas on and off since I was five years old. Papa was trained here before the war, and then we went back to Brooklyn while he was in London and then Germany - did your daddy fight?”

Elvis shook his head but offered no explanation, and Bess thought she saw a flicker of disdain or anger in his eyes for a split second, but it was gone. Then he pulled her closer with his right hand, holding up a sandwich to her mouth, lips apart in apt concentration as he guided the food into Bess' mouth and she giggled, swallowing it. He picked up the second bottle of pop and offered it to her as she wiped her mouth.

“Well, anyway, at first we went back and forth when Papa was overseas. We were in New York, and D.C., then he was given orders back here and they bought the house. Mama, Kay and I have stayed here whenever he got orders to go somewhere else: Heidelberg, Fort Hood, Berlin, then, you guessed it, Fort Hood, then DC, then back here. It’s been better for us to stay and go to school here.”

“So, uh, what, your daddy goes all ‘round teaching German?”

“Uh, well, yeah, mostly. Training Army officers to speak German has been a big part of his career.”

Elvis tilted his head for Bess to feed him more potato salad, his fingers otherwise occupied at her hips.

“How’d he get so interested in that?”

Bess licked the spoon they were sharing after feeding Elvis, looking across at the pond as twilight settled over the park.

“He, um, well, he actually grew up in Berlin. His parents sent him to New York in 1931 to live with his aunt and uncle.” She hesitated, scratching his collar, wondering how Elvis Presley felt about making out with Jewish girls. “You see, that was when his family’s synagogue was burned down, and they, um, started to, you know, worry.”

Elvis nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, gotcha.” His hands tightened at her waist. “Ya know, this explains why Dori looked at me funny when I told her I met you outside the base Chapel.”

“Ha! Yeah, well, I could have been there picking up dates.”

“You do that often, Moo Moo?”

“Oh, yeah, good little Christian boys are my favorite.”

He bounced her on his lap and tickled her sides.

“Huh, that right? I don’t know if I like the sound a that.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I’m no good at meeting good Christian boys. Only bad ones.”

“Oh baby, you have know idea what a good boy I can be.” He drew her close for a soft kiss on her neck, and the warmth of his lips made her shiver as he talked into her nape. “I’ve been told I’m very, very, very good at bein’ a boy.”

“Ha!” She shook her head, hands clutching the back of his hair as she looked into his attentive, gleaming bright blue eyes. They made her weak. Everywhere. “Hey, you haven’t even told me how your day was, Tupelo.”

“Oh man, honey, today was a goddamn circus, and I was the lead clown, I tell ya.”

“What happened?” She played with the soft part of his ear lobe as Elvis wiped his forehead and sighed.

“Well, we had target practice for three hours today.”

“That sounds normal, it takes three hours to kill all the paper men.”

“You have idea, baby, no idea.” He looked over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one could hear him. “Well, go on ta find out I forgot to load my gun this mornin’, I was so goddamn flustered getting ready for inspection. Looked like a grade A idiot, man, standing out there front a every one.”

Bess soothed the top of Elvis’ shoulders, all the teasing lilt from a moment ago was gone from her voice as she massaged the stiff, anxiousness there.

“Boy, got me so keyed up, had ma hands in fists all day, bout nearly bust out of my uniform I as so mad at ma self.”

Bess soothed his cheek, running her hand through his hair.

“No one will remember tomorrow, I promise.”

“Huh, I bet you million dollars they all back in their barracks, writin’ home bout how they had a good laugh at Elvis Presley, the Elmer Fudd of the army.”

“I promise, if those soldiers have anyone to write home to, and that’s betting they know how to write, they aren’t wastin’ their time tellin’ their girls about the most handsome stud in America.”

Elvis looked up.

“Most handsome, what was that, baby, stud?”

“Ugh, stop, I was just tryin’ to cheer you up.”

Bess jumped up, and started packing up the picnic, and Elvis was instantly behind her, arms tugging at her was as she popped the last spoon of potato salad greedily in her mouth. He gave her a big, sloppy kiss, then let go, distracted by the water, he wondering down to the edge of the pond where he began skipping stones. She finished folding the table cloth and followed him down to the water, squatting beside him as she selected another rock and handed it to him.

“Sorry excuse for a lake, isn’t it.” Bess said, watching as Elvis aimed the flat stone across the small body of water.

“You better take that back, Moo Moo, you’re hurtin’ this poor lil baby pond’s feelins’” Elvis bent down and threw some water at Bess’ face.

“Hey,” Bess pushed him lightly, then stood up, backing away at the mischievous look in his eyes. “Quit splashin' me! You, you rock n’ roll hoodlum!”

Elvis grinned and cupped his hand full of water, throwing it at her as she backed away.

“Ohh baby, thems fighting words, better watch out!”

Bess shrieked and ran back up to the picnic table, circling around it as Elvis chased her, matching as she changed directions. Their laughter and panting filled the air until he caught her, running his dirty pond fingers through her hair with gusto as she made a face while he slapped her on the butt. Elvis quelled her protests with a kiss and brought her into his side and grabbed the food basket with his other hand. They walked back to the car sweaty and out of breath like two giddy teenagers.

“Any lakes round here?”

Bess settled back into the car and smoothed her dress down while Elvis’ hands did their best to ruffle it back up, starting with the area over her right knee.

“There’s a reservoir, Lake Belton, bout 30 minutes away. You can go swimming, boating, horseback riding. Why?”

“This weekend phase 1 is over and I can start going off post on the weekend. Planning to see my friend Lamar, maybe some more of my guys, and I wanna take them somewhere fun Sunday. Somewheres maybe like this Lake.”

Bess tried to contain her disappointment that Elvis’ first thought wasn’t to spend the time with her. But she reminded herself that they weren’t serious, they were having a fling and besides, he saw her everyday. He sensed her mood change anyway as she sat up stiff and straight to start the car, and his hand became more attentive to her knee.

“I want you there, Bess, you’re coming out with me this weekend. Right after drills end at 1700 hours Saturday.”

“When does your friend get to town?”

“He’s already here. Lamar, he grumbles and fusses, but he is loyal and true. From Texas, too.”

“Where’s he staying?”

“At the Star Motel.” Elvis looked over at Bess, then down at where his long, thin fingers were on the inside of her knee, then back up to her eyes. “He, uh, he went and got a few a rooms so we can have a party Saturday night.” His voice became softer as he murmured. “Reckon it would be nice to have some time, just to be alone with with you, Bessie baby. Somewhere that ain’t a picnic bench. Or a car. Somewhere we could be alone and just talk.”

Bess parked behind the armory buildings near Elvis' barracks and turned to him, blushing.

“Um, yes, I guess I would like that too. To be able to just be somewhere, just talk.”

A wave of shyness suddenly overwhelmed Bess as she thought about being alone in a motel room with Elvis. What she thought he might really be asking her. She wasn’t sure how far she wanted to go with him this soon, though she could feel desire pulsing up through her rib cage and knew that if Elvis even looked at her sideways she would throw all abandon out of the window. But she had the impression, from just the few weeks she had known him, that Elvis was more old fashioned then she would have thought. She wasn’t sure where his boundary was, as far as respecting girls who went to bed with him. But his invitation definitely seemed like a proposition and the prospect of sleeping with him was at once exciting and terrifying.

Bess began to fiddle with her hands where they lay in her lap and Elvis picked up her left hand, bringing it to his cheek and kissing her palm delicately.

“Hey there, lil Moo Moo, you’re so pretty. How’d I catch the prettiest lil moo cow in the field, hmmm?”

The words rumbled out of Elvis mouth in a low babyish voice and his eyelids drooped down in time with his bottom lip. Bess’ chest tightened, and it felt like the world tilted sides when she pulled him in and he kissed her down into the leather seat. They pawed at each other there, exploring how their noses fit together as their tongues played tug of war for control. It sent a jolt straight to Bess’ core when she felt his excitement stiffen against her thigh and she smiled into his goofy bedroom eyes.

“Hey, wait, are you calling me a cow, Elvis Presley?”

Elvis shook his head, his face focused on where his right fingers brushed over her breast, savoring Bess’ shiver, as his knuckles trailed back down over the hills and valleys of her skirt. Her blood rushed between her legs and she took a deep breath.

His fingers were back at her bosom, setting her skin on aflame with the way his finger tips trailed back and forth circling her breast.

“Mmmmhmm, not jus any cow, baby, you the prettiest little milk cow, bet you have the sweetest.” He bite his lip as he circled the cloth around her nipple again. “Cream.”

Bess exhaled out with a gasp, curling her left fingers at his wrist as he spoke.

“Makin' me want dessert.”

Elvis’ hand stayed at her side where she held it, his fingers brushing against her dress, but it was his eyes that knocked the wind from her lungs as they moved downward to settle on the apex between her legs. Elvis bit his lips and Bess felt a desperate flame tingle out from her core. No one had ever done what he was hinting at, and it scared her. Suddenly she didn’t consider herself as experienced as she had before. She had slept with what, twenty men? And no one had ever kissed her there. That was something she needed to prepare for, perhaps double the talcum powder she applied. Coughing, Bess slide out from him to sit upright and straighten her dress. Elvis’ hands were back on her hips, pulling her over to straddle his lap.

“You know, Moo Moo, I’d never do nothin’ you don wanna.”

Elvis kissed her neck as she nodded.

“I bet you taste sweet, though.”

Bess swatted him playfully, then gripped his shoulder as he nibbled her ear. Playtime was over. A feverish yearning took over and she met his hips as they rocked up into her. Bess’ heart was racing, Elvis slow and deliberate movements made him different from any man she had ever been with. He halted mid thrust to savor the moment, and his eyes looked deep into hers with a longing and and an eagerness to please. They were an invitation and a command that he followed with his fingers, trailing them softly over the curve of her breasts. She could feel his cock twitch when he noticed her shudder, or felt her nipples harden, and she knew what made Elvis different. Her pleasure turned him on.

So she chased it, moving in tandem to the rhythm of his thighs while she pushed her lips on top of his, feeling his tongue meet hers once more. She felt his bulge and sought the friction of it between her legs. His movements became more urgent, and Bess’ grasped for anything she could find to hold on to as the car filled with sound of heaving, gulping, loud moans. Her orgasm erupted suddenly with a litany of “oh Gods,” and Elvis thumbs stroked her cheeks as he shushed the fear and hesitancy from her.

“I gotcha, I gotcha, sshhhhh baby, don worry. Jus ride it out. That’s a good lil girl.”

Bess’ chest heaved up as she remembered how to breathe. This was the most intimate experience she had ever had, and all of her clothes were still on. She half chuckled as she steadied herself, meeting Elvis triumphant, satisfied eyes.

“Wow.”

“You ok, honey? Make me think you ain’t never tussled with a boy before.”

“Not like that.”

His mouth curled into a big crooked grin, and she laughed up into the ceiling.

“Huh, well, that’s true, Bess, and you won’t never find someone like me again, neither. I got moves you ain't never seen, honey." He smirked. "Stick with me, I told you, I’m a very good boy.”

“Good at being bad.”

Laughing, she shifted and noticed his erection still lingered in his pants and so she moved her hand to rub over it but he stilled her.

“Don’t you want me to take care of you, Tupelo?” She kissed his cheek, lips moving down his neck. “ Make you feel good? I - I can, you know -”

Elvis patted her hand back into her lap and kissed the words out of her mouth.

“You were perfect tonight, Bess, perfect. But I jus as soon keep a lid on it. You don’t make it easy, though, baby, been makin’ me crazy all night, just walking round and sittin’ on me with all that equipment in your undercarriage.”

“Guess I know one pistol you have no trouble loading.”

Elvis tilted his neck back, laughing as he squeezed her waist as they made their goodbyes over a push and pull of kisses for the next fifteen minutes.

****************************************************************

Schwartz Residence, Killeen TX

9:30 p.m.

The moon followed Bess in the clear night sky as she left post, still feeling Elvis’ hands all over her, hearing his laughter in her ears. She was giddy from the blissful release she had found on his lap, it had washed away all the tension she' 'd had carrying with her through the day. Hurrying up the stairs to her house, Bess stumbled upon her mother in the kitchen making camomile tea.The creases at the corners of Mama’s large brown eyes pinched together in a big smile.

“Oh Bessie Bess, my baby, you’re home late. Want some sleepy time tea, my shayna maidel?”

Bess strode over and put her arms around her mother’s back, leaning on her shoulder as her mother poured the kettle into the teapot, her chest filled with affection.

“Sure Mamaleh, I’d love some.”

Papa’s voice rang out from his office, so she kissed her mother’s cheek and promised to be right back.

“Aw, Elizabeth, how was your day shopping with, who, Emily, was it?”

Bess leaned against the doorway of his office, glad her father was at least making the pretense of settling down for the night in his dressing gown and pajamas. A pipe was in his hand as he read over some paperwork.

“Good, Papa, thanks for asking.”

“Gut, gut, ja.” He pushed his glasses up, and looked over his desk at his daughter, taking in her slightly disheveled hair, rumpled dress and newly applied lipstick below flushed cheeks. “You know, I thought your mother made two meatloaves for supper last night.”

“Oh, well, I took some for lunch today, Papa. I didn’t know you wanted it.”

“No, ja, I was just looking for a snack earlier, but no bother, no bother.” He put his papers down. “Are you still thinking of law school, because I saw General Brandon when we were in D.C.”

“I don’t want to go do propaganda for the U.S. government, Papa.”

“Yes, well, it’s not propaganda, spatz, it’s goodwill initiatives. This war is more about minds than mines, ja? Brandon’s information program is just making sure other countries have the opportunity to experience American art and culture. Someone with your background and expertise in foreign affairs, you’d be a good fit for a post open this fall. And they want women, smart, focused, attractive women like you. You would be perfect for this job.”

Bess tapped her fingers over her belt, she had not been thinking about her research project at all, or her law school applications for that matter. No, her head had been elsewhere, and she felt pangs of shame and guilt as she considered what her father was bringing up. Her future. Specifically, he was back at it trying to convince her to work for one of the newer programs in D.C. that his colleague in Army Intelligence had founded: the United States Information Agency. Its mission was officially “public diplomacy” overseas, but Bess knew it was essentially a PR agency for the United States.

“Is it in the Berlin office?”

“Ack, Illsa, Berlin is a coveted office, you have to work your way up to it. No. Helsinki.”

“I don’t even speak Finnish, or Swedish, and -”

“It is right there at the lion’s mouth, Ilsa, there’s a lot of action in Helsinki. All the spies from Moscow are coming through it. And the goodwill tours behind the Iron Curtain go off from there. It would be, what, two years? A stepping stone to Berlin maybe? Besides, Deutsch ist die Muttersprache, you’d pick up Swedish and Finnish like that.” Papa snapped his fingers.

“Mmmhmm. Well, you got my attention. But what about Mama?” Bess fingers clenched in a fist. “She seems like she is backsliding.”

“She doesn’t do well when her routine is disrupted, you know that. She will be fine, give her a few days to settle.” Papa sucked on his pipe, and the sweet smell of tobacco reached Bess’ nose. “And, well, you know I expect orders to INCOMS headquarters any day. That will be my last post before retirement, and I promised Mama New York after that. In the meantime, your Aunt Rachel wants to come and live with us in D.C.”

“What about Kay? I thought she wanted to go to Baylor.”

Papa’s elbow banged down on his desk, as he rearranged his paperweights, then he kept talking as he got up and put a jazz record on.

“Katharina applied to Georgetown, Radcliffe, Smith and many, many other colleges, she will be fine. She would also be fine at Baylor if she is determined to follow her silly friends there.”

Bess nodded, thinking of the girls in Kay’s high school class whose mothers had been in Baylor’s sororities, and how they had been giggling about life together next year. She thought of her own decision to stay in Texas for college, at the time she had wanted to follow her friends to a big school in a big city like Austin. She turned on her heel to head back to the kitchen and Mama’s camomile tea, muttering into the hallway in from to her. “Helsinki, huh?”

Her father’s voice followed her, his eyes narrowed at the smudges of lipstick Elvis had kissed into the back of Bess’ neck.

“Just think about, ja? You have so much potential, maus. I hate to see you loose sight of your goals.”

**************************************************************

Click here to read Chapter Six: Guided Missiles

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upontherisers · 3 months ago

Note

❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜ for Dora and Rosie . for legal reasons

a/n: this took so long babe my apologizes. cari write established relationship or draw 25 challenge. i'm drawing 25.

It’s hot in the sun, gloriously hot, the kind of hot that seeps right through her bones, the kind that makes her feel like she has dissolved and diffused into the air. The kind that sings her to sleep without any sound, that makes burning feel like a hug, the kind her mother would chase her out of on the grounds of too dark and wrinkles. Sorry, Mama. I’ve always loved the light. The kind of hot that needs no wind, no umbrella, no shade at all – just the clear sky overhead and the laughter of children splashing in the fire hydrant on the street below, shrieking and shouting and ignoring their parents as is their right on such a perfect day.

The kind of hot that makes her sleepy without ever being tired first and she’s already napped today – Pastor had asked after her absence and Grammy, a quick thinker, had pardoned her granddaughter’s absence. A summer cold, you know how those get. And she has things to do – bring her laundry off the line after forgetting for two days and darn a stocking and do her readings for class tomorrow and review a radio contract offer for the picket – but it’s the kind of hot that absolves her of guilt and the day is about indulgences, isn’t it? She’s sunbathing on her roof, for Pete’s sake.

Besides, Robert’ll wake her up before it gets too late.

She cracks an eye open to look at him seated on the blanket beside her, engrossed in a newspaper. It’s tough to make out the date on the front page as it bends into shadow, but the breeze does her a favor. July 7th, 1943. It’s two weeks old but he’s reading like it’s December 8th, 1941, like he’s going to do something about what he’s seeing. You’re in it now, aren’t you?

“They don’t give you newspapers in Texas?”

His eyes, brilliant blue, as blue as the sky above, meet hers over the headline – 6 JAPANESE WARSHIPS BELIEVED SUNK IN FIGHT, and those crinkles in the corners remind her of the day they met, her confusion over Mildred’s forlorn pining when she learned where Dora had been assigned. Oh, I wanted that desk. And then he walked in and offered a hand and smiled and if she were a different woman – ambitious, romantic, concerned with station, she would’ve gloated. But Dora was new and Robert had only just started and they both needed to see who they’d turn out to be, legal secretary and lawyer.

“They give us Texas papers in Texas.”

“And they don’t have the news?”

He blinks and sets that pesky left brow. “Not the backpages stuff. Nothing about New York.”

“I can send them to you,” she says, “if you want to keep up. They’ll be a week behind but—”

“Do you read ‘em?”

“Yes,” she does, and her panic about welcoming him back into the apartment by daylight is that he’d be able to see the pile stacked on top of the piano, in reach when she’s tucked into the nook of the front window. The ones she managed to fish out of the bottom and shove into the broom closet before he finished giving himself the tour were from March and she doesn’t know when that started, but it surely wasn’t good. Just another thing to add to the list of things he made her look twice at – shoes, streetlights, and newspapers. She could at least get the Great Paper Purge done today.

The corner of his mouth lifts, the one Mildred swoons over, he snaps the pages upright again. “I’d rather have your summaries. They’re a little more uplifting.”

She’d fret over yet another assignment getting put down in writing if it weren’t for the sun, for the warm stone under the blanket as she rolls onto her stomach, if it weren’t for the reminder that she’s as alive as anything, and she really needed this, didn’t she? She doesn’t know how he knew, but the sun tells her not to get herself into a tizzy over that either, and she slumps into the pillow beneath her chin, checking her watch – 1 o’clock. An hour won’t hurt. She’d pop up at two, take her laundry down, fix her stocking, then bring her books to the roof. Dinner will have to be sorted eventually, but her eyelids are so very heavy and as Robert hums along to Mr. Delaney cranking his car radio all the way up at the end of the block, she feels like she’s floating in water, indistinguishable from the air around her.

Hell, they can walk to Dean St. and Robert can pay for dinner at Cal’s with his big fancy Air Force salary. She sleeps.

Dora doesn’t snore so much as huff, little bursts of air puffing through her lips with every exhale. It’s sweet, leisurely, and relieving that she doesn’t have to sleep like she’s desperate for it. Shades of the bone-tired woman he had coffee with a week ago still remain – her bleary, addled amazement as her younger sister gleefully announced his arrival at their grandparents’ brownstone, her gentle slump in his passenger’s seat as she quietly watched the city pass by – but she has her light back, the glow that pushes from her as she finds him a file, chats with Mildred and Bob over lunch, sheepishly hops up on stage to play with the Putman house band, and rests here on her building’s roof.

He abandons his article about illness threats to women factory workers – interesting how the men on the line next to them don’t face the same risk – to watch her for a while. It’s strange that she’s here now, in front of him, after so many months of wanting to see her, of writing down stories that would be easier to tell in person, of picking white and yellow wildflowers on the side of the runway in Tennessee and wishing he could tuck them behind her ear and watch her smile, bright, blinding. He thinks of her more than he knows what to do with.

Her face is turned toward him, brushed gold by the sun beating down over her round cheek and slight chin, the oval of her pink mouth, the heart of her Cupid’s bow. He’d kissed that beautiful, wide, flat nose, and brushed his thumb indulgently over her soft skin under the cover of night, but the light reveals the best of her. The small of her back, a heart-freckle on her shoulder, the curve of her spine – he wants to touch.

Hesitantly, he traces a knuckle over her shoulder blade and she stirs, but doesn’t wake. One finger, then another, then the rest, then his palm and he listens to her breathing as he rubs her back. It manages to be musical, like everything about her, as it matches the pace of the horns popping in and out of the Crosby tune floating up from the street. With our full crew aboard and our trust in the Lord, comin’ in on a wing and a prayer. He’s never been a fan of Crosby – crooners are killing the art of big band – but he doesn’t sound half bad when Robert can watch Dora’s lashes flutter as she stretches out on the plush, striped wool under them.

What’re you gonna do about that girl, his mother had asked him as he left this morning.

Jeannie laughed from their dining table. Something stupid.

Something helpful, he insisted.

Something helpful.

He stops rubbing her back before he really does something stupid – brush away the hair falling into her eyes, feel the freckle on her shoulder with his teeth – and pulls out the note he’d written as she was making them lemonade. Be right back. Standing, he discards his unbuttoned shirt, leaves the note on top, and grabs his edition of the Times before descending the fire escape ladder at the back of the building and slipping into Dora’s apartment. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but as soon as he regains his bearings, he gets to work.

Kitchen first. There’s not much to do; he sweeps, collects the sugar that had spilled on the counter, discards the empty lemon rinds, and washes the dishes in the sink. He picks up around the living room, scooping fallen petals from the purple flowers in her windowsill, placing stray records back in their sleeves – not without putting Benny Goodman on first, and he’s in the middle of organizing the newspapers on top of the piano when he flips through a May edition on a whim and his eyes catch black ink in the margins, two words hastily scrawled next to a small article. For Robert. The headline circled, $3,629,000 FOR REFUGEES; Jewish Relief Unit Appropriates Funds.

He remembers this. She’d written him about it along with assurances that the new Jewish families in the neighborhood were adjusting well. Her Yiddish is rudimentary, her German sparse, and her Polish non-existent, but she made sure to greet them all with a smile when passing by on the street or the bus, and she’d joined an antifascist coalition with her grandparents that had seen her speak in front of jeering crowds at borough council meetings and counter protesters at aid rallies. But they don’t bother me, she wrote.

That’s Dora, kind and fierce. She’s going to make a damn fine lawyer.

There are a few more of her notes as he skims through the papers and leaves them on top of the piano. He tidies the worn cushions in her window sill and it brings him no small amount of peace to picture her reading there with her legs curled under her, basking in the sun during the day and aglow with warm lamplight at night.

He goes to look for a duster for the piano and gets lost reshuffling her broom closet for half an hour.

This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to pick her up in Harlem, change into their bathing suits here, and spend the afternoon on Coney Island before coming back to Brooklyn and getting ready for an early dinner at Rosetti’s followed by a show on Broadway. The tickets, nervously purchased over the phone yesterday evening while Jeannie cried with silent laughter and picked up as he drove through Manhattan this morning, sit above him next to Dora in the front pocket of his shirt. They can wait there until Germany surrenders for all he cares, as long as she sleeps in peace. There’s no use in running around the city if she can’t wake up with a lighter heart tomorrow.

He’s not blaming anyone – there’s a war on – but he likes to think that if he were home, he wouldn’t have let her work herself into the ground. Surely someone had noticed the shadows growing under her eyes, her smile fading as the days went. How could they live without it?

And selfishly, he wanted one last look. Dora had circled the numbers in the papers; twelve bombers lost, fifteen, seventeen, twenty. Whatever that meant for him, a homecoming or a gold star in his mother’s window, he wants to remember what he’s fighting for. His older sister’s incessant teasing; the joy in Mrs. Schuman’s voice when he enters her bagel shop – her son Robert, also a lieutenant, didn’t make it off Guadalcanal; and the way Dora’s little brother protests that he doesn’t need her to adjust his hair and his tie before he goes to lunch at his sweetheart’s place but still lets her kiss his cheek on her way out the door. He’s fighting so that Darren doesn’t have to, so that Jews and Poles and the French get to kiss their little brothers’ cheeks, too, out from under the boot of authoritarianism.

A pair of gloves fall from a high shelf and hit him in the forehead. The Benny Goodman record has ended, and he places the gloves in a box marked WINTER before heading back out into the apartment. One of Dora’s shirts snaps in the breeze through the kitchen window. Laundry, right.

Dora rouses gradually, laying with her eyes closed for a few moments before she notices the quiet, no more children laughing or the radio playing. Rolling over, she opens her eyes. The sun is further across the sky than she’d thought it’d be, and she sits up with a start as she checks her watch – 4:30. Shit, shit, shit. She hops to her feet and sees that Robert isn’t beside her, a note left atop his shirt in his neat, even hand. Be right back. She’ll meet him downstairs; she needs to get out of the heat and get to work.

A cool wind blows, making her shiver and she throws Robert’s shirt on, which matches the light blue of her bathing suit, and her stomach does a funny wiggle. They used to show up to the office in the same colors weekly – it’s nice to know that some things don’t change.

The fabric is soft, well-loved, and as she runs her hands down it, her fingers catch on something in the breast pocket. Looking down, she sees two thin strips tucked in the fabric, and fishing them out, she rubs the sleep out of her eyes to read the print.

Broadhurst Theatre. 44th St. Evening - Sunday. E 19.

Robert Rosenthal, you didn’t.

She yanks the blanket from the ground, grabs the lemonade pitcher, and throws on her shoes – interior soles burning after hours baking in the heat – before leaping down the ladder and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s wide-eyed at her sudden entrance, holding one of her work blouses as she pushes through the window, slightly woozy at the green tinge everything takes coming out of the sun. They’re both frozen for a moment.

“Did you buy these?”

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

“I asked first,” she says, holding out the tickets.

There goes that damn dimple as he smiles softly, not helping slow her heart hammering in her chest. “I, uh, I got us a dinner reservation at Rosetti’s, too.” He folds her blouse over a bare forearm and she’s hit with so many thoughts at once – she doesn’t have anything to wear to the theater; he’s not wearing a shirt and she can see the firm muscle of his stomach and the arch of his hip bones; he’s doing her laundry, brassieres included; she still has to do her readings; he’s not wearing a shirt – that she starts to laugh, heaving, side-splitting guffaws. Of course he did.

This is what he does – waltzes into her life, shows her just how good it can be, just how kind the world can get, then leaves and she’s a better, lonelier person for it. Here he is, in her dead parents’ home, doing her laundry because she couldn’t manage, telling her he planned a night for them, that he chose her over a Yankees’ game or a show at Minton’s or simply an evening in with his darling mother, and he’ll be gone in three days, off to be a shield against evil, off to save the world after watching her nearly fall asleep on her feet in a dirty kitchen and still deciding to come back for her.

She laughs until she wheezes, until she’s folded over and her abdomen cramps, until there are tears in her eyes and she doesn’t know if she’s happy or heartbroken.

“Dora.” He’s in front of her now, smelling of heat and leather and chlorine like he got the Bab-O out from under her sink.

“What have you done?” she asks as she stands and wipes her eyes. And here she was thinking they might get dinner at Cal’s.

His face falls, eyes turning big and sad like a kicked puppy, his dark brows furrow, and it nearly sends her into another fit but she manages to stay upright. “We don’t have to go if—I thought that—”

She shakes her head vigorously and reaches up to hold his cheeks, his stupid, perfect cheeks. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

His smile is so bright that it beats the sun outside and she gets lucky with where her fingertips have landed because those glorious laugh lines find themselves where she can touch them. He turns his head just so and squints as if he’s listening to a good song and steps into her, setting his hands on her hips.

This is where they kiss in the pictures, and the thought is so laughable that she chuckles aloud before throwing her arms around his shoulders as his slip around her waist. It’s warm, not sunbathing warm, but good all the same.

“Thank you,” she murmurs in his ear. Tears bite at her eyes.

“You deserve it,” he says.

They stay in an embrace until she realizes that she still doesn’t have anything to wear and they have to get all the way to Midtown in traffic. She stands back with a sniff. “I need to borrow a dress from Jeannie.”

#mail call #poet tag #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal x reader #isadora montgomery #isadora x rosie #straighten up and fly right #my writing #this took so long because i did too much research. i have 30 tabs open #dividers from user saradika!!!

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unpopularvivian · 7 months ago

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What do you think the main steam teams (Not rebecca and nia) Favorite music genres are?

I kinda showed them in the random ttte music headcanon page. But, I'll explain them in detail:

Thomas: Loves pop and electronic music. He listens to a lot of very popular pop/ electronic songs like "Stiches" by Shawn Menades, "On & On" by Cartoon, Daniel Levi and Jeja, "Here" by Alessia Cara specifically the Lucian remix, just to name a few.

Edward: Heavy metal and rock music are his number one genre. Listens to a lot of songs that have lots of screaming in them. (His friends probably don't understand the lyrics very well). His favorite bands are "The Score", "Led Zeppelin", "Kiss" and "Metallica"

Henry: I imagine that Henry would like songs that are acoustic or are more traditional (Songs that have actual instruments in them). "Soldier, Poet, King" is Henry's favorite since it's so peaceful and poetic to him.

Gordon: Classical music. He loves songs performed by orchestras and he plays a ton of repertoire piano songs. "Fur Elise" comes to mind because it's very graceful and elegant.

James: Also loves pop but is a massive Lady Gaga fan. He absolutely admires Lady Gaga's voice performance and most of her songs are bangers to listen to for him. He will scream every song that he's heard from her on the top of his lungs.

Percy: Originally, it was just weirdcore but I decided that they would like rap music as well. Thinks that Eminem's songs meet the requirements of a good rap song. Jack Stauber is his favorite weirdcore artist due to his songs having a certain old-homey vibe to them.

Toby: Loves jazz, romantic music and electro swing. Hides the fact that he loves electro swing because most people thinks that he's old-timey and gets embarrassed when people mention it to him. (He has been caught tap-dancing to "Posin" by Peggy Suave multiple times by Henrietta and begs her not to tell it to his kids)

Emily: She just listens to random music genres since she doesn't have a preference to a specific one that she likes. Basically, she just listens to random shit that plays on the radio.

#ttte #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #ttte thomas #ttte edward #ttte henry #ttte gordon #ttte james #ttte percy #ttte toby #ttte emily #ttte headcanon #ask #ask game #send asks #ask me stuff about the ttte characters #Modernly Classical Ttte AU

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steambot-shenanigans · 3 months ago

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I’m making a post about some fanbots I haven’t discussed much on here!

I made them originally so I could have more characters for the spg rp server I was on, but I would like to revisit them sometime.

Basically, they are 3 yellow matter bots created by the direct descendants of Rex Marksley. For the purposes of this, yellow matter represents time. Here’s a lore dump about the three of them!

The first bot to be built, representing the past, is Milo Samuel Marksley (Milo coming for the greek word for speak, and Samuel coming from Samuel Morse). He was invented in 1850 by Roy Marksley, the son of the legendary gunslinger himself, who was inspired by the telegraph. It is a very old bot and is very worn down. They keep getting more rusted and straight up loosing parts.

It was built before voicebox technology, so it can only communicate outwardly through the beeps of morse code. Its younger siblings worry that one day it will get so worm down they will stop working alltogether. Its appearance is very rough, having no mouth, or exterior plating, so their simplistic mechanical insides are on display, aside from a few places. Their clothes are very much outdated, it breaks down frequently, and is generally fairly slow. Despite that, they still manage to keep the peace between its bickering siblings.

Its antenna is centered, coming out of the back of it’s head and going through its top-hat. It is curled at the end and has a small ball at its point. It plays percussion (mostly drums and piano).

In December 1906, a second bot was invented by Roy’s youngest daughter, Ray Marksley, inspired by the existence of the radio. Named Echo Reginald Marksley, this bot has stayed in much the same condition as when he was first built. (Echo comes from the greek word for sound, and Reginald comes from the first name of the violinist who played the first song to be broadcast on the radio- O Holy Night).

He doesn’t upgrade well, as his chassis will accept nothing but identical parts and his systems reject any software updates, much to his dismay. He hasn’t gotten any new malfunctions and is a pretty durable and consistent bot. He is most at home making radio broadcasts, as he knows his best feature is his voice. It’s low, velvety and melodious, despite the slight staticky quality that worsens when he is feeling strong emotions. He tends to act confident, composed, and a bit flirtatious, which is how he naturally is on the radio, but is less natural and more facade when talking to people face to face. The biggest hit to his confidence is his physical appearance, as his inventor, Ray, cared more for function than form. So while he was painstakingly programmed with intellect, creativity, great memory storage, and an extensive vocabulary, and the best voice possible for his purpose as a radio bot, his exterior was not afforded the same care. His body is fine when covered in clothing (which it almost always is), but his face is harder to hide. It’s asymmetrical, and the features are not quite right, looking almost more like a radio than a human face in such a way that puts him squarely in the uncanny valley. He once had a listener who fell in love with him because of his voice, and then quickly fell out of love and ran away when he saw the bot’s face.

Because he is quicker and more charismatic than his older sibling, and more experienced than his younger sister, He generally considers himself the leader of the siblings, both in taking care of them, and in matters of the band they are in. His younger sister takes issue with this. If you think he’s abnormally flirtatious normally, you should see how mushy he gets when he genuinely falls in love with someone! Echo has one antenna above his left audio receptor (which really looks nothing like an ear). It can fold down across his head, or retract and extend as needed to broadcast radio signals remarkably far considering he’s not as tall as a broadcast tower. He does occasionally climb things to get better signal if he’s trying to communicate with someone far away.

In 1941, Ray’s eldest and only daughter Rue Marksley goes on to complete the trio with Cathode Ray Marksley. (Cathode comes from the cathode ray tubes original tvs were built with and Ray was her grandmother’s name).

Cathode, or Cathy as everyone calls her is inspired by a tv, and as such has one for a head, her screen almost always showing her pretty face. Rue had wanted to make Cathy since 1930 when she was a little girl and found out about TVs, but due to not being old enough, and the Great Depression, it had to wait. When first built, people didn’t understand why Rue would build a feminine robot, and so Cathy presented as male for a while, about until the early 2000s. Cathy is stylish and modern, always getting their current caretaker to upgrade her with the latest things, whether its color television, more modern displays, more pixels, or a flatter screen. Beyond her chassis, she also cares about the clothes she wears. Though her siblings usually always wear the same thing every day, Cathy is constantly changing her style based on what’s trendy, and she is not stopped by what gender clothes are associated with.

Being the youngest and being spoiled with upgrades and shopping trips has caused her to be a bit bratty and prideful, but she still cares for her siblings even though she can’t go a day without getting into squabbles with Echo. She’s quite flirtatious and even if she complains a lot, she will still get the job done if it’s something that needs doing or is for a friend. She plays electric guitar, rhythm guitar, saxophone, and trumpet. Her antennae are two classic bunny-ear tv antennae that she kept around despite her upgrades so she could still transmit and receive radio signals from her siblings.

The Marksley bots have a radio/video show together of playing music, a combination of old and new, covers and original songs. They mostly live off their family’s fortune, as they aren’t incredibly well known, and they’re not affiliated with the Marksley Weapons Company (though they could be if they wanted to).

Also in case you were wondering, Cathy is a lesbian, Echo is bi, polyamorous and asexual, and Milo is aroace and agender

#steam powered giraffe #spg fanbot #rex marksley

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hazbinhazbinhazbinreblog · 9 months ago

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Okay Radio Guard Charlie deep dive written by a tired, about to pass out college student, wooo.

So this is probs gonna be long so fair warning.

To start off, Charlie, canonically in Radio Guard, barely remembers her mom (yes I am going down the super angsty route since I like to torment myself and it adds extra angst drama flare). As a trade off, Charlie has a better relationship with Lucifer so compared to other Charlies probably.

That said, it did take awhile for Lucifer to come back into the picture, so for a good while, Alastor was her sole caretaker. Like mentioned in a previous ask/lore dump, Alastor was there for a lot of core memories. And because of that, Alastor did influence a lot. Besides the stuff I mentioned before, Charlie grew up learning to play the piano. She also grew up listening to Alastor's radio show, a lot (due to a headcanon that, by Lucifer's permission or not, a study was transformed into Alastor's own personal radio studio in the castle so he could keep an eye on Charlie easier). Because of the radio show, she grew up hearing stories of Alastor's past and what he did, although she only got the full picture when she got older and Alastor felt comfortable sharing the full stories with her (graphic details and all, only if she said she could stomach them). One of the many fond memories Charlie has is falling asleep in Alastor's arms while he was doing a radio show when she was still young and waking up briefly, barely half awake, to hear Alastor speak without his radio filter and how calming and kind it sounded (she also remembers how tired he sounded but how warm his smile was. And while she knows Alastor will deny it, she vaguely remembers Alastor kissing the top of her head like how a father would with his child when she was drifting back to sleep).

Charlie personality wise is pretty much the same. She is still bubbly and happy, but not as naive as her canon self. I think, again with Alastor influence (with some of Lucifer's influence too), I think Charlie knows there are some sinners out there who just, cannot be redeemed to save their lives. It was a hard lesson for her but it was a lesson she needed to learn. I also think in a weird way, Alastor's weird sense of justice probably rubbed off onto Charlie. She doesn't agree with his methods (i.e brutally killing, torturing, and broadcasting a sinner's screams on his show), but like she gets why he does the things he does too. But even then, she still asks him to go easy on people and try to be open-minded (fun fact: the ONLY reason Alastor didn't snap Radio Guard!Vox like a twig in a blind rage when they reunited was because of Charlie asking Alastor to not hurt him and to give him a chance. That is mainly because Charlie was very in the dark about Alastor and Vox's relationship prior, but even if she knew, she would still ask Alastor to give Vox a chance since Vox didn't seem so bad).

Other stuff to note and add to! Like mentioned in a previous ask/lore dump, Charlie knows old songs. The three she remembers the most is: Daisy Bell, The Teddy Bear’s Picnic and Tiptoe Through the Tulips. Daisy Bell is kind of more angsty reason (i.e, it's a song she always heard Alastor sing but never got why he sang it until one day in the hotel she overheard Vox singing a few of the lyrics to himself). She has a record player where she plays a lot of old music or jazz. She does actually have a radio, it's a small little portable one, that is more of a 1940s model then 20s or 30s (she saw it in the window of a store one day and begged Alastor to get it for her when they were going on a walk). For a good bit of time, growing up, she spoke solely in 1920s to 1930s slang. Alastor found it funny, Husk did not. They begged her stop though when she kept demanding giggle juice, as giggle juice is booze and she thought it was just juice that made you happy. (Alastor voice: It does but you are like 9, so, you cant have it. /j).

As for clothing style, if you remember her pilot outfit, the one with the suspenders and that is black and white. Yeah that is just her canon outfit now. She wears a lot of suspenders and more masc 1920s clothing. Alastor helped her pick out the clothes when she asked if she could wear clothes similar to his era and he was happy to help (and he will deny he cried tears of joy, no rosie, you have no photo evidence of that, what do you mean?). She even has a cute little news boy cap to match her outfit! I also think Radio Guard Charlie's hair is either shorter or always in a updo, like a messy bun!

(and smacking this near the end, while writing this, i took a small break and got notified of the fic with radio guard alastor and just, chef's kiss, I love it. 10 out of 10 fanfic anon!)

-⚔️ anon

LORE LORE LORE

Alastor's comment on the "giggle juice" had me laughing for several minutes ngl. I love love love the outfit you've come up with for her too

#ask #radioguard au #⚔️ anon

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scotianostra · 3 months ago

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Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin today’s anniversary posts!

On 5th August 1923 Scottish broadcaster, Eileen Mitchell, was born.

I wonder how many of you recognised the words at the top from your childhood, maybe not so many here on my Tumblr page, but many on my Facebook group. Well Eileen was the presenter of the programme, Listen with Mother, just imagine that being suggested as a title for a show nowadays, Listen with a parent just doesn't have the same ring does it!

While it wasn’t Eileen who spoke those words, they were spoken by the various storytellers, Eileen has always been associated with them, it's more about the actual show rather than the introduction.

Born in Edinburgh as Eileen Browne, she studied at the Royal College of Music for 18 months - the piano was her first instrument. But the war interrupted her career, and she worked in Novobax’s precision engineering factory from 1943 to 1946 as an inspector and tester of aircraft instruments. While at the factory, she wrote to the BBC asking if there were any vacancies in the schools music department. The correspondence dragged on for over a year, at the end of which she was given temporary employment as a junior programme assistant.

During the next seven years Eileen Browne’s assignments included Music And Movement, Music Box and orchestral concerts. As well as a popular performer, she became a gifted scriptwriter, dramatizing a series of lives of great composers for Adventures In Music. She was also asked to compose variations on nursery rhymes, sing and accompany them for four programmes for children’s television.

Yet although she was very much involved in the musical content and presentation of the programme, the memorable words of introduction - 'Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin' - were not spoken by Eileen Browne, but by the various storytellers, such as Daphne Oxenford and Julia Lang.

Eileen Browne left the BBC in July 1953 shortly after her first marriage . She felt she could not combine running a home with a full-time job. However, in 1955, she was the voice of Jenny Woodentop in the Watch With Mother television puppet series and she was asked to return regularly as a part-time producer in schools radio, which she continued to do until 1964.

In 1956 she married Robert Mitchell, who died in 1996, and after her final retirement devoted her life very happily to being a farmer’s wife and mother, looking after a son, daughter and three stepchildren, who survive her. But during her broadcasting career, she touched the lives of a much wider family of children.

#scotland #scottish #history #radio #television #childrens tv

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noxcorvorum · 7 months ago

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Do you have any horror podcast recs

I liked tma and old gods of Appalachia but I'm caught up and need to BINGE

hello! youve come to the right place :)

Ghost Wax feels kindof similar to tma, especially tma season 1, with the main character (Owen Voncid) taking statements of people who've encountered the supernatural. However, Owen is a necromancer (the last Reclaimer!) who briefly reawakens the dead so that they can tell their final story, and all of the statement givers are dead. He also has an assistant, Luca Eso, who made the wax cylinders that he uses (he's been around for a very long time, and the remembrances are beginning to slip from his brain) and is a pop culture nerd. They work with a seer, Pip (or Phillipa Le Fay, to respect the stagecraft), who uses her grandmother's tarot cards.

All three of these people work for the Order of Hamsa, which fights the supernatural. Hamsa are incredibly powerful entities who have magic such as geomancy and necromancy, and usually inhabit a human body, though generally not for an incredibly long amount of time. There are several Hamsa in this podcast, including Owen. Owen has remained in his body for much longer than usual. Some other characters I enjoyed are Emea, the apiarist as well as Owen's best friend and a Hamsa, Cosa, the android librarian/archivist, and Azem, who is very thoroughly haunting the narrative. Don't look away.

I absolutely love this podcast, its easily in my top three. There's several incantations/spells which are so fun to me, found family, and really fun sound effects. It has 46 episodes as well as 2 Tales from the Vault, which are filled with smaller stories (I submitted a story to the second one!), there's content on patreon, and season 2 is in production.

Malevolent is about Arthur Lester, a 1930s private investigator from Arkham, Massachusetts, and the voice in his head and his eyes. Episode 1 opens with Arthur coming to on the floor of his office, suddenly blind, a strange entity speaking to him, and his business partner dead on the floor. Arthur and John, as the entity comes to be named, must now figure out how to navigate the horrors, try to find a way to separate themselves, and figure out where John came from. There's lots of cosmic horror/lovecraftian influences in here, and they have so many miles to go before they sleep.

There's a LOT of audio gore/squishy flesh sounds/Arthur screaming because the horrors love ripping into him, so if that's no good then this podcast is not for you. Some of the more eldritch characters also have voice filters, most notably John, which could make them hard to understand, though there are transcripts available. the plot can also be a little hard to follow sometimes.

I really enjoy this podcast, I'm currently relistening to it and having a great time. It's kindof forced family? because Arthur and John physically cannot get away from each other and yet they Have To communicate. They're so so much "its rotten work" "not to me, not if its you" AND "its rotten work" "especially to me, especially if its you, ill do it but christ alive". It's currently 42 episodes at usually 40ish minutes each, and still going, with new episodes releasing mostly monthly. There's also one voice actor, everyone sounds similar because it's the same guy.

Hello from the Hallowoods is a post apocalyptic show about identity, grief, family, and survival. It's formatted as a radio broadcast by an entity named Nikignik, who narrates everything. There is one voice actor for the majority of this show (save for the occasional character speaking outside of Nikignik's broadcast), and they do an amazing job, especially considering the amount of characters.

Some of the characters I really enjoy are Diggory Graves, a nonbinary frankenstein's monster with knife hands and a leather jacket, Percy Reed, a transmasc piano ghost, Riot Maidstone, the lesbian punk daughter of a rockstar, Olivier Song, a genderfluid cloud witch, Ray, a ghost possessing an automobile, Moth Scarberry (moth/mothself), Ray's adopted kid, Walt Pensieve, the asexual groundskeeper of the Hallowoods, and Polly, a devil in a floral suit. Some of the antagonists include Lady Ethel Mallory, a gaslight gatekeep girlboss of a marketing specialist for an evil corporation and the Instrumentalist, a religious fanatic who keeps killing people and turning them into instruments. Darker than your dreams, and farther north than you remember, the Hallowoods loom.

Each episode has a different theme based on the title (such as Keys, Names, and Bones), and is split into several different stories that follow different characters as Nikignik jumps around. There's not very many voice filters, because Nikignik is doing the voices himself, though I think there are a few, and transcripts are available. There's 145 episodes at usually 30 to 50 minutes each, and a new one releases every wednesday.

Sidenote, the Instrumentalist is *really* religious as well as homophobic and transphobic, and he regularly misgenders/deadnames a trans main character. He only exists in the show for about 50 episodes, and definitely gets what he deserves.

The White Vault is a found footage podcast with the first two seasons comprising a repair team's trip to Outpost Fristed in Svalbard. They go up to repair some damaged equipment as well as look at some weird readings, and then have to wait out a massive storm. They find a hatch in the auxiliary bunker, and explore the tunnels beneath to find a village beneath the ice. Theres Graham Casner, the survival guide, Walter Heath, the repair technician, Karina Shumacher-Weiß, the geologist, Rosa De La Torre, the medic, and Jónas Þórirsson, the representative of the company sending them. Travel is not advised.

I listened to the bulk of the first 2 seasons at 2 am while playing powerwash simulator, and it made me so incredibly anxious that I had to have my back to a wall *in the game* so nothing could sneak up one me. Highly recommend. There's so much fear and helplessness surrounding what could be hiding in the storm and in the ice, and I absolutely love the concept for the antagonists.

Seasons 3 and 4 are about a different team in Patagonia, season 5 checks back in at Svalbard, and season 6 is somewhere else entirely. 3-4 are pretty alright in my opinion, maybe a bit repetitive as it follows a similar pattern to the first two seasons, but I don't hate them. I think 5 is pretty good, though it has my favorite character in it, so, you know. I think 6 goes in a bit of a different direction, though I'm not caught up so I can't really comment on it. Seasons 1 and 2 are absolutely stunning, though.

The creators and cast of seasons 1-2 also have a horror dnd podcast called Dark Dice. I must admit I haven't finished the first campaign, though I really liked what I did listen to. I'm told the second campaign has Jeff Goldblum in it, and has 2 different parties with one hunting the other, though I haven't listened to it yet, so take that as you will.

Jar of Rebuke follows Dr. Jared Hel, a cryptid scientist with amnesia in a small Midwestern town, and perhaps closer to the cryptids than they realize. They're also immortal, and (for a reason I don't remember at this particular moment) he has to wear a key around his neck, and never take it off. I'm not caught up, though I really liked what I did listen to. There's lots of fun cryptids and supernatural happenings, such as Jared getting a hellhound as a pet. The episodes are about 10-20 minutes each, and it's ongoing.

As someone on tiktok so aptly said, if you have trust issues with your therapist, you probably shouldn't listen to this podcast. Jared is manipulated by their therapists, and we sometimes hear them talk about him like he's a test subject or creature, not a person.

Do You Copy is another found footage podcast surrounding Redtail National Park, which more or less contains an area called the Dead Zone, in which technology doesn't work and other spooky stuff happens. The Dead Zone has a possible imminent ecological disaster, and though the park is evacuated until the emergency is over, there are a couple people still inside. These include two ghost hunters, a hiker and their dog, and two park rangers who have been instructed to stay inside in hopes of hearing from the three others. I found the Dead Zone and what lies inside VERY interesting, both from a horror perspective and a speculative biology/ecology perspective. It is finished at 14 episodes.

The Hyacinth Disaster is a space horror found footage podcast, and easily in my top three (the other one on that list is tma). It is set in 2151, when Jupiter and Mars have been colonized, and the asteroid belt is being mined for resources. There are two main mining companies in the show, Halaesus Mining Co in Lagrange 4, Greek objects, and Lykaeon Minerals Corporation in Lagrange 5, Trojan objects. The Corvus, a ship contracted to Halaesus and ordered to survey and harvest an asteroid in Lagrange 5, was captured by Lykaeon and held for ransom, and Halaesus denies the ransom broadcast is true, unwilling to pay. The skeleton crew of the MRS Hyacinth has gone rogue in the slowly dwindling time limit to survey a possibly incredibly valuable asteroid, hoping to pay the ransom themselves. But they are 6 people manning a ship meant for 53, and there are so many things to go wrong.

Conlin Hynes is the captain of the Hyacinth and is a good friend of Ember Roth, the captain of the Corvus. Con isn't the greatest captain, not by a long shot, but he's incredibly loyal, and maintains a talented crew. Famke Hynes, or Blue, is Con's sister, and the captain of her own ship, the Sibirica. She would have been the captain of the Hyacinth had she won the rock paper scissors match when they first bought it. She's returned to the Hyacinth to run comms for her brother as they bring Ember and her crew home, and to blow things up along the way.

Finch is Con's wife, and doing an admirable job at being an one-person engineering and seismology team. She's doing her absolute best with the equipment they have that corporate refuses to replace or reapir. Dreadnought in exosuit 2 is by far the youngest of the crew at 24. He's a surveyor, and in fact surveyed Saniss 130991, the very rock they're at, himself. He saw the potential and purposefully misfiled it, hoping to make a bigger profit if corporate didn't know about it, and told Finch, who told Con, and now they're all here.

Grimm is in exo 4, one that he bought himself and has carefully maintained. He refuses to tell the others what he's named it. He moves around a lot, as he gets bored of jobs quickly. Seems like a hardass, but he's actually a pretty nice guy. Argus in exo 7 is one of Con's best friends, having worked with him and Grimm on several jobs. He's a pretty optimistic guy, and follows Grimm as he moves from job to job. His lucky object of choice is a surprise tool that will help us later.

There's lots of angst and horror but also lots of comedy. I've seen a couple reactions that thought there was too much comedy for the situation, but personally I really enjoyed it. It's 7 episodes long, at about 2.5 hours total. There's a lot of sound effects for the ship controls that could potentially be irritating, Dreadnought's dialogue is full of static and sometimes difficult to understand because his radio is partially broken, and there's a loud, extended, high pitched static sound often in the first few episodes (It's when they activate the squealer device, it lasts for about 10-15 seconds each time and there's a countdown from 5 right before), so if you have issues with mechanical/static sound effects, this probably isn't for you. There's transcripts for episodes 1-4 on the website, along with a database of more information about the world.

I'm so so normal about this podcast, I have a note full of facts and trivia (Ember was voted into captaincy by her crew, and according to dreadnought, the ratio of greek names to jovian objects is about 1 in 50,000), my senior quote was from here, I've relistened to it so many times. I cannot recommend this enough.

Among the Stars and Bones is another found footage space horror, but this time it's about anthropology and alien technology. The format is mission files being sent back to the company from a large team investigating an abandoned alien settlement. There's about 7 different perspectives, one from each branch of the team (xenoanthropology, IT, etc).

I really enjoyed it the first time I listened, there were a lot of good anxious moments. A couple of my favorite characters are Dr. Celia Pannella, who heads the xenoanthropology section, and Ben Kelleher, who heads the xenoarchaeology section. I found the alien science/speculative biology really really interesting.

Given you liked tma I'm assuming you know of The Magnus Protocol, but if you don't, it's pretty much Magnus but in a civil service job instead of archiving. It has such characters as Colin the longsuffering IT guy, Alice, who is coping with the horrors by ignoring them, Needles, and Chester and Norris, two text-to-speech voices who we have definitely never heard before (/s).

It has 10 episodes plus an Easter/April Fools special, and it's on a break until April 11th.

Mabel is a podcast about ghosts, families, secrets, and connections. Anna Limon is a carer who has been hired to take care of Mabel Martin's mother Sally. The house is odd, the house is alive, and the house is hungry. Anna is unraveling a mystery as fast as she can find the thread, and Mabel, having grown up half-feral and half-faeral, is somewhere under the Hill.

I will admit I haven't finished this show, but I would definitely recommend it. I actually had to restart it because I wasn't expecting to be as invested as I was. It is very much a faerie story, with riddles and all.

The Silt Verses is a story about faith, and what people will do to keep it. It follows Sister Carpenter and Brother Faulkner as they travel upriver, looking for revelations of their outlawed god, the Trawler-Man. There's a whole cast of gods, many of which are capitalistic, and most of the ones that are not have been outlawed. Some examples are the Trawler-Man of the river, the Waxen Scrivener of decay and books, the Saint Electric of radio and electricity, and the Cairn Maiden of graves and death.

I'd say it has semi similar vibes to Old Gods, mostly with the many deities and monsters. I'm only about halfway through it, but I'd definitely recommend it.

Hope you find something you enjoy!

#long post #podcast recs #podcast recommendations #horror podcasts

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