#he lived rent free for some time since then :)

[oliversrarebooks]

you shouldn't have

tw: mind control, hypnosis, demeaning language, dehumanization

December 1986

Light, heat, and an unfairly delicious smell poured out from a restaurant's door as Phil passed by. It was Christmas Eve, and he was freezing his goddamn ass off in his worn-out sweatpants, battered coat, and leaking shoes. His empty stomach didn't help, either. The library had already closed down for the night, and most of his usual haunts where he could warm up were also closing early on account of the holiday.

Some fucking time to get his heat shut off. Merry Christmas to him.

He'd scrounged up enough money for a shitty hot dog from a convenience store, which wasn't nearly enough to quiet his growling stomach, and his hunger definitely wasn't helping him deal with the cold. At this rate he might as well go home to his cold apartment, curl up in bed under as many blankets as he could find, and hope for better luck tomorrow.

He passed another restaurant, this one a high-end affair, all done up in garlands and ribbons and twinkling lights. The people inside were sipping wine and laughing, and he couldn't help but stare in envy as some rich asshole cut into an enormous juicy steak. Phil hadn't had a steak since --

No. That was the last thing he should be thinking about. Going back was not an option.

But of course, now that the seed had been planted, his stupid brain couldn't help but poke at it again and again. A soft, warm bed. All the food he could eat. A hot shower.

And the bloodsucking asshole who'd put him under a spell and drained his blood for the better part of six years.

That vampire was the reason he couldn't hold down a proper job any more. All that time spent in a servile daze had given him permanent brain fog, not to mention an unexplainable gap on his resume, and all of his skills were woefully out of date by the time he got back to the real world. Trying to go back to being an accountant was out of the question. Instead, he struggled to hold down a minimum wage job stocking shelves at the grocery store. It was barely enough money to make rent and eat, and that was before he got fired for showing up late one too many times.

And so, here he was on Christmas, broke as fuck with no future.

The frigid wind howled through the buildings, cutting him to the bone, and Phil pulled his coat tighter and started to walk back to his apartment. He tried to put the vampire out of his mind and ignore the darkened shop windows full of things he couldn't afford. He'd fought like hell trying to free his mind of the vampire's hypnotism enough to escape. There was no way he could just give up and go back, not when he could take his life back.

And after eight months, what did he have to show for it?

Fuck. He really, really didn't want to spend Christmas in his ice-cold apartment, shivering under his covers, ignoring his stomach. More than that, he really didn't want to go searching for another low paying job he hated, spending his days doing mind numbing chores, then going home and slumping in front of the TV, only to wake up the next day and do it all over again.

Phil stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change, glancing in the direction of the vampire's stupid fancy brownstone where he'd been confined for so long, only leaving when the vampire wanted to show him off at a party, or have a servant to carry his shopping, or take a convenient meal with him on vacation. The place wasn't very far away. Maybe a ten or fifteen minute walk from here.

He forced himself to look forward and cross the street. It didn't matter that the vampire spoiled him with a rich and comfortable life, he'd been a prisoner. The vampire had his mind half reduced to mush, convinced that he lived to be a servant and a bloodbag, fawning and simpering at his undead feet. Any resistance was met with another round of hypnosis to keep him docile and obedient. He'd been happy, sure, in the way a loyal and stupid dog is happy, smiling blankly when the vampire treated him as a dumb little pet. The thought of returning to that made him sick. It didn't matter how bad things his life was now, nothing could be worse than that.

At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. It was hard to believe it on nights like this, when the icy wind whipped through his threadbare clothes as if he were wearing nothing. Sometimes it was hard to convince himself that a soul-sucking job was really so much more noble than being a vampire's personal blood supply. He had a far higher standard of living when he worked for the vampire, too. It only cost his free will.

Phil found himself stopped on the street corner, trying to keep himself from doing what he was so sorely tempted to do. The filthy, melting snow was leaking into his shoes and soaking his socks, his toes turning numb. His stomach ached. His head throbbed. A woman in a hurry, carrying four big shopping bags, jostled into him, almost knocking him over.

When he regained his footing, his heavy, sore feet began to sleepwalk towards that old brownstone, as if he were in a dream.

His throat felt dry, his hands clammy. He couldn't really be doing this, just to get a hot meal and a warm roof over his head. He couldn't give up, not after working so hard to escape.

The light turned and he kept walking down the familiar streets to an all too familiar gilded cage.

This was crazy. Even if he did want to do this -- and he didn't -- he didn't even know if the vampire would want to take him back. Phil had run away, after all. The vampire might turn him away out of scorn, or worse, decide to punish him for his disobedience. While the vampire had never been overtly cruel to Phil, there was no doubt that he had cruelty in him, and Phil didn't want to be on the receiving end.

It wasn't as if he could just show up on the vampire's doorstep and be welcomed back with open arms, everything back to the way it was. Just because the vampire had generously indulged Phil's insubordinate attitude in the past, finding it amusing -- just because the vampire's only punishment was hypnotizing the resistance out of him -- just because he sometimes would lie awake at night wondering if the vampire missed him --

He stopped. He was there. Despite arguing with himself every step of the way, he arrived in front of the vampire's home, his former prison.

There was a warm glow coming from inside. The vampire was certainly home. All Phil had to do was knock, and he'd see that awful smug face again. He wanted to puke.

He had to walk away right now before he did something he regretted, probably for the rest of his life. It had taken all of his willpower and a lucky break for him to pull free of the hypnotic spell long enough to form an escape plan. There was no way the vampire would allow that oversight to happen again.

And hell, the vampire might be angry at him for escaping and subject him to some horrible punishment just for showing up. Maybe he'd even been replaced as a thrall. It had been eight months, after all.

Phil didn't want to acknowledge how the idea of being replaced made him feel.

So there were many good reasons why he absolutely should not climb those steps and knock on the door, why he should turn around now and go back to his cold, empty, messy studio apartment for the most depressing Christmas Eve ever. It was better than turning his life back over to the vampire. Wasn't it?

As Phil stood there staring at the brownstone and fighting with himself, the wind began to blow harder, the sky opened up, and freezing cold raindrops began to dot the sidewalk. He swore under his breath, already getting soaked.

Fuck it.

He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, trying not to shiver as the rain came down harder. He could still walk away. It wasn't too late --

The door opened, and there he was, looking just the same as the night Phil had escaped -- thick dark curls, deep and inviting eyes, self-satisfied smile. The vampire was dressed in one of his thick velvet bathrobes and it looked as if he'd just stepped out of his shower. Phil hated that he knew that the vampire had changed his shampoo just by the scent of him.

"Phil," he said, eyes going wide.

"Virgil."

And there it was, that insufferable smug grin. "Well, well, well, I wasn't expecting a Christmas present."

"You don't celebrate Christmas," said Phil. Oh, this was a mistake. Virgil being happy to see him was perhaps the worst outcome of all.

"I might have to start," he said, stepping aside and beckoning Phil forward. "Come in. You surely don't want to be out in that."

Every warning bell in Phil's head went off as he stepped over the threshold of the vampire's home, leaving behind the freezing rain and entering into surroundings that were all too familiar, Virgil's taste for the expensive and avant-garde on full display. Virgil wasted no time in invading Phil's personal space, standing so close and hooking one soft finger under his chin to lift it.

Phil averted his gaze from the vampire's eyes. He may have returned here willingly, but he wasn't going to just submit to Virgil's hypnotic spell like that. He still had some dignity.

"You're soaking wet, dear," Virgil purred. "You must be absolutely freezing in those gross things. Why don't you go upstairs and get changed into something warm? Then we can have a little chat."

"A chat?" Phil asked, struggling to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Yes, dear, a chat. If not that, what did you come here for?"

Phil's face felt heated even as the rest of him was cold. "It's not like that. I just…" God, he didn't want to admit to the fucking vampire how badly his attempt at taking care of himself had failed, how he'd been fired from three jobs, how his heat had been shut off, how little food and sleep he'd had in the last few weeks. He knew that Virgil must see the failure all over him, even if he didn't say it. He was dressed in ratty clothes and sopping wet, leaving a puddle on the marble floor. "It's Christmas Eve, and I didn't know where else to go."

Virgil's grin at that statement was positively predatory, making Phil feel like a mouse under the paw of a cat.

"You don't have to look so smug about it," Phil said.

"Oh, dear, you know me better than that. Of course I do. Now why don't you run upstairs and get changed like a good boy, hm?"

Ugh, that condescension. Why the hell had he come back here? Now he was stuck in the house with Virgil who was certainly going to try and put Phil back under his sway. He'd known that, of course, but the vampire's smile was what really drove it home. He probably wasn't leaving this place of his own free will again.

So he begrudgingly climbed the stairs, not even bothering to ask Virgil where he should get changed, knowing before he'd opened the door that his bedroom would be untouched since the night he'd escaped. It was all there, just as he'd left it -- the basket of knitting with the unfinished sweater, the fancy binoculars and telescope Virgil had bought him that were so sophisticated that Phil had barely learned to use them, the overflowing bookcase, the black and white TV with the rabbit ear antenna. The only difference was that the bed had been made, and god, did it ever look inviting. The second floor of the vampire's house was even warmer than the first, almost stiflingly so, and Phil could feel the cold melting away as he stripped off his clothes and left them in a wet heap.

The wardrobe was the same, too, full of disgustingly expensive designer clothing, all picked out by the vampire. Half of it was garish shit that Phil would never normally wear that Virgil had bought so that they could match. Phil pulled a plain black t-shirt and cotton pants, the simplest and most comfortable things he could find, and put them on.

He couldn't stop himself from flopping onto the bed, trying to keep his heavy eyes from drifting shut. He knew he couldn't go to sleep here -- Virgil would certainly take advantage of that, and besides, the vampire seemed to want to chat, whatever that was going to be. But the bed was warm, and comfortable, and fitted out with the softest blankets and sheets…

He was staring up at the ceiling he'd stared at so many times before, dazed and drowsy after the vampire fed on him, the throbbing in his neck washed out by mind controlled bliss. And now, here he was again, and he'd spent so much time fighting with himself and daydreaming about food and warmth that he didn't even have an exit plan. Avoid looking into his eyes, try not to let his voice lull away his senses, ask him real nicely pretty please don't enthrall me again -- good luck with any of that.

God, he was so fucking stupid. His stomach growled at the same time a yawn was forced from his lips -- being hungry and exhausted always caused him to make idiotic decisions. Really, he should just leave. Put his own clothes back on, rush out the door, and hope Virgil couldn't be bothered to chase after him in the freezing rain. It was a long shot, but the only way he could --

"Knock knock!" said Virgil, opening the door without knocking. "I'm having Bernie make you an absolutely enormous breakfast. You're welcome."

Phil's stomach made an unholy noise. "You don't need to do that."

"Nonsense. I could hear your stomach from downstairs, you know. Now come along to the kitchen." Virgil grabbed Phil's wrists and pulled him to his feet, ushering him towards the door. "It'd be rude to waste Bernie's cooking, and I know you have better manners than that, because I trained them into you."

Phil dug in his heels. "I'm not going to be your thrall again, Virgil."

"Oh, dear, who said anything about that?" said Virgil. "I certainly didn't propose that. I think someone's desires are causing him to get ahead of himself."

"I do not desire --"

"Hush, hush, come along now."

With no better options, Phil allowed the vampire to drag him off to the kitchen, where he was slapped in the face by the mouthwatering aroma of eggs, bacon, and buttered toast. All rational thought went out the window. He hadn't eaten a meal like that in weeks.

Bernie, Virgil's former favorite thrall and current housekeeper, was standing by the stove, with a saccharine smile and daggers in her eyes. "Welcome back, Phil," she said through clenched teeth.

"Good to see you, Bernie. Thanks for breakfast," Phil mumbled, withering before her gaze. Bernie had always been jealous of him. That might make her an ally in Phil's plan to leave after breakfast, except that the only thing stronger than her jealousy was her starry-eyed devotion to Virgil. She'd only ever poisoned him once, and that was when Virgil was mad at him, and she'd relented and called an ambulance before he actually died.

Of course, Virgil was probably mad at him now…

"Eat up," she said.

Phil groaned and tucked into the food, all thoughts of potential poisoning disappearing as he ate. He really did need this.

"So," said Virgil with a terrifying gleam in his eye, "Christmas Eve and nowhere else to go, was it? I take it your little human life has been disappointing so far? Not matching up to your hopes and dreams?"

"My life is amazing. Couldn't be better." Phil stubbornly looked at his rapidly disappearing mountain of eggs and not at the vampire.

"Oh, no doubt." Virgil rested his head against his palm, shamelessly watching Phil eat. "But I couldn't help but notice how unhealthy you look." He reached out a hand, brushing Phil's cheek and directing Phil's gaze to the deep pool of his eyes. They were so dark, so captivating, so soothing, that Phil found himself swaying in a daze just from a moment's contact.

Phil shook his head, pulling out of Virgil's grasp. "You don't need to do that."

"But I want to. I know you must have missed it."

He stuffed his mouth full of eggs. "No, I didn't."

"Mmm." Virgil leaned back, appraising. "You did hurt me, you know. You betrayed me, leaving without so much as a goodbye or a note, not even trying to talk to me to work out your troubles. And after I had spoiled you, I trusted you --"

"You didn't trust me," said Phil, slamming down his fork. "You hypnotized me."

"I quieted your anxious mind. I helped you relax and enjoy life."

"You took my freedom away!"

"Ah, yes, your precious freedom, so very important. Your freedom to live your amazing life." Virgil's facade cracked, allowing his anger to leak through. "Your life that was so amazing that you were out wandering in the freezing cold rain on Christmas Eve, starving and desperate."

"Fine. You want me to admit that my life sucks? Yeah, it does. It sucks," said Phil. "And that's mostly your fault. You took six years from my life that I can't explain to anyone without looking crazy, and the spell you put on my brain makes it so I can't concentrate and can't hold down a serious job."

"I allegedly did all of those terrible things to you and yet you're here, aren't you, choosing to spend Christmas with me, the big scary vampire."

"I make poor decisions," said Phil with a huff. "We're alike in that way."

Virgil laughed. "So we are."

"So you're angry at me. I don't really care," Phil lied.

"Perhaps I am, more than I expected," said Virgil. "But I've also realized how much the entire situation was my fault. After all, I was the one who was so caught up in my own drama that I neglected your poor mind and allowed it to become unmoored. It's a mistake I don't intend to make again."

And there it was. "I said I'm not interested in becoming your thrall again."

"Oh, you did say that, and it's such a pity. I really am quite fond of you, despite everything. But I don't give up easily on what I want." He reached out and nudged Phil's face back to look into his eyes. "I think I can get you to see things my way."

"Uh…" Those eyes seemed even larger, more beautiful, more mesmerizing, and the temptation to curl up and rest in them was eroding Phil's convictions. He looked away with far more difficulty this time, standing up despite his knees shaking. "I know what you're trying to do, Virgil, and it's not going to…"

"Hush hush hush now." The vampire pressed down on his shoulders, pushing him back into the chair. "It's time to relax. Just relax and obey, dear."

"Um --" Phil had forgotten, or perhaps underestimated, or just pretended like he didn't know how strong the vampire's powers were. His mind was fogging, filled with memories of subservience, following the vampire around and doing his petty biddings like an obedient little lap dog. How humiliating. How blissful…

"That's right, just look me in the eyes, if you please, dear," he said, his words like snakes coiling around Phil. "There you are. That's a good boy. A good, obedient boy."

Mustering all of his willpower, Phil managed to push the vampire away, overturning his chair and falling to the floor. He'd made such a huge mistake coming here. He was going to be a thrall again, charmed into mindlessness by Virgil, docile and fawning…

"Ah-ah-ah, none of that," said Virgil calmly, picking up the chair with one hand and pulling Phil back onto it with the other. "There will be no resisting, dear. No fighting your better. Just relaxing. Relax and obey."

Once more, Phil found his gaze tethered to the vampire's eyes. "I -- I won't --"

"You will," the vampire insisted, stroking Phil's cheek and running his hand through his hair. "You're such a good boy, so obedient, I know you are. You don't want to fight me. You want to know your place. You want to sink into bliss."

"I…" He tried to struggle, but his limbs felt like jelly, barely attached to his body. His jaw dropped as his eyelids drooped, losing himself in a daze, swaying along as the vampire played with his hair.

"Now tell me the truth, dear. You did miss me, didn't you?"

"I… missed you…"

"And you missed having my firm hold guiding your poor, anxious mind, didn't you?"

"Uh…" One small struggle, and then it was over. "Uh-huh…"

"That's right, dear. You don't want to have to worry about jobs and bills any more, do you?"

That was an easy one. "No…"

"That's right, it's all too much for your tired little brain. Won't it be so nice to have me take care of everything?"

"Yeah…"

"Good boy. Of course it will. Now it's time for you to relax. I'm hungry too, you know, and my hospitality isn't free."

Phil slumped in his chair, offering no resistance as Virgil tilted his head to the side and brushed cold fingers against his neck. The sensation was familiar, almost comforting. He knew his place.

"What a wonderful Christmas present," said Virgil, his cold breath on Phil's neck, breathing deep of his scent. "You shouldn't have. You really, really shouldn't have."

Rare Bookseller Side Stories Masterlist

Thanks for reading my self-indulgent vampire stories, and happy holidays!

[rodentopiaa]

Are you down for a round of chess? Coming back from such a long break with a Homestuck fanart. Nature is healing, I AM HEALING, buahaha

[madamemiz]

y'know what i find interesting about sun now that hw2 is out?

i've seen various interpretations of him since the game's release with all the new dialogue and scenes we got ranging from "stressed and in bad need of a cigarette and a three year vacation" to "petty bitch" to "caring but pushed to his limit" and like

the thing is, they're all right

he probably played favorites with some of the kids--cassie's testament combined with his general mannerisms certainly make me think so. sun is a little mean to the player character. he insults you, he talks down to you, he treats you like you don't have two brain cells to rub together when you screw up. in the carousel level, he's clearly begrudging that he can't simply do the job himself. he is petty and he is stressed and he is frustrated

you'd think, then, that sun would happily let moon do what he will with the human employees he clearly detests, with the kids that obviously frustrate him. you'd think he'd make good on his threats to turn off the lights himself, to let these people get what they deserve. how many times have we dreamed of petty revenge on the shitty customers and coworkers we've had to deal with in our jobs?

he doesn't. instead, he resigns himself to a life of isolation to keep moon in check, doing whatever he can to keep anyone else from getting hurt or dying. despite all his hot air, sun cares. deeply, selflessly. when we see him during the ruin segments of hw2, he's shaking in fear, hiding in scant light he has access to in his and moon's horrible room, out of easy reach from most, trying in the only way he can to keep more tragedy from occurring. he knows how bad his situation is; he's acutely aware of it in a way most of the other animatronics don't seem to be. his actions speak far louder than his words, and god knows he has plenty to say

sun is a deeply flawed person who tries to do good in spite of it all, and to me, that's fascinating

[dogs-with-lightsabers]

[tearfest]

mini life update in the tags bc i need somewhere 2 rant < 3

[theinfinitedivides]

what do i have to do to get Joanna Newsom fans to listen to Shabaka and his recent solo debut album Perceive Its Beauty, Acknowledge Its Grace. what do i have to sell who do i have to bribe pls brethren he is right there

[universal-kitty]

    With a lil encouragement from @threadsun​, here’s my other two Sunny Day Jack fics! Both follow the canon story of the current, extended demo, and... For lack of an insert name, I’ve just used my own! (And if you enjoy these works, I also do commissions...?)

    For recommended reading...

.: First Meetings: Sunny Day Jack :. How that VHS tape ended up in the apartment in the first place...as well as the feelings leading up to the moment, and a little after it. Who knew puns made for a delightful icebreaker~?

.: Finding CloudyTown :. Aki and Jack have gotten to know each other very well. To the point that their relationship has become romantic... So what spurs them on to dig into the past of the SunnyTime Crew Show?

[ Minors + ageless blogs DNI. SWWSDJ is an 18+ game. ]

[erabundus]

good morning, i love ren wanderer scaramouche kunikuzushi balladeer kabukimono hat guy very much.

[hexados-on-a-string]

do u ever think about how gus claims that he brainwashed his bakugan to be loyal to spectra and yet they all say they're loyal to him. either the brainwashing didn't work (get on kazarina's level gus 🙄) and they're still loyal to him, or loyalty to spectra meant keeping gus alive. bc i think about that incredibly frequently.

oh also that reminds me, how did gus survive a giant fuckin laser that had killed 2 of his bakugan previously. like. did he just look death in the face and tell him to fuck off or was he too angry and gay to die. bakugan has the inverse of bury the gays honestly.

[deus-ex-mona]

i j u st. want my funny idols jrpg back p ls—

[itsalwaysdark]

so to do my testing i need a state id but to get my state id i need a social security card bc i lost mine so im waiting up to 15-20 days for social security to send me a verification number in the mail so that i can apply for a new social security card and then ill have to wait for that to get to me and then i can go get my ky id and hopefully not get in trouble for taking so long to get my id changed and THEN i can schedule my ged classes. and by then ill probably have finished my math and science ged readys which is good and ummm i think thats all. itll prolly be a permit rather than a state id so i can work on learning to drive since we have a nice Not horrible car . and then ill know how to drive which will be helpful to me even if it takes me a while to actually own a car... but itd be helpful to Be able to drive yk. even if i am quite late... and once i get all of that done then thats like finally finished and then i can get a job again and start saving up money for when i am ready to move out...

[marinecorvid]

sorry venting

the joy of having fun little knickknacks and thingamajigs related to what you love VS. the desire to not become overwhelmed by material items + the agony overwhelming that comes with being keenly surrounded by stuff: FIGHT

[solelifauna]

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

-

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution!!: EPISODE 8 & 6 SPOILERS. NOT PROOFREAD]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

(right now this is considered a oneshot, unless there is a very high demand for a part 2 I'll happily make another one for funzies!)

(PART 2 IS OUT!!!)

(also apologies if alastor's last name isnt actually altruist LMAo I kinda just wrote it assuming so 😭 )

You made it to heaven, lucky you.

Heaven was surely a treat, you lived your days with the upmost happiness, the light of heaven shining on your skin with kisses as if praising you for your goodness and your sacrifices,

all your sacrifices.

You were currently taking the job over for St. Peter at the gates of heaven for just a few minutes to await for any wondering souls to appear, to help guide them while he came back from a lunch break. Normally they wouldn't allow a human soul like yourself with little experience in this kind of task to take charge of such an important job, but you were close to many of the high ranking angels and you have proved your proficiency in tasks that you set your mind to, so you were glad to help those in need.

You stood there reading through the millions of pages looking over all kinds of names, all seemed like names that you wouldn't normally hear back in your time when you died. Some you liked, others didn't exactly pique your interest much, but the advancement of names since the 1930s surely proved how much times have changed and how quickly time seems to pass in heaven.

You wonder if it is in hell too.

'Hell?..' you wondered as you shook your head and sighed, your mind has been on that place lately and you wondered if it was even worth the rent free space in your mind.

You were currently slouched over the book and decided to close it with a glum look on your face, your elbows now resting on the golden podium and your hands cupping your face.

Geez, and you've been thinking a lot about your old man.

What-- no wait-

You shouldn't call him your old man, let alone your dad, not even father, pops-- not even by his damn name.

Even so, as much as you hated it.. you couldn't help but still use his last name sometimes since it's what you were given when you were first taken in.

Your last name?.. why, you're forgetting already?

_____ Altruist is who you a---

"HELLO??"

You snapped out of your thoughts as your head slipped from under your palms, face planting onto the cover of the enormous book. In embarrassment you snapped your head back up and your wings followed suit, spreading open behind you in shock as your eyes searched for the voice that called out to you from below.

You finally darted down to see three oddly shaped figures, your panicked vision soon relaxing to see two girls and a man dressed in red from tip to toe.

How peculiar.

Your eyes only set on the girl at the moment since she was the one waving at you and basically begging for your attention.

"Hello hello! uh.. Down here!" The girl with long locks of pale yellow hair waved, her smile widening when seeing she's caught your attention.

"Ah- yes yes! Hello hello! Welcome to Heaven! May I.. uh-" you scrambled nervously to open the book in the middle of it, "May I have your name please?"

She nodded, also returning a bit of a shy attitude back "Yes of course! My names Charlie Morningstar!"

Just like that you flicked the pages to go to the names that sounded similar to the girl's, mumbling her name under your breath as your finger traced down each name on the list.. to your dismay you couldn't find it.

"You don't seem to be on the list ma'am.. how weird.. does this usually happen with St. Peter?.." you spoke in concern, mumbling the last part to yourself.

The girl then started to explain something about her dad getting her a meeting, your mind a little clouded still trying to find her name until you heard the forbidden name that no one inside the pearly gates ever attempted to say out loud.

"-- maybe try, Lucifer.. Morning...star-"

And just like that you slammed the book closed, no words coming out of your mouth but an exasperated look of shock freezing your face.

"Oh-hoho... that explains so much--" you gave her a small sheepish smile, awkwardly looking off to the side where your eyes couldn't help but drag themselves to the man dressed in red.

"Miss you don't think.. you could've..." your eyes at first looked at the man's waist, his coat lightly shredded at the ends and the stripes of the long suit guided your eyes upwards "-gotten..." up and up and your eyes met his. The red eyes, the ears, the small horns, the horrific aura, and..

Oh dear, you'd recognize that damned smile anywhere.

"--lost..?" the end of your sentence dragged on, taking a long while to finish since all you could think about is how this man is at the front door step of the place he shouldn't even be considered in being let to enter.

Alastor, your father from the living realm. Not connected by blood but by life and connection.

The man where you got your last name from by being taken in and called his daughter.

The red deer demon seemed to recognize you as well, a spark in his devilish eyes proved it so, but it was very brief since he more or less also seemed to relish the look on your face with his smile stretched further up.. however further up it could get.

Charlie seemed concerned at your reaction, waving her hand in front of your face gently as if to get you out of this trance. "Heyyy... are you okay?.." she asked with genuine worry until all of you were focused away from this bizarre moment when a set of three angels befell before you all. The two seraphims and finally-- St. Peter off from his break.

"_____. We can take it from here, we appreciate the help." The highest and oldest seraphim announced your name and her appreciation while gliding down a bit more earlier than the blonde angel you covered for, she and the younger seraphim's forms going from their true to more human-like appearances.

"_____! My dear friend thank you so much for covering for me, always a real helper you!" St. Peter popped beside you as he praised you while gently flying beside you, you looked up at him with a small nervous smile before opening your own wings to flap down from his podium and let him get back on the job.

"It's no problem at all, you know me! Always.. happy to help.." you spoke your last words to him before your wings gently took you down to set yourself beside another one of your friends, Emily! You never talked much to Sera that wasn't in a formal setting but Emily seemed so easy to get along with. She gave you a tight squeeze of a hug while saying hello which eased your nerves a bit more, of course they never fully disappeared with the man who ruined everything before you let out your last breath.. standing right in front of you.

The man that brought you up here in the first place.

The seraphims introduced themselves to the three residents of hell, the deer demon more quiet until finally finding a spot of silence to jump in and introduce himself as well.

"Why hello, a real pleasure meeting you two quite the pleasure! Never thought I'd ever get to see an angel up this close in my life HAHA! The names Alastor!"

The voice, the radio static over it, his name.

It was him, you recognized it as if you listened to him on the radio just yesterday, your own personal hell.

Whatever reaction or words the higher ranked angels said seemed to fizzle out of your brain as they were replaced with the memories of your last moments on earth.

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

"Father!" you screamed as you ran up to your childhood home, the home to which you were raised and kept in, your home in which you lived in with your father, Alastor Altruist.

For sometime you had suspected foul play when it came to your father's weird actions when the night came, the tone he spoke through his radio show when announcing several murders happening across and haunting New Orleans. You just didn't want to truly believe that the man that found you, a poor little orphaned baby, and raised you would do such disgusting and diabolical crimes.

You couldn't believe it.. until you finally saw it.

Your legs scrambled and fought each step to become faster, finally reaching the door of your home you slammed it open with a strong kick after jiggling the doorknob didn't work.

You knew the next murder he would commit would happen in your home.. you thanked whatever force that made you disobey him and look through his study since if you didn't you wouldn't know that right now there was blood to be shed.

The door opening and with your kick full of adrenaline and panic it made the door barley cling onto it's hinges. There your father was, on top of a wounded man that seemed to be gurgling and gasping to breathe as the victim attempted to claw at Alastor's grasp. Pieces of glass and wood broken across the entire floor, walls bloodied and worn out, pictures that hung neatly now cracked and lopsided or shattered on the floor.

Whatever happened in here, the victim was sure a fighter in the beginning.

You immediately without hesitation with full force pushed Alastor off the man, pulling the bloodied stranger by his wrist. The victim and you stared for a moment, him mostly realizing that he's being saved by a young girl like you. His lips parted to thank you but you could see Alastor raise his kitchen knife in the air and sprinted toward him to stab him on the back.

With no words left to share or spill you grabbed the stranger by the shoulders and with all your might pushed him and yourself away so that in the end Alastor ended up stabbing nothing but air.

Alastor grunted in frustration, his bloodied smile yet never faltering despite the challenge you now gave him.

The man snapped his head at you, eyes fixated at you before snapping back to his victim and raising his knife up once more, in a haunting motion his steps creeped and creaked towards the injured New Orleans citizen stricken with fear and terror.

Just like that, Alastor slams his knife down with no hesitation. The knife fully in his prey with no inch of the blade uncovered.

Oh-- wait.

That shriek, the sobs, the shaky breathing and the coughs of blood.. that wasn't his victim.

It was you.

His daughter, he stabbed his daughter.

For a moment you could see his crazed smile falter, the humane part of him uncovering itself for a moment, for you.

His little girl was covered in her blood because of him, the little baby he found on that cold rainy day is dying because of him, his bundle of joy that he took years to take care of is leaving him.. and it's all his fault.

He didn't know it was you-- he didn't know you'd be that stupid to sacrifice yourself for some random prick.

He didn't know that in the end, someone as evil as him could have raised someone as selfless as you.

"p..papa..?" you whimpered, your painful coughs of blood spilling out and going down your chin and your neck. "It hurts-- g.. it hurts so much papa.." you cried as the knife in your chest seemed to feel as if it was melting into your skin, becoming one with you. It obviously wasn't but the pain was just that painful.

Alastor's smile faltered and kept trying to stay up, his own set of tears falling down his face and onto your cheeks that were slowly losing life. Regret stabbing his own heart the way he did to yours. He let go of the knife and instead cradled you in his arms, just like how he used to when you would have nightmares as a little girl.

"Shh.. Shh.." he shush you softly as he gently patted your head, moving away any uneven strands of hair he could spot with his hands trembling in regret. "Little one.. don't worry about a thing, papa's here.. " he mumbled, the gentleness replacing what once was pure aggressiveness.

Your eyes slowly started to flutter closed, your pulse slowing down, breathing less profound, your limbs going limp, and your face.. contorting into a peaceful state of slumber.

Alastor watched as you passed in his arms, his faltering smile picking itself up once more to stretch itself across his face with tears pouring out his eyes. This wasn't a smile of joy, it was a smile to hide what he truly felt.. to lie to himself. "My little angel, forgive me please."

Those were his last words to you, words that in the end you couldn't hear.

And that man he tried to kill earlier? He escaped when he was given the chance, Alastor was sure the cops were to invade his home soon.. now there was just one thing left to do before he'd be found once again to pay the consequences.

He took your body to a beautiful forest filled with flower meadows. Alastor knew this was one of your favorite spots as a young girl, why not let you rest here.

Ah but as he was preparing to bury you in your final resting place... that darn deer hunter.

Well, you know the story. Mistaken for a deer, shot, that's the end of Alastor Altruist and his darling daughter, ______ Altruist.

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

As you stood there you were awoken from your thoughts with the high angels escorting the princess and her other female companion into the gates of heaven, St. Peter welcoming them humbly with one of heaven's popular songs.

You were frozen, in shock. A chill went down your spine as you felt a foreign energy come closer.

You felt long fingers grapple themselves onto your shoulder which made you dramatically turn towards the hand and away from it.

Your father wanted to talk to you.

Your contrasting colors and appearances made this reunitement even more uncomfortable for you, his demon form seeming to match his disgusting self that he hid from the human world before.

His face was hard to read, especially with that signature smile of his that even in death he would never get rid of.

"Little one, my darling daughter.." he spoke, his voice seemingly trying to seem genuine but the radio filter over it made it feel condescending to you.. as if mocking you.

The look on your face was evident, you missed him so much but hated him with your entire being because of that hidden side he kept for years.

He continued "My little ____... out of all places I never thought I'd see you here. Oh but it's definitely much better than down under my little dove.."

Geez what was he even saying?? What were his intentions..?? You couldn't tell.. after all this time, you couldn't forgive this man, this serial killer, this demon, this.. monster. You couldn't.. not this soon anyways.

You took a deep inhale and exhale before fixing your posture and stance, trying to seem more professional and confident. "Sir, your hosts and companions are ahead of you. You wouldn't want to miss your introduction to a place you'll never see again after this day." Your voice stern and professional, trying your best to be void of emotion.

"Darling.. is that truly a way to greet your dear ol' father?" He spoke, hand stretched out while the other held onto his staff.

"Your friends are waiting on you, don't be late Alastor."

Just like that you turned your heel and gave him the cold shoulder, your wings spread and started flapping. Taking you up and away further into your home.. Alastor watched you as you left him once again, this time by choice.

Ah but he knew, he'd have his darling daughter back soon. His little angel that he cared for will forgive him.. he knew you had to.

With his grin widening even further he walked to catch up to the Princess of hell and her partner into the pearly gates, to see what other thing could entertain him while his daughter snapped back to her senses.

(hello!! thank you so much for reading I had a blast with this. as you can tell. once again thank you so much for reading! hope to see you soon! mwa mwa!)

[3mmalg]

Some Logan Imagines that have been living RENT FREE

-Pulling him towards you by his belt loops and he gives you the single raised eyebrow + smile combo

- Sitting on the couch with him and scratching his back/head and him complaining when you stop

-Slow mornings with him: He wakes up before you nearly every morning and admires you until you wake up

-When you wake up pulls you into his chest and the both of you drift in and out for hours, just enjoying each other’s presence

-Him taking you to his favorite bar on Scott’s bike with your arms wrapped tightly around his waist

-When you arrive, he’ll get off first and lift you from the waist off the bike

-Cooking together: Logan coming up from behind you while you work at the stove, hugging you from behind and leaning down to place his head in the crook of your neck

-Movie nights consist of him using your chest as a pillow (and vice versa😏)

A/N: May make a lil NSFW version of this if yall are interested :) Thank you so much for all the support on my last post! It was my first time posting a fic literally since middle school and I was so nervous lol

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))