#radiodust mentioned

[luciferslatte]

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[mtdreamcatcher]

I need to rant for a moment:

AROACE IS A SPECTRUM, NOT A BINARY

As someone who is on the AroAce spectrum myself, it’s beyond frustrating that people claim to advocate for AroAce rights and representation don’t understand this.

The Aromatic spectrum can mean someone isn’t interested in romance at all to someone(like me) who only wants a romantic relationship after developing a deep connection.

The Asexual spectrum can mean someone is repulsed by sex and sexual things, to someone who is okay with having sex and doing sexual things while having no sexual desires themselves.

I understand that some people are just misinformed but I’ve seen some genuine animosity floating around in the Hazbin Hotel fandom specifically.

Alastor is canonically AroAce, but we don’t know what points are of the spectrums he’s on. On top of that Vivzipop herself has stated she’s okay with people shipping Alastor with other characters

In addition to that, QPR(queer platonic relationships) exist.

[luckycloverforducks]

Fuck it, HH swap AU

Their core personalities and backgrounds stay the same, it's mostly a role switch

Niffty <--> Husker

Angel Dust <--> Vaggie

Alastor <--> Charlie

(the typical for swap AUs, I know,,)

Everyone else stays the same

These r edits bc I was just figuring out their designs for the AU, I'll draw them normally another time (Husker isn't here cuz I can't find a good png of the mf)

In this AU Alastor started the hotel mostly because he randomly thought up the idea once and thought, "that's fucking hilarious, I'm doing that" + a secondary sentimental reason he'd kill me for saying (he got genuinely fully invested in the cause eventually)

He advertised it on his radio show suddenly out of the blue after 7 and a half years of radio (lol) silence. Alastor still owns Husker's and Niffty's souls but they're also obviously friends (or atleast close to it)

Also he can read tarot bc why not :3

Charlie is closer to her dad in this AU and more sheltered, adopting a more aloof, smug, and dangerous persona so sinners take her seriously, she also has a very slight condescending outlook towards sinners but she's at her core still compassionate and still views them as her people and want to protect them to a certain extent, and she still thinks the Exterminations are unnecessary and cruel, but she doesn't feel like she can do much about it since according to Lucifer's stories and discouragement, she knows heaven likely wouldn't listen much if at all, but when she heard of Alastor's little project it resparked hope in her and she decided to invest in it, becoming co-owner and funder for the hotel.

Angel Dust/Anthony never made a deal with Valentino and actually stayed in his family's crime/mafia business for the 1st half of him being in Hell, but his dad is a POS and kicked him out for being gay so he started doing s3x work, and then he met Alastor after he brutalized his harassers one day, and Angel wanted to repay the favor somehow. Alastor seems interested in him so they struck a deal (not a soul deal, just a simple deal) which has Angel/Anthony is under Alastors protection in exchange for Angel/Anthony's loyalty and assistance when needed (which is a rare case so Angel still feels like he owes Alastor). They grow friendly with time, and Alastor offers to have him be patient zero for his redemption project, and he accepted.

Vaggie/Vi is still a fallen exterminstor and still met Charlie the same way she did in the show, but after that they went their separate ways and Vi finds herself making a deal with Velvette. Instead of being a pornstar like Angel in the show, she is an influencer and a rockstar/singer, she does enjoy making music and playing the guitar but Velvette tends to overwork her and make her do things she doesn't really like for views/popularity. Velvette is the nicest to Vi/Vaggie compared to with her other employees (which isn't a very highly set bar tbh) but she also frequently break her boundaries.

Vi met Charlie again during one of her concerts and they got close and started dating. (Also one sided Velvette x Vaggie is sort of slightly maybe canon in this AU bc toxic Yuri is fun (and it's only fully one sided after Charlie and Vaggie/Vi started dating))

She helps manage the hotel when needed, but is honestly only there cause Charlie is.

Not much about Niffty changes tbh (she's perfect the way she is, utterly unhinged 😍) she's just a bit more mellowed out and less hyper (she's still hyper just not all the time like in the show) and she's also a bartender and has surprisingly good taste for alcohol, and also frequently makes borderline poisonous drinks while experimenting, but when she gets it right it's really good. Doesn't stop the others of being terrified of her drinks though

Husker is a more smiley and charming in this AU, using a laid back attitude to put people at ease and more willing to open up to him if they need to (he used to use the information people share as blackmail when he needs to back when he was an Overlord, although he never actually needs to spread anything, just threats), and he's still very observant but he's also slightly more unhinged- He's a sort of butler/cleaner for the hotel

He still gets grumpy time to time, but mostly when he's drunk, which isn't as often anymore ever since Niffty was put in charge of the bar (understandably so)

He has a bit of an anger issue and also gets annoyed easily, and sometimes makes unhinged threats as a sort of joke (they stop being much of a joke once you genuinely piss him off)

He likes things clean and tidy because it helps him pretend to be put together

He and Alastor are a bit friendlier compared to in the show, hes still one of the few people that knows more about Alastor, though hes still bummed about the whole being owned by Alastor thing (Husker can also read tarot to a lesser extent bc Al taught him for funzies and Husker thought it's interesting)

His gambling addiction is also ever so slightly worse

[vypridae]

al !!!!!!!!!

[jazzy-a]

There's only one way Alastor could really get away with embarrassing Angel Dust.

And that would be going the "mom" route.

He will publicly out this boy for the fact that he's technically old enough to have been in Alastor's "outdated" era and understands all his references. If this man finds out that Angel has any memories or love for classic things from when they were both alive, he'd use it against him.

It would be like your parents pulling out your baby book in front of the biker gang you just joined.

Angel's like, "I DON'T like the Charleston! I-It's stupid and lame! I'm a fricken' stripper, baby, of course I wouldn't be caught DEAD doing that!" (visibly sweating)

Has to make a call on one of Alastor's phones and doesn't think twice about being like, "Operator, connect me to 2247," while checking out his nails.

Makes ONE reference to an old starlet in 1925 that no one (except Husk and Alastor) knows who he's talking about and he tries to backpedal so hard.

As Angel fumes to deny he is old or outdated and is IN FACT trendy and modern, Alastor is wearing a shit-eating, patronizing, grin, like, "Aw, it's adorable how he tries." (Boops his nonexistent nose)

[chaosclover1999]

political fandom take: hazbin hotel edition

1 of the things i hate most abt hazbin hotel isn't even the actual episodes or anything like ik that ppl r saying that it's like sparkledog oc writing and like yeah it is but that isn't objectively good or bad or inherently political in any way it's just down 2 personal preference

no my issue is w the marketing and the fact that twice now the marketing has been reliant on the sexualisation of Alastor who is canonically a sex repulsed asexual, im not ace personally (although i did previously identify as ace, long story) so i can't really speak to the experiences of people who r ace and sex repulsed, w that being said tho even i can c as an alloaro how disrespectful this is 2 the ace community

1st it was the sexualisation of Alastor by putting him in non canon sexual situations w Angel Dust in which Angel Dust was portrayed as being very pushy and not respectful of Alastor's boundaries, this is bad 4 a number of reasons

1) using the radio dust ship 2 market the show 2 fans even tho Alastor is sex repulsed and would not b happy in these situations

2) portraying a character who is a hypersexual SA survivor as being handsy and not taking no 4 an answer and acting like ppl who r hypersexual would sexually abuse others by nature of being hypersexual

this is smth that i can speak 2 more from personal experience and this is literally y i hate the radiodust ship and the hunicast hazbin hotel streams so much, like believe it or not it is possible 2 b a horny mf-er w/out assulting or harassing ppl, it's rly not that difficult

3) Angel Dust doing this is not portrayed as a bad thing and this is in fact portrayed as a joke meaning that the stream is making jokes about men being sexually assulted and not just that but specifically a hypersexual gay man sexually assulting an asexual man

like do i even need 2 explain this? we got:

- the idea that gay men r forcing gay sex on men who r not into them

- sexual assult of men played 4 laughs

- the idea that hypersexuals who r SA survivors/victims of SA would then assult ppl by nature of being hypersexual

- an asexual man being sexually assulted and it being played 4 laughs which is especially bad given that ace ppl often hav 2 deal w threats of corrective rape or worse actually being raped

so yeh i hate the hunicast hazbin streams and tbh idk y ppl like them, it's mostly just the VAs encouraging the fans 2 send them money 2 make awful jokes abt Alastor getting assulted by Angel Dust in a way that's played off for comedic effect

the reason im bringing this up is bc apparently there was recent promo art where the marketing was jokingly mentioning the radioapple ship and tbh im kinda glad they had 2 take it down bc of backlash bc i feel like if it hadn't been stopped it would've just been more ""jokes"" abt a sex repulsed asexual man getting sexually assulted by another man but this time from the in universe king of hell

like srsly can we pls stop making this the main marketing technique? like i know we all talk abt how the fandom is bad when it comes 2 sexualising Alastor but i never rly c any1 talk abt how the promo techniques definitely played a hand in this and the normalisation of these things within the fandom

[thekegelelf]

Omg I finally finished and posted the first chapter of my Radiodust fic Honesty !!

Angel Dust , Hell's premier porn star stage named literally for his drug problem, is trying to go completely clean. He just doesn't want anyone to know. He also doesn't want anyone to know why he isn't working with the studio anymore, or why he stares a little too long when Alastor is sitting in the hotel lobby. Juggling all of these stupid secrets while detoxing is hard enough, but taking on the hotel's social media gives him a great idea for his "situation" with Val. He takes control of his life for the first time in a long while by starting his own cam show outside of Val's control. It also blares his "tiny" crush on Alastor in his mind like a neon sign and makes it even harder to hide. You win some, you lose some, and Angel would really like to start fuckin' winning some for once in his life. TW Rape mention, TW abuse mention, TW Drug abuse

I've been working on this for like months and I'm actually so excited to post this even if it is just the first chapter setting everything up

[bringsin]

[chanting] one of us. one of us. one of us.

[celtrist]

I cannot. Stress enough just HOW MUCH I relate to this statement. I enjoy some Alastor ships (and heavily dislike some but thats sorta normal in fandoms), even if not my preferred type of relationship depictions. I also enjoy going the route of Alastor being someone not at all interested in romantic or sexual relations. But I ENJOY both. And I think shipping Alastor has it's place in fanon.

However, like OP said, there's SO MANY PEOPLE. Who make ship art of Alastor and just toss the aroace identity out the window. And yeah, it does not feel great. A character's worth in fandom is how shippable are they for the most part, and a character having a canon orientation that directly GOES AGAINST THIS while also being the fan favorite is pretty hard to swallow for some. Personally, it's never the shipping itself that bothers me as much as the people who do the shipping with Alastor.

And I mean, for the most part I only have vibes to go off of, but those vibes are typically not great I'll say. Which again, that's just my personal view of it and it's not like it's only people who aren't aroace that ship Alastor that I have this problem with (but the person I'm thinking about does a ship I really don't like and is going by their own relationships as an aroace person. So not sure how much that counts y'know?)

It's more that a character just is never allowed to not be interested in romance or even sex. A character can not be not interested in being intimate. Again, it's not the shipping itself, and it's not the shippers by themselves. It's that the fandom consistently ignores and honestly barely celebrates Alastor’s aroace identity, more the aro part than the ace part.

And while true, somethings people say really sound like they're trying to make it seem like "well it's totally possible for him to get with someone because it's a spectrum". Again, true, but it feels like it's uses as a less genuine reason sometimes and more like an excuse or desperation for the possibility of it being canon (this isn't everyone of course, it's just how it reads sometimes)

And the aro part, yeah it's a bit dubious as I don't think it was ever explicitly stated and if it was it was in past streams. But by the same token, Husk being pan was confirmed in old streams too and there's no question from anyone that that's his canon orientation. In addition, there's still a lot of things that do imply Alastor's romantic orientation being aromantic (like Rosie's comment about Charlie reads as her suggesting their dating not having sex. And referring to Alastor as "ace" might've been using the term as a catch all of aroace as it's often used that way). Again, it's not wrong, but people will more often remind others that Alastor was not confirmed as aro but no correction on him not being confirmed as homoromantic. Or at the least, they just really don't want to take the implications into account. Which again, fair, it's all only implied, but it certainly reads as "deer can't be aro". (As a side note, I cannot stress enough that there's nothing wrong with shipping Al but personally, the fact that one of the most popular ships involves an aroace character and it's rarely in a qpr light [which not a fan of referring a qpr as a ship but I digress and is a personal take], it kinda lowkey feels like if the most popular ship in the fandom was a canonically gay character in a straight relationship if you get what I mean there. Like if a ship like Angel/Vaggie was in the top three ships. There's nothing wrong with it, there is just a level of "hmmm" there for me. But hey, maybe I would change my tune if an actual alastor ship I liked got popular lol)

TL;DR I think shipping Alastor has it's place in fanon and is something I enjoy along with Alastor being purely aroace with no room for romance. There's just a lot of shippers who aren't aroace who seems to throw away or really wanna ignore this aspect of Alastor’s character that's really disheartening. Both aspects of his aroace identity is pushed aside, put into question of authenticity, and is rarely acknowledged or celebrated in the fandom. Hopefully you get what I mean, suck at explaining myself sometimes. And I don't know if OP necessarily agrees with me, but I certainly understand being someone who identifies as aroace (at least currently) and enjoy shipping Alastor while also feeling icky when I see other people ship him sometimes. And we obviously don't need shippers making daily announcements saying "hey I think aroace Al is fin" obviously. People are gonna focus on what they're having fun with the most and that's fair. But an occasional acknowledgment to the identity or a little more love give to aroace Alastor week or whatever it's called in the same level or at least closer level to the ship weeks he has would be nice. Not necessary obviously, and I'm content with the thought that at least the ships aren't really ever gonna be canon (hopefully), but it would be nice.

No hate to anyone, can't stress that enough. I ship Alastor too, it's not like I don't. It just reads like most people would really prefer him not to be aroace so ships can happen and they use workarounds to justify it possibly happening in canon. If you're aroace and uncomfortable with Al ships, you're valid. And if you aren't aroace and still enjoy shipping Alastor too, I'm not gonna say you're invalid for having fun. It's just as OP said, sometimes it feels icky when people toss the aroace identity out the window.

As an aroace person, it's so hard being a Hazbin hotel fan who loves most of the Alastor ships, because on the one hand, people are constantly complaining about how you can't ship him with anyone because he's aroace, which is just untrue, especially since Viv herself said to we can ship whatever we want, let me enjoy my representation how I want, but on the other hand most of the people who make content for Alastor ships aren't aroace and just completely ignore that part of his identity when making ship content, and it is so icky. It's such a struggle, like I just want accurate aroace ship content without being belittled, is that too much to ask 😭😭

[luckycloverforducks]

That part in the good omens book where Crowley calls Aziraphale Angel Infront of Anathema and she immediately assumes they're gay (they are) but with swap Radiodust and literally any bystander

They're not dating or anything, officially they're just good ole close friends/"aquaintences" but that's not stopping anyone

One of these days I'm gonna draw non canon art of swap Radiodust kissing for shits and giggles and literally no one can stop me

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[sp00ks-in-th3-cl0s3t]

i want to clarify that i don’t hate or even dislike billford. they have an undeniably interesting dynamic, and under different circumstances, i’d probably be more invested in it. however, my enthusiasm for the ship is dampened by the behavior of some of its shippers. it often feels like many people ship billford not because they genuinely enjoy the dynamic, but rather out of a desire to distance themselves from billdip. it’s as if shipping billford has become a way to proclaim, “at least i don’t ship billdip.” but spite shouldn’t be the driving force behind creating content for a ship. shipping should be about passion, about enjoying the dynamic and wanting to explore it through art, writing, and discussion because it genuinely interests you.

This is literally the very reason I hate HuskerDust so much.

@hazbmymhotel is the only exception because they aren't annoying about it and I love mpreg /srs /lh

Don't get me wrong, the pairing has so much potential. I know I would like it a lot if it weren't for the fandom.

Especially on tiktok, all of the canon ships are the ONLY ships that you're "allowed" to like. Anything else is blasphemy to our Lord and Savior Vivziepop /sarcasm. Almost all the HuskerDust and Chaggie shippers were shipping them because it's canon, and because it's canon you're "supposed to" ship it and anything else is a sin.

Not to mention how badly Amazon completely watered down all the characters.

I feel the same way about Chaggie.

I can not fucking stand the Vivziepop cult I mean fandom I mean cult

this is just a ramble about billdip/billford since i’ve seen a bunch of posts and want to share my thoughts on it!

i find a lot of the comparisons between billdip and billford to be a bit off the mark. while it’s true they share some surface-level similarities—mainly because they both involve bill cipher and a “smart guy”—their dynamics are vastly different. in billford, ford initially placed an enormous amount of trust in bill. he practically revered him, as seen in the tapestries in his lab and all the one-eyed triangle symbols throughout the mystery shack. ford’s trust was so deep that he allowed bill to lead him down a dark path, ultimately resulting in betrayal. bill has since been shown relishing in taunting ford, making their relationship one of broken trust and regret.

on the other hand, billdip presents a way different dynamic. dipper never trusted bill in the first place. from the very beginning, their relationship was antagonistic. unlike ford, dipper wasn’t lured in by the promise of knowledge or power; he had to be manipulated, and even then, he was extremely hesitant to allow bill to possess him. bill never had dipper’s trust to betray, which sets the stage for a completely different kind of tension. in billford, the conflict stems from a deep betrayal of trust, whereas in billdip, it’s more about the struggle between manipulation and resistance, with dipper trying to outsmart someone he knows he can’t trust.

i want to clarify that i don’t hate or even dislike billford. they have an undeniably interesting dynamic, and under different circumstances, i’d probably be more invested in it. however, my enthusiasm for the ship is dampened by the behavior of some of its shippers. it often feels like many people ship billford not because they genuinely enjoy the dynamic, but rather out of a desire to distance themselves from billdip. it’s as if shipping billford has become a way to proclaim, “at least i don’t ship billdip.” but spite shouldn’t be the driving force behind creating content for a ship. shipping should be about passion, about enjoying the dynamic and wanting to explore it through art, writing, and discussion because it genuinely interests you.

that said, i do wish people would keep the discourse civil and avoid leaving hateful comments about either ship. unfortunately, that might be asking for too much in fandom spaces. but it would be nice to see more respect and understanding for different preferences, even if we don’t all share the same ships ૮꒰ ˶> ༝ <˶꒱ა

[eggcats]

I really love platonic (or romantic idc) radiodust, and I know it's mostly a remnant of the old cast livestreams but it still lives in my heart.

(You WILL take the "Angel, stop putting a bow on my tail!" "...no." away from my cold, dead hands. I don't care, that's canon to me forever.)

Because Alastor, relatively speaking, lets Angel get away with a LOT in regards to him. All he does is laugh and immediately shut down any attempts of Angel to proposition him - but he doesn't seem to react any further than that. (And I know we only see like 2 instances in the show, but in my heart of hearts, I fully believe Angel does it only slightly less to Alastor than to Husk.)

Not to mention how Alastor just lets Angel get away with using whatever nicknames or descriptions he wants. I know Alastor makes himself out to be a Southern Gentleman and all, but he's also a feared overlord even after having been missing for 7 years - that does not lend us to the personality of someone who just "lets things go."

I think regardless if you go with the headcanon/typical fic usage of Alastor's mother being a sex worker - he's still familiar with that type of work and doesn't feel the need to judge it as anything other than work (if only work he's not interested in). He knows the contract Angel is in, the work he does, and how he uses his sexuality to try to gain any advantage he can - especially when dealing with an overlord (like himself) significantly more powerful than him. Alastor understands Angel propositioning him is more Angel trying to use his one advantage to stay in Alastor's good books, rather than any real desire for him, so he doesn't really react past simply shutting it down.

As such, I just love the idea that Alastor just indulges Angel in whatever he does and never really gets upset at him for pushing his boundaries.

(We know Alastor likes women more than men, but in many ways, this doesn't seem to apply to Angel.)

I love the idea of Angel slowly becoming more and more comfortable around Alastor, and while his hitting on him slowly stops, he still hangs around him and can occasionally get away with touching his arm or shoulder.

(Angel cracks a joke, and Alastor actually laughs at it, and Angel leans in to throw an arm around him to laugh with him. Everyone collectively holds their breath. Alastor lets Angel touch him and only moves away when the laughter stops. This makes the top news story the next day.)

(Plus, imagine the blowout if Vox finds out that Alastor rejected his offer to join him only to willingly hang out with the PORN STAR his fuckbuddy owns. Hysterical.)

[minkdelovely]

kinktober — day XXVII

prompt: sex pollen

the pollination of angel dust

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Alastor x Angel Dust ; RadioDust ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: top!alastor x bottom!angel, handjob, blowjob, overstimulation, masturbation, anal fingering, mentions of pain/raw skin, minor blood warning, mentions of dry orgasms 🥀✨

word count: 6.1k

summary: valentino sent a bouquet of flowers imported from the lust ring and angel has been doing his best to manage on his own, but can’t seem to break the fever when alastor shows up and proposes the offer of an afterlife.

author’s note: sunday, sunday, sunday! this wasn’t supposed to be as long as it ended up being, but here we are lol this prompt was quite the challenge for me, but i hope you enjoy it, and i’ll see y’all on thursday for the kinktober finale ♥️

coven: @fraugwinska @hazelfoureyes @macabr3-barbi3 @sugoi-writes @synamartia 🕯️♥️

the coven's kinktober masterlist

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Angel being absent in the evenings wasn’t unusual, as Valentino typically enjoyed having him work through all hours of the night. What made his empty chair ominously noticeable today was that everyone knew he was home. But they all had their right to choose — free will was Hell’s burden to bear, wasn’t it? — and Angel had missed meals before. Usually catching up on some much-needed sleep or just decompressing after days of grueling shifts. So his absence was noted, briefly discussed, and moved on from. 

Or it would have been, had Alastor not been the one in charge of making dinner.

While everyone else began to work on cleaning up, Alastor took it upon himself to go see what kept their coquettish spider so preoccupied that he couldn’t deign to join them downstairs. Had Little Miss Muffet come to exact her revenge? The Radio Demon’s cackle was the only thing that lingered in the dining room as he dissolved into shadow. 

When he manifested in front of Angel’s room, cloche in hand and ready to disturb the peace, Alastor’s eminent knock was interrupted by a wanton mewl on the other side of the door.

Ah. Not a good time… Perfect!

The smile on Alastor’s face grew as he poised his fist again and waited for another loud moan before rapping it on the door, effectively sending Angel into a scramble. Alastor’s keen ears picked up on all of it: the cursing, the ruffle of bedsheets, the groans of anguish from being forced to stop what was no doubt an enthralling pursuit of self-pleasure.

“Whoever the fuck is out there, you know I’m busy — so scram!”

He didn’t even have the decency to open the door and dismiss Alastor to his face! It was an insult to injury that could have gone unchecked, but where was the fun in that? So Alastor knocked again, purposefully silent. Let their little celebrity find out who he was talking to like that the hard way.

There was more cursing and grumbles. Alastor refreshed his posture and smile with a shimmy as he heard the star in question stomping towards the door. He had expected Angel to throw it open and give him hell but he merely cracked it. The golden chain of the door lock still dangling loosely in the meager amount of space.

“What?”

The insolent tone of voice was the most egregious slight thus far. Not many sinners in this roiling pit had the courage to give Alastor real cheek. Yet here he was, on the receiving end of a five-star glare that he had to tilt his head upward to meet. Not a pleasant experience, but Angel’s upset was intriguing — and impressive — enough that it kept his own irritation at bay.

From what Alastor could make out, the poor fellow did seem to be in dire straits. It was clear that his robe had been donned and tied in haste. The pink silk haphazardly wrapped around most of the tall, lithe body underneath it. Hair fussed and sweaty, pieces of it clung to his flushed face in a way that gave Alastor a sudden urge to swipe it back. Though he quickly dismissed the lingering trait from his childhood, recalling how put upon he felt when Mother would do exactly that — grooming him when he hadn’t done a good enough job himself. She simply couldn’t abide by unkempt hair, and in turn, neither could he.

It wasn’t just his hair that was off — though Alastor now noticed the matted tufts on the demon’s usually coiffed chest. Angel’s eyes were glossy and blown, his flared temper only adding to the lust that radiated from them. A telltale emulsification of sweat and arousal wafted through the crack of the door, underlaid with something Alastor couldn’t pinpoint, just short of floral. 

Perhaps a candle to set the mood?

Alastor fought to keep his hackles down. Whatever it was, it burned in his nose and sent a rippling tingle through his body; every strand of hair on edge with a lovely sting.

“You weren’t at dinner, so I’ve brought it to you,” Alastor said amiably, but his smile hid venom as he brought the cloche into view from his left. “I hope you didn’t skip out because I was in the kitchen today. I put a lot of care into it, you know.”

“Look, Alastor. I’m not in the mood to play along with one-a-ya shitty games right now, capisce?” Angel’s voice was stern but short of breath, and Alastor had a fleeting thought that he might be suffering from some illness until the echo of a moan resounded in his ears. No. It was too frivolous a remedy, even for the adult film star. “Just… leave it on the floor and I’ll grab it later.” 

The door was resolutely shut in Alastor’s face, dissolving the remnants of his patience.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Angel let out a sigh of relief after closing the door. Of all the motherfuckers in this hotel to come a-knocking, it just had to be Alastor… 

The Radio Demon had easily captured his attention when he showed up here all those months ago. Since then, he had managed to smother most of the embers of his attraction toward the notorious Overlord, but in his current state those feelings had gone molten; pooling heavy in his lower belly with an agonizing ache.

Even now, Angel Dust could smell him. That spicy, earthy signature cut through with something unknown — dangerous,  even — still lingered in his nostrils, despite the barrier of the door. He groaned in frustration, letting his forehead fall gracelessly against the door as one of his hands hastily brushed away the silk of his robe to tend to his incessant erection.

Angel hissed in pain as his palm made contact, his dribbling cock raw and inflamed. How many times would this be now? It felt like hours since the first wave of arousal had woken him from sleep. When jerking off a few times hadn’t done the trick he changed tactics, and was fucking himself through round two on his favorite dildo when Alastor interrupted him. But if he was being honest, he had completely lost count of his orgasms. A fact made worse as the last couple had been dry.

Something was wrong… he just didn’t know what. Maybe Val had slipped him something this afternoon before he left the studio? He knew it wasn’t Valentino’s pheromones, being very familiar with the effects, and this was unlike anything he had experienced before. He’d do just about anything to be rid of this pain and fever, heating him from the inside out. Every beat of his heart was an uncomfortable throb in his pulse, reminding him of his predicament like the sinister ticking of the extermination clock. Angel choked out a sob, grip loosening until his hand fell away from himself as his top right fist came down harshly on the door.

“I seem to be interrupting all sorts of private moments this evening,” Alastor said sardonically, drawing a yelp of shock from Angel before he recollected himself. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here? I told you to leave.” Angel’s anger tapered off, dulled by the quiver in his voice from tears he was trying desperately to hold back. Whether they were from the pain or shame, he couldn’t know, though it was likely both.

Alastor didn’t answer. He had his nose in the air, sniffing the room before his face pinched with displeasure as he zeroed in on the bouquet of flowers from Valentino. They had been delivered just as he had gotten back to the hotel earlier, and in his desire to keep their existence to himself Angel had brought them up. He had plans to toss them into his fireplace but decided against it once he made it upstairs. They looked pretty in his room, and why take his frustrations out on harmless flowers? Though the letter peeking through the blooms remained unread.

Angel watched as Alastor approached them, almost vindictively, hovering over them with his arms crossed behind his back as he inspected. He took another sniff and recoiled, the ever-present hum of his static shrieking like feedback on a bad mic as he brought a hand up to cover his nose. Even his ears had gone stiff, as if petrified by danger.

“What, ya got allergies or somethin’?” Angel joked, unable to fight the small laugh that escaped him. 

The pain wracking his body was momentarily forgotten as he observed the Overlord. He didn’t notice that it was beginning to shift from agony to desire now that Alastor was in his room.

“Allergies,” Alastor scoffed under his breath, putting himself to rights with a tug at his lapels. “No, dear, I’m afraid these flowers must be the cause of your,” he gave a pointed look to Angel’s flagrant problem as he searched for his next word, “…affliction. I don’t recognize them as any breed that’s grown here. They’re twisted.” 

Angel cursed. Of course Valentino would skew a romantic gesture into something obscene.

Alastor merely hummed, then proceeded to summon an opening to a pocket dimension in which he quickly disposed of the devious flowers. When the portal shut the air in the room was immediately lighter, and Alastor breathed a sigh of content. His face plastered with the saintly look of a job well done.

“Where’d ya send ’em?” 

Angel couldn’t help but ask. If they really were the reason why he’d been suffering, he hated the thought of them causing harm to someone else. Well… no one in the hotel, at least.

Alastor leveled his eyes on him from across the room, his grin wide and superior in the way someone with a secret always was. “A dump, where they belong. But I fear the damage is already done. Tell me, what was the first symptom so I know what to expect?”

Angel Dust wrung his hands, a fresh onset of arousal spreading through him as Alastor’s scent replaced the aroma of the flowers. The cadence of that transatlantic voice making his cock twitch with interest, erection briefly forgotten but not gone. Why was it suddenly so hard to think? He was trying so hard to answer Alastor’s question, but words evaded him. Disappearing from his mouth like popped bubbles.

It didn’t help with the way Alastor was staring at him, a cat eyeing the canary. This is a look that normally would have given Angel a healthy dose of apprehension, maybe even fear, but at present it was smoldering. He was practically naked, something that didn’t typically bother him, but under the scrutiny of Alastor’s gaze he felt as if he was being examined under a magnifying glass. Leaving him bare and tinkered with like…

Like a plaything.

There was a sourness in his mouth at the all-too-familiar dynamic, and he found himself panting, stomach tight as Alastor sauntered over. Casually removing his coat and draping it over one of the armchairs as if Angel was the guest in this room and not the other way around. Alastor crooked a finger under Angel’s chin once he was close enough, and Angel properly whimpered. Helpless as another dribble of precum soaked into the silk of his robe.

“Cat got your tongue? Or is that too on the nose?” Alastor teased, smile goading and voice sultry; crimson eyes piercing him like needles. 

“Fuck you,” Angel managed to retort, but the heat he needed to land the barb escaped him in steamy puffs of breath. 

“I’d like to extend an offer,” Alastor said guilelessly, ignoring the insult, “since we find ourselves in need of each other’s help.”

“Help with what?” 

He sounded far away from himself, as if speaking from another room. Having Alastor this close was fucking with him; endocrine system not knowing whether to ramp up his testosterone or cortisol levels. With the way his heart and loins were hammering, it most likely doing both.

“Poor fellow, you’re in quite a stupor, aren’t you?” Alastor chuckled. He took one of Angel’s hands and brought it to his lap to cup his forming erection, drawing a gasp from the younger man. “As you can see, I’m already suffering the side effects from those damned flowers.”

The words had barely registered before Alastor returned the gesture in kind, the soft leather of his glove a surprising balm to the irritated skin of his cock. Angel crooned and let his head fall back with a thump against the door as Alastor gave him a few exploratory strokes, and all but cried when his thumb pressed into the slit.

Alastor clicked his tongue in mock admonishment. “I expected a professional would know how to better care for themselves. Look how red you are, poor thing...”

Angel squirmed, gasping, unable to hold back the fresh tears that stung his eyes from the bliss of Alastor’s hand pumping him. “I do,” he protested, “but if what you said is true — mmm — then those f-flowers did somethin’ to me. And nothin’s worked all — fuck!” 

He groaned as his cock kicked, a small rope of ejaculate painting the top of Alastor’s gloved hand. Angel hadn’t even felt the onset of this orgasm, but did feel the relief of it for the first time all evening. His body shook as another little spurt spilled out. Meager proof for what had been his best climax so far.

Alastor hummed pensively and brought his hand up to his mouth, licking the glove clean with two wide swipes of his tongue. He seemed to ponder over the taste of it for a moment, then shrugged it off. Some internal debate settled as that same hand gave a tug to the handsome bow at his neck. His eyebrows perked up as he began to roll up his shirtsleeves, as if forgetting that Angel was fighting for his sanity in front of him. 

“Shall we take this to the bed?” 

Angel was still trying to process what had just happened, but couldn’t deny that he was already feeling a bit better after the handjob, rudimentary as it was. Still, something about this just didn’t seem real. Alastor offering to go to bed with him? He had to be sure, lest he embarrass himself further.

“If you’re serious about this you actually have to fuck me. Ya know that, right? No cuttin’ corners just usin’ those tentacles ’a yours,” he said warily, searching the Overlord for any signs of a gag.

“Clever boy,” Alastor purred, smile wide as he extended his hand. The sight was about as comforting as a loaded gun, and Alastor hummed when Angel stared down at his open hand for a moment too long. Adding a singsong, “No strings.”

“No strings, huh?” Angel couldn’t help but be a little skeptical, being very familiar with the demon’s reputation. “You ain’t gonna make me sign for it?”

Alastor chortled. “Of course not! This is between gentlemen. What do you say?”

How the fuck did he end up in this situation? To think that if he had just tossed the flowers like he wanted, he would have had another mundane evening under his belt. Instead, Valentino just proved that he would never change, and left Angel holding the bag as usual. What was he even trying to achieve by sending those fucking things here, anyway? If Valentino knew what the flowers would do to him (and Angel had a really hard time believing he didn’t), it’s not like he was here to take care of the result. The thought alone made Angel nauseous, a shudder wracking his body that left him feeling dirty.

But it was Alastor standing before him now. Alastor, the enigmatic Radio Demon, whom Vox both adored and detested. While Vox certainly wasn’t the only one who felt that way towards the guy, knowing this was all somehow tied to Valentino helped. He’d be lying if he said he never thought about what fucking Alastor would be like. After all, that blowjob he offered when they first met wasn’t completely for shock.

Let’s see just how serious he is…

“Can I suck your dick?” 

In a flash so quick Angel thought he had almost imagined it, Alastor’s face lit up in surprise before settling back to his usual facade, his open hand curling into a fist. But he didn’t answer, instead pooling into shadow to re-form on the edge of Angel’s bed; fingers dancing on his thighs while he spread his legs just enough to show off the growing bulge in his trousers.

“I suppose you’ve waited long enough for your chance.”

It shouldn’t have had the affect on him that it did. Angel had seen more than his fair share of men in the exact same position after making such an offer. While his erection had yet to weaken, he was surprised at his capacity for lubrication, embers of lust burning just under his skin as he knelt before Alastor with as much dignity as he could muster. God forbid he appeared over-eager, even if he was. 

There was just so much mystery surrounding the man before him, it was hard not to let his imagination get away. Angel was already impressed by his size, swallowing the saliva that had began collecting in his mouth as he tentatively palmed Alastor through his pants. The jerk of his hips caught Angel off-guard, but only made his own arousal worse.

Sensitive, huh?

Under normal circumstances Angel would have teased him, draw it out with strokes and licks over his pants until Alastor was begging for his mouth. But he had the distinct feeling Alastor wasn’t the type to to beg, and he didn’t really feel like testing his patience to the point of being thrown around like he was at the studio. Since, under normal circumstances, Angel wouldn’t even be here in the first place — removing Alastor’s belt and unfastening the button, his own groin tingling with anticipation as Alastor sighed with relief through his nose. A small, shaky sound with momentous impact.

It was enough to make Angel give in to his impatience, his need to really see what he was working with too great to delay any further. Alastor was right. 

He’d waited long enough.

Angel sighed when he pulled down Alastor’s pants and boxers, moaning a little despite himself as he watched Alastor’s cock trying to win its battle against gravity, straining under its own weight. He was thick and uncircumcised, causing Angel’s mouth to water again with the desire to see more. If he was already enjoying the dark tan color before him, he couldn’t imagine what else lied in store when he eventually got around to revealing the head. 

“This has gotta be Hell’s best-kept secret,” Angel said, grinning as he looked up to Alastor’s face, which had grown rather red. “I shoulda known you’d be packin’. The quiet ones always got somethin’ up their sleeve.”

Alastor shifted self-consciously, smile strained as the flush of his face crept down under the collar of his shirt. “I’ll take it as a compliment, but I suggest you put that mouth to better use before I change my mind.”

Angel thought about responding. He had several sarcastic quips in his back pocket for instances such as this. Work would do that to you after a while — quite literally suck the joy out of things — so you had to find the fun where you could. And his idea of fun right now was to make Alastor eat his words. He wanted to see what this mouth could do? 

So be it, then.

Without further delay to his own gratification, Angel Dust took him in hand, soaking in the gasp Alastor tried to swallow as he pulled back the skin; greeted by the flushed tip, a deep rosy hue that complimented his tan so nicely. Big and beautiful? Some assholes were just born lucky, Angel supposed. He was, of course, included in this exclusive group, but it was a rare treat to be able to indulge in a gorgeous cock that wasn’t his own.

Angel started slow, circling his tongue around the glans and relishing the salt of Alastor’s skin, heightened by his musky scent. Not unaware of the little sounds Alastor was still biting back; something that Angel was more than willing to rectify, when the time came. For now, he was happy to ease into it. Planting a small kiss right over the slit before treating the rest of him, Angel’s hand gently working the head as his trail of kisses traveled down. 

He could have cried for joy as Alastor adjusted himself, legs spreading further to give Angel more access. Even daring to take a testicle into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bulb and sucking while his hand continued its massage. Alastor was breathing heavily through his nose, losing the battle to keep his breath even as Angel switched testes. If he wasn’t so dedicated to giving Alastor’s balls the attention they deserved, he would have smiled as he felt the first wave of precum sink under his fingers. Already feeling so satisfied and he’d barely gotten started.

Angel pulled off with a purposefully salacious pop, working his hand further down Alastor’s shaft now that he had some lubricant to work with. He could have easily grabbed some — Lord knows he wasn’t lacking in supply — but earning it was always nice. Jumping in with both feet was something he related more with being at the studio, and he was off the clock at the moment. No lights, no cameras, no shitty actors with even shittier hygiene. 

He was in the comfort of his suite, with Alastor on the bed willingly letting him have his fun. Was the circumstance anything like he thought it’d be? No. Angel fought back the anger he felt simmer in his gut at the reminder of Valentino’s gift. The silver lining being that Alastor, for whatever reason, decided that the only way to get through this fever was together. It would be a secret they’d take to their figurative graves, and if Angel was being honest with himself, it was more than he could have asked for. A memory just for him.

The moan that left Alastor as Angel’s mouth finally surrounded him was sublime, his own dick weeping steadily as he sunk down to the base. Practically smothering himself in the wild scent of Alastor’s manhood, relishing the soft hair that tickled his nose. Even better was how quickly Alastor’s hand found itself grabbing at Angel’s hair while his body jerked from pleasure and shock as Angel slowly bobbed his head; refusing to let this be just another sloppy blowjob. Not that he had anything against them (Angel enjoyed them quite a bit) but having someone gag and choke and gasp and drool all over his dick just didn’t seem to be Alastor’s style.

Angel whined as he felt Alastor twitch and grow in his mouth, swallowing down his saliva now delightfully flavored with the salty-sweet of Alastor’s arousal. It reminded him of the kettle corn he would get on Coney Island. A treat he was only allowed when he had been on best behavior running errands with his Ma, and he found sucking Alastor off to be just as gratifying. 

He didn’t even notice how his hands were gripping Alastor’s hips until he felt the Overlord begin to rock into his throat. The hand in his hair still held firm, the slight sting of the pull against his scalp only spurring the star on, widening his tongue to press it up against the pulsing vein as a reward for Alastor’s growing enthusiasm. Made evident by the static-laden gasps and groans he was freely making, complimented by the wet sounds of Angel’s mouth as his throat relaxed to let Alastor chase his fun.

Not afraid of a little mess, after all…

His lower set of hands busied themselves cupping and massaging Alastor’s testicles, the wanton sound that he earned from it one he vowed to sear into his memory for safekeeping. He could tell that Alastor was getting close, pace stuttered but flirting with brutal as Angel focused on making sure to keep enough air in his lungs. Not that he doubted his capacity, but he hadn’t exactly planned for the sudden face-fucking, either. 

He risked a glance up, and what he saw almost didn’t seem real. Alastor’s head was tilted down towards him, but his crimson eyes were shut tight, framed by his sweat-damp hair. The blush from earlier had truly bloomed from the fever, the glow contrasting handsomely against his complexion in a way that was almost irritating. Sure, red was his color, but did every part of him have to rub it in? 

But the real showstopper was his fumbling smile. Alastor’s patented grin gone soft and trembling; gossamer strings of saliva connecting the lips of his open mouth, looking like dew drops on a spider web. 

“Fu — haahh, Anthony, I —”

Angel moaned at the sound of his name on Alastor’s tongue. Nearly sobbing as he felt and tasted the first shot of cum, fastening his grip on Alastor’s hips to keep him in place as he swallowed every bit that he received. It tasted different than his pre, more on the bitter side, but not unpleasant. Angel was finding less and less things to associate with that word when it came to Alastor, a worry blossoming in the back of his mind that he’d have to think on more later.

For now, he focused on savoring the moment. The taste, smell, and feel of the Overlord before him. The little jerks and shudders of aftershock slowly beginning to subside as Alastor’s breathing evened out, loosening the grip he had on Angel’s hair before falling on his back; a static hum vibrating in the air, sounding the way he always imagined a sleeping beast from a fairytale would.

Alastor was far from asleep though, grumbling over the persistence of his erection as he hastily tugged at the buttons on his sweat-dampened shirt. The effects of the fever digging in despite their efforts. Angel could understand the frustration, his own member practically screaming for relief. He knew his own touch would only bring pain and irritation, resolving to do his best to ignore it, but found himself growing eager. The lingering taste of Alastor’s skin and semen in his mouth warming him from the inside out.

“How many times do ya think we need to try before it goes away?”

“I think there’s only one way to find out, darling,” Alastor replied, sounding a bit out of breath. “Why don’t you come up here and join me?”

To his surprise, Alastor didn’t pat the bed, but the top of his thighs. His knees still bent over the side of the bed while the rest of him laid flat. Angel crawled up, fighting through the stiffness that had begun to settle into his bones, and settled himself over Alastor. Sighing as strong, large hands held his hips and red eyes roamed his face. 

Without thinking, Angel reached up to remove Alastor’s monocle. For such a small thing, its absence made quite the impact. Alastor’s face, much like the rest of him now, laid bare for no one else’s eyes but his own. Angel took in the sight, crimson splayed over the pink cotton of his duvet. With Alastor laying in the center of it, his hair and open shirt was reminiscent of a pool of blood. Angel found it fitting — gruesome and glamorous all at once. He was struck by the urge to kiss him, and drew his bottom lip between his teeth to keep it at bay. Alastor only smiled, one of his fangs poking out from his closed lips while his hands massaged the star’s narrow hips.

Angel cleared his throat and looked up and off to the side where his discarded toy and bottle of lube laid haphazardly on the sheets. He was just able to reach the bottle, and proceed to rub a generous amount over his hole; feeling the blush warm his face from being watched. It was a little funny… Angel Dust was used to this, enjoyed it, for the most part. But something about having Alastor’s eyes on him while he prepped himself made him feel shy, as if he were seeking some kind of approval despite being the professional.

The slick sound of his fingers filled the gap of their silence, punctured by little whines and heavy breaths. And still, they maintained eye contact. The intensity of Alastor’s red eyes was smothering, and it felt nice to know that Angel wasn’t alone in his need for more.

“Okay, that should do it,” Angel said, and shivered at the sound of Alastor’s eager inhale of breath. “Ya want me on top, or should we switch? I don’t care either way, just make it quick cuz I can’t wait anymore.”

Alastor laughed and gave him a playful slap on the ass, the unexpected gesture heightened by the words he spoke next. 

“Get on your back.”

Angel complied with an embarrassing speed, dismounting from Alastor’s lap to scramble up the bed. Hastily removing his robe to gather his discarded dildo in before placing them on the floor to give them a cleaner space to work with. His chest was heaving as he watched Alastor shed his shirt and slacks, and couldn’t help but to finally touch himself; moaning loud as Alastor crawled up the bed while running his tongue over his teeth. 

He sighed as Alastor grabbed his legs and hitched them over his shoulders, pulling him close as he lined himself up with Angel’s entrance. Alastor sunk into him with one swift thrust, their groans of relief harmonizing as they both paused to adjust. He didn’t give Angel too long of a wait, slowly receding before slamming back in. Alastor’s thick length forcing him open with a delicious stretch as he steadily pounded Angel’s ass. His hand remained busy on his own cock, doing his best to stroke in tandem but failing from the force of Alastor’s body rocking into him.

Maybe it was from the wait, but Angel was shocked to feel that prominent tightening in his belly so soon. The promise of another orgasm adding to the haste of his hand as he keened. A high, wanton sound ringing out over mounting static and bit-back groans, elevating the crude noise of wet skin-on-skin. They were already so drenched in sweat, the fever in full force as the men desperately sought to break it.

Angel didn’t even notice that Alastor’s nails had dug into the skin of his thighs until he saw the blood trickling down, and found himself clenching around that delicious cock in response. Alastor’s head fell back with a moan, his hips stuttering from the sudden tightness before resuming his pace.

“Oh fuck, Alastor, please don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Angel begged, breathless. Tears beading at the corners of his eyes as the molten heat in his abdomen boiled over, his climax hitting him with a force he hadn’t felt since his first time.

Somewhere under his cries of rapture he heard Alastor curse with a gasp, the feeling of the Overlord’s release sending him over the edge as his orgasm renewed; his dick twitching against his stomach, shamelessly painting himself with a fresh wave of his own seed. The relief was exquisite, the heat in Angel’s body noticeably dropping as Alastor gave him a testing thrust before resuming a slow, deep pace. Seemingly unfazed by fucking his spend into Angel’s ass, for which the star was grateful. It felt too good, and he’d hate to point it out and make Alastor squeamish. 

“What an improvement,” Alastor observed, his voice thick and low, eyes glowing with a hunger that made Angel whine. “Feeling better now, my dear?”

Though his mouth was open, Angel could only nod his head in answer. Rolling his hips to meet Alastor’s thrusts as they chased another high. His head was clearing up, and he was determined to get Alastor to finish first this time. There was no way of knowing just how many rounds they’d need to go to get through this, but Angel was feeling hopeful that it wouldn’t be too much longer, at least for himself. 

He watched, mesmerized as the antlers on Alastor’s head began to grow. Spreading out like roots until they had tripled in size, handsome and stately and entirely befitting the head they adorned. Angel couldn’t help but reach out, his desire and curiosity to touch them overriding his sense of propriety. To his delight, Alastor noticed his unspoken question, folding Angel’s body beneath him as he lowered himself enough for the star to reach out and grab his brow tines. Earning a delicious moan from Alastor from the touch.

Their faces were so close now that they were breathing the same air, a dizzy feeling building in Angel’s head as he lost himself in Alastor’s unrelenting eye contact. 

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, ya know that?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, moaning as he felt Alastor twitch inside him. He let his other hands roam the expanse of Alastor’s furry chest, relishing the groan it drew from him as his brow furrowed. “Can’t wait to see you cum again… got a front row seat this time.” 

He felt another throb as Alastor gasped, grinding his hips in tight circles, his steady pace unravelling as buried himself in Angel’s heat. 

“That’s it, baby, I can take it,” Angel encouraged between breaths, seeing stars with every pass of Alastor’s cock over his prostate. Doing his best not to blink lest he miss the face he was so eager to see.

“Anthony…”

There it was again. He didn’t even know how Alastor knew it, but the sound of his name in that filtered voice was a weakness he could have lived without. Knowing that it would haunt him as he tried to sleep for nights to come. That he would recoil the next time he heard it from someone else’s mouth instead…

With another cry of his name Alastor shuddered, his face scrunched in pleasure as his orgasm wracked his body. Angel took it all in, his body squeezing out every bit of Alastor’s essence while his eyes memorized the flushed, handsome face. Every bead of sweat, every misplaced strand of hair. The heat of Alastor’s breath on his face, huffed in invisible clouds of steam. His upper hands were still latched to Alastor’s tines, the others gently caressing the man as he sloppily rode out his high. 

It wasn’t until Alastor collapsed on top of him that he realized he didn’t experience his own orgasm, and found that the absence of it wasn’t painful. His body felt to be back to its usual temperature, his head light but clear as he waited for Alastor to pull out. Not that there was a rush. There was no way for him to know the time, but he wasn’t ready to turn back into a pumpkin.

“I think my fever’s gone,” he says anyway, his voice quiet as Alastor nestled his face in Angel’s chest. “Thanks for puttin’ up with this. I know…,” he sighed, searching for the words and settles on, “I know it’s not somethin’ we woulda done under normal circumstances.”

Alastor hummed, pensive. He still hadn’t removed himself, and Angel couldn’t help but find it oddly comforting. “I’m not so sure I’m out of the woods yet. I’m typically not so… voracious.”

Angel laughed a little, content to pet Alastor’s back while he figured it out. Seeing as this would most likely be a one-time thing, he figured he should get his money’s worth. So to speak. 

“Hey, your secret’s safe with me. A gentleman never tells, ya know.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The even sound of heeled boots echoed in the empty hallway as Lucifer made his way to the doors of his penthouse. He was in a lovely mood, whistling a tune that hadn’t deigned the ears of mortals for centuries; his right hand flourishing his apple-adorned cane like a baton. 

His mirth died with the song on his lips as he took in the vase of flowers on the floor, recognizing the breeds that made up the bouquet as genuses that only existed in the Lust Ring. Lucifer bent down to pluck the card out of the pink and maroon blooms and grimaced almost immediately.

Thinking of you, Angelito. Call me when you feel the burn. ~ Valentino

Lucifer shuddered and incinerated the card, furiously wiping his hand on his coat in disgust as he opened a portal to V Tower. 

Seems like a certain Overlord needed to remember his place.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

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[artsyannierose]

ALASTOR FANS ARE SOMETHING ELSE I SWEAR I JUST SAW SOMEONE OVER ON TWITTER SAYING ALASTOR’S ABUSE ISNT AS BAD AS VALENTINO

Your double standards are wild bro

Aight here we go

1 - Husk mentioned he “sold his soul to SAVE his power” not to gain more power, he was probably running low on luck and looking for a way to get back on his feet

2 - Blaming Husk??? Look I’m one of those people who LOVES character development and i sincerely hope husk was a horrible sinner, like i hope he was greedy and selfish and didn’t give a shit about his souls, long as he had the rush of a good gamble. I HOPE HE WAS AN ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE PERSON WHO GOT KNOCKED DOWN SOME PEGS TO WHERE HE IS NOW

BECAUSE THEN IT WOULD MAKE HIM REALIZE THAT ITS NOT SO FUN BEING THE OWNED SOUL NOW IS IT, AT THE BECK AND CALL OF THE RADIO DEMON NO LESS

AND YES YES I HOPE THAT’S WHY HE IS THE WAY HE IS NOW, AND WHY HE’S SO PERCEPTIVE

But wtf bro you literally are writing alastor off like he isn’t a maniacal psychopath that literally the entire pride ring fears because he’s a nasty lil power-obsessed shit?? Also Husk is well aware that his decisions got him here, that was the whole point of the prologue to loser baby

I desperately hope husk was unrecognizable as an overlord, I WANT TO SEE THAT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

Ironic how this genius says “he was no better than them” YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT ALASTOR ARE YOU BLINDDDD

Pisses me off so much how people are like “oh alastor’s abuse isn’t that bad” IM SORRY DO YOU GET TO DECIDE HOW BAD SOMEONE’S ABUSE IS??? HOW IT AFFECTS THE VICTIMS????? WHO DIED AND MADE YOU THE PSYCHOLOGIST

HUSK WAS SHAKING BRO HES USUALLY SO CHILL AND UNBOTHERED SO CLEARLY ITS BAD i want to say alastor’s done some pretty messed up things to husk because he like revels in physical pain and whatnot, so husk possibly thought he was about to go through something like that again??? HOW IS THAT ANY WORSE THAN RAPE GENUINELY I DONT UNDERSTAND YALL…

Valentino is a prick and so is Alastor there is no “levels of abuse” this is why domestic violence is bad bc nobody is actually bothered ffs YOU PEOPLE ARE MY CONCERN FOR SOCIETY

I NEED A HUSK CENTRIC EPISODE IN SEASON 2 RIGHT NOW BECUASE I NEED CANON MATERIAL FOR CLOWNS LIKE THIS

UNIRONICALLY THEY’RE A RADIODUST SHIPPER WHICH IS SENDING MEEEEE

NO WAY YOU’RE CALLING HUSKERDUST TOXIC THEN GO SHIP RADIODUST IM SOBBING

Yall some other breed istg

Ok thanks for coming to my TedTalk im literally in English class supposed to be taking a quiz bye

[artofhazbinhotel]

You ever see a ship there's literally nothing wrong with you just don't like it?

Like I can explain perfectly why I don't like charlastor, stolitz, striker x moxxie, vox x assistant, radiodust, radiohusk, charlie x emily, etc.

But I have so much beef with radioapple and adamsapple for some reason, it's kind of funny

Comment any ships you don't like but can't explain why

I'm not tagging this as critical since I'm not being critical and it's just a statement, maybe if you do like these and see this post you can say which ships you feel this way about

Edit: My reasoning for tagging ships mentioned is that even if I don't like it I respect your opinion and I want to let you say the ones you don't like too. Why would I tag a part of the fandom I hate? I don't hate anyone, this was supposed to be a discussion for anyone who wants but some people are acting like I told them to kys for liking radioapple even though I never said I hated anything or anyone?? Look at the comments I let stay, everyone is respecting each other and sharing opinions. I'm not attacking anyone, I've had to block 3 people tonight all because of an opinion I never forced on anyone and simply said