#riveting television

[redmyeyes]

one brotherlook per ep -> 6x11 ❝ Appointment in Samarra ❞

[dailybehbeh]

Behbeh

[junietuesday]

that loki ending was insane and not in a good way 💔 this is what i get for briefly becoming invested in a marvel show 😭💔💔💔 literally the Only reason i showed up for this guy in season 1 was for the genderfluid character and. well lmfao

[disregardandfelicity]

first barry ep since season 2 where i feel like im fully back on board! YES gene's horrific and casual murder of his own son, predictable in the way that he is not the smooth operator he suddenly became in the finale. YES noho hank's descent into being everything barry was. the show is like there ARE no good crime lords and merciless killers. it is a comedy but the stakes are always real. and somehow YES barry getting away with it and getting his mundane nuclear family dreams on the run with sally??????? idk why i'm here for it but i am?? i mean we're sure not ending with them in that place, we've got several episodes left to unravel it.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : ASLEEP IN HIS ARMS : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: you often struggle with fatigue and tend to fall asleep easily, sometimes mid-conversation or while watching TV with Logan. At first, he’s unsure how to react, worried that something might be wrong, but as your relationship grows, he becomes more accustomed to it. He starts to find comfort in the way you trust him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder or in his lap. Logan quietly cares for you, gently adjusting to your needs, and cherishes the peaceful moments where you sleep in his arms, feeling protective and close to you.

Based on this request.

THE SOFT HUM OF THE TELEVISION BARELY FILLED THE QUIET OF THE LIVING ROOM. Logan sat on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm casually draped over the backrest. His eyes flickered toward the clock on the wall and then back down to you—your head resting gently on his shoulder, breathing slow and steady. You had fallen asleep again, the same way you always did.

You hadn’t been dating long, just a few months, and everything still felt new and exciting, but also a little uncertain. Logan wasn’t used to this—this softness, this quiet kind of intimacy. At first, he wasn’t sure how to react. The first time it happened, you two had been watching a movie together. About halfway through, your laughter grew quieter, and you leaned into him a little more.

“Hey, you okay?” he’d asked, glancing down at you. He felt your body relax against his, and when he looked closer, your eyes were closed.

You were already asleep.

He wasn’t sure what to do. His initial thought was that you must’ve been bored out of your mind—he hadn’t picked the most riveting movie. But the longer he sat there, feeling the warmth of your body against his and listening to your steady breathing, the more his concern shifted to something else. Were you sick? Had you been sleeping okay?

He didn’t want to wake you, though. You looked peaceful, your lips slightly parted, your face soft in sleep. But curiosity gnawed at him. Once the movie ended, he gently shook you awake.

“Hm?” you mumbled, blinking your eyes open.

“Hey,” Logan said softly, his eyes searching yours. “You fell asleep.”

You blinked again, straightening up a little and rubbing your eyes. “Oh… I did?” Your voice was groggy, still thick with sleep.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. Everything okay? You seemed really tired.”

You gave a small, sheepish smile, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, I get like that sometimes. I dunno… just tired a lot lately.”

“Like, all the time?” His brow furrowed slightly, concern creeping into his voice.

You nodded, leaning your head back against the couch. “Yeah, pretty much. It’s not a big deal, though. I’ve always been like this—get sleepy out of nowhere, sometimes.”

Logan had tried to understand, but it threw him off at first. He hadn’t really known anyone who could just pass out like that, so effortlessly. It wasn’t like you were doing anything exhausting; sometimes, you’d just lay your head on his shoulder and within minutes, you’d be asleep, even during conversations. He couldn’t help but feel a bit strange about it at the beginning���did you feel comfortable? Were you okay?

But as weeks passed, he began to notice that it wasn’t boredom or disinterest. It was just… you. Sometimes you’d yawn, lean your head against his chest, and within minutes, you’d be fast asleep, the world drifting away. It was just how your body worked.

Now, it had almost become second nature. Like tonight, for example. You had planned to watch something together, but you barely made it through the opening scene before you nestled up next to him and dozed off. Logan smiled softly to himself, looking down at you again.

His fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face. He could hear your steady breathing, could feel the weight of your trust as you relaxed completely against him.

A part of him had grown used to this—this quiet routine where you found comfort in him, even when fatigue pulled you under so quickly. He loved it, honestly. It was endearing how you trusted him enough to fall asleep without a second thought.

After a while, he stopped feeling awkward about it. Now, when you nuzzled into his side, he’d just let his arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in closer. Sometimes he’d switch off the TV and let you sleep while he’d sit there with a book, content just to have you near him. It wasn’t about what you were missing—he realized it was about being there, even if it was in silence.

You stirred slightly, shifting in your sleep. Logan looked down, his hand gently rubbing your arm. “You okay?” he whispered, not really expecting an answer.

You mumbled something incoherent, and he chuckled. He adjusted slightly, careful not to wake you, and leaned back into the cushions. His fingers absentmindedly traced small circles on your arm, and he found himself smiling. This had become your thing now, and though it wasn’t something he had expected, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

But tonight, as you lay there, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe you were overworking yourself. Tomorrow, he’d ask you again—make sure you were taking care of yourself, ask if there was anything he could do. He’d thought about mentioning seeing a doctor, but he didn’t want to push too hard. For now, though, he’d just be here.

After a little while, Logan shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you as he reached for the remote. He turned off the TV and rested his head back on the couch. You didn’t stir this time, just pressed a little closer to him, your hand resting on his chest.

He smiled softly, his heart warming at the simple gesture. The quiet of the room felt comforting, and despite the small pang of worry that lingered in the back of his mind, he felt peaceful in moments like these. The trust you showed him, how easily you fell asleep in his arms—it made him feel something deeper than he could put into words.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured quietly, his voice so low he wasn’t even sure if he had said it out loud. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, feeling the warmth of your skin against his lips.

And even though you couldn’t hear him, not really, you shifted just enough to let him know that, in some way, you understood.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @veru-boom @wolviesgirl @lanabobana @shybluebirdninja @corvusmorte @seamlessepiphany @allmyn1ghts

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!! ❤️

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

the girl is mine (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: When your fascination with Mayor Agatha Harkness becomes all consuming, what lengths will you go to in order to get her attention?

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Helloooo, this is a fun little one shot I’ve had sitting in my drive for a while and I finally got around to finishing it. Title & fic idea are both heavily inspired by Ariana Grande’s music video ‘the boy is mine’. Agatha has been consuming my every waking thought lately, so I hope you enjoy this fun au! Let me know what you think, my asks/dm’s are always open!

Growing up you never showed much interest in politics, and you certainly could never name more than a few politicians off the top of your head. It was dull, and you failed to find a group of white men who were knocking on death’s door to be riveting. But all of that changed with the election for the new mayor. In the past, you were vaguely aware of upcoming elections, and tried to remember to vote. But you never actively followed a campaign; at least, not until her. 

The her in question being Agatha Harkness, newly elected mayor of New York City. Being the only daughter of the former long-time U.S. Senator Evanora Harkness, politics was in her blood. Running a cutthroat campaign full of promises to clean up the city and help its residents, all whilst viciously annihilating her opponents one by one in debate, she quickly became the candidate to back. Posters of her face were plastered over every crevice of the city; with her perfectly messy dark brown curls, plump red lips, pristinely bright white smile, and lustrous blue eyes it was no surprise you became hooked. 

You followed the campaign at a slightly obsessive level, tuning into every debate and press briefing, even having notifications for Agatha Harkness enabled on every platform hoping for a glimpse of the woman who had slowly taken over your every waking thought. She was brilliant, and she had absolutely no idea you existed. 

At least, not yet. 

A few months after the election, Mayor Harkness appeared to be following through on her campaign promises. Unemployment was at a record low, there were different initiatives to help funding for the public school system, even crime and gang activity became nearly nonexistent. 

However there were rumblings from various journalists that perhaps the mayor wasn’t as perfect as she appeared to be. A few reports were suggesting that instead of eradicating the crime syndicates that had been plaguing the city for decades, she had merely moved operations underground. Others hinted that perhaps she had something to do with her mother’s rather mysterious and sudden death. But that was absurd, you thought to yourself as you watched the mayor on your television screen, her bright blue eyes twinkling back at you as she answered a few questions. 

Potion making had never been your speciality, as you were still fairly inexperienced in most realms of magic, but you froze as Agatha gave a sly wink when being asked how she kept crime rates lowered. Stirring the cauldron with renewed vigor, the pink fumes filled the room as you inhaled.

Your eyes drifted over to the outfit you had hung on the outside of your closet, briefly wondering if the plan you had concocted was too unhinged. But the mayor’s authoritative voice caught your attention once more as you turned back to the screen.

“Yes, you,” Agatha motioned to one of the eager reporters holding their hands up. 

“Madam Mayor, how do you respond to allegations that you accepted illegal campaign donations from some of the top crime families in the city?” 

The mayor didn’t appear to be phased by the question, pursing her lips as she frowned. “Well, I’d say that sounds like yet another baseless claim from the media’s fruitless attempts to discredit my accomplishments. The witch hunts didn’t stop in Salem, did they?” 

The clamor of dozens of reporters resulted in the mayor waving her hand to decline any other questions, leaving the press briefing room with her team in tow. Shutting off your tv, you glanced back at the outfit, a feeling of determination washing over you. 

Popping the cork off the vial, you carefully poured the liquid in the bottle. Pretty soon the only thought on the mayor’s mind would be your name. 

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

The next morning, you were out the door before the sun was over the horizon, running through the plan again in your head with your destination clear in mind. You had come up with the idea late one night while researching the effects of various love potions. It was risky, sure, but you had taken the time to perfect this particular potion, leaving no room for error.

The rest of the plan was rather reliant on your ability to trick the mayor’s staff into thinking you were a reporter, but hey, using a few charming spells wasn’t unethical if it was in the name of love, right?

By the time you made it to the mayor’s office you were already having second thoughts. Could you go to jail for impersonating a reporter? 

Unfortunately, you had run out of time to turn around as the friendly looking older woman sitting at the front desk waved you over. Approaching her, you ran through what you had practiced saying in the shower. Quickly looking at the personalized name plate on the edge of her desk, you gave her a wide smile.

“Good morning, Sharon. I have an appointment scheduled this morning with Mayor Harkness,” you greeted the receptionist, keeping any trace of nervousness from your tone.

“Oh, an appointment?” Sharon asked, appearing to be confused as she looked at her computer, clicking around with her mouse. “I hate these things, I can never find what I’m looking for. Do you know what never has silly malfunctions? A nice, simple day planner.”

Raising your eyebrows, you nodded along. “Of course. Very reliable.”

Sharon nodded in agreement, still struggling with her computer. “Exactly. I’ve tried explaining that to the mayor but she just waves me away to get her more tea.” She paused, frowning at whatever was on the screen. “I’m not seeing any appointments for this morning. What did you say your name was again?”

Internally sighing, and hoping you had learned this particular spell correctly, you discreetly waved your left hand, mumbling the incantation under your breath. You had never tried an enchantment before, but the spellbook made it appear to be simple enough. As long as you said the right words and had your intention clear in your mind it would work. It had to.

Clearing your throat, you gave her another bright smile. “I’m sure if you check your calendar again, it will have me marked down for an appointment with the mayor. I’m here for a last minute interview.” 

Sharon blinked, and her eyes appeared hazier than they were a moment prior, signaling your spell had worked. Looking back at her computer, she gave you a mindless smile. “Oh of course! This silly computer. Right this way, I’ll take you to the mayor.”

Following the receptionist down the hallway, you made note of how the enchantment did not appear to make any obvious changes, at least not outwardly. You did feel a slight twinge of guilt at manipulating someone without magic, but those thoughts were expelled from your brain as you saw the woman who had bewitched you from the first moment you saw her.

Agatha Harkness was leaning against her open office door, a sly grin on her face as she chatted with a nervous looking employee. Her long dark brown hair was messily splayed across her shoulders, and you could picture running your fingers through it.

With one hand cocked on her hip, and the other tucked in the pocket of her expensive looking purple slacks, you felt your breath hitch. This was really happening.

After a few moments, Agatha looked over at you and her receptionist, and she waved the employee away as she frowned. 

“Shannon, who do we have here?” Agatha curiously asked, looking you up and down.

You frowned, wasn’t her name Sharon?

Sharon didn’t appear to notice, as she mindlessly smiled. “The reporter for your interview is here, Madam Mayor.”

The mayor’s frown deepened, looking between you and her receptionist. “I thought I told you to clear my schedule this morning. I don’t remember agreeing to any more interviews.”

“It’s the only appointment scheduled for this morning,” Sharon insisted, and you prayed to whatever deity that was listening that your spell didn’t wear off too soon. “I must have forgotten to mention it to you.”

Agatha hummed, a thoughtful expression on her face as her gaze remained fixated on her receptionist. “I see.” She finally looked back over in your direction, curiously eyeing you. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Thank you, Shannon, that will be all.”

Sharon, or maybe Shannon, walked back to her desk and Agatha held her hand out, gesturing for you to enter her office. You tentatively walked through the doors, as the mayor followed closely behind, shutting the doors shut.

The mayor’s office wasn’t quite what you had expected. It was a lot bigger than you pictured, and the longer you looked around the more you wondered how it was this size. Large violet tinted drapes hung from the windows, and you were momentarily stunned from the view this high up. 

You knew from various interviews that the mayor was an avid reader, so you were unsurprised to find floor to ceiling rows of bookshelves lining three of the four walls. However, you were surprised to find some of them appeared rather old, and you weren’t close enough to read the titles but you managed to make note that a good chunk of them appeared to be in Latin.

“You can take a seat,” Agatha said cordially, walking past you to her desk. “Let’s try and make this snappy.”

Taking a step forward, you pulled one of the chairs out, but in the process of sitting down, the vial of potion you had in your pocket came tumbling out, crashing on the ground as the glass broke, spilling the contents all over the floor. 

Shit.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot I had that in my pocket,” you quickly apologized, trying to think of a somewhat convincing story. “You know how delicate perfume bottles can be.”

“Perfume?” Agatha repeated, tilting her head as she examined you, a calculated expression on her face as the frown lines on her forehead deepened.

“Yes. It’s…French,” you offered, avoiding eye contact as you cleared your throat. This was a horrible idea.

Agatha frowned, intrigue coloring her features as she eyed the now broken vial of potion. “I see…what publication did you say you were from again?”

“The Times,” you lied, straightening your posture as she turned her attention back to you. “It’s actually my first day.”

Raising her eyebrows, the mayor sat back in her seat. “You don’t say, and they sent you to interview me? How ambitious.”

“I’ve been following your career for a while,” you prompted, brainstorming ways to possibly salvage this opportunity. “The work you’ve done for the city is quite admirable.”

“Admirable?” Agatha scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I can’t say I’ve been hearing a lot of that from your esteemed peers.”

“Well, some people hate to watch a woman be successful in a position of power,” you offered, and your answer appeared to appease the mayor, as she gave you a curt nod. “Besides, it’s not like you actually did any of those things, people love making up stories.”

You weren’t sure if it was the lighting in the office or your imagination, but there was a brief flash of something on the mayor’s face. If you didn’t know any better, you would say she seemed amused at what you said. But that was ridiculous, right? 

“Of course,” Agatha answered, slowly licking her lips. “Why don’t we get started?”

It was then that reality set in. You hadn’t anticipated actually having to ask the mayor any questions, the potion would have already kicked in at this point. Unfortunately, Agatha observed your hesitation as she let out a deep sigh, and you could tell she was growing more annoyed.

“You know, most journalists send over their questions beforehand,” Agatha informed you, giving you an inscrutable glance as you nervously fumbled around. “I’m a very busy woman, despite what certain media outlets are spewing out.”

“I apologize, Madam Mayor. I don’t want to waste any of your time,” you insisted, wondering yet again why you thought this plan would work to begin with.

Agatha opened her mouth to say something else, but hesitated for a moment, giving you another inquisitive stare. “Very well, I suppose not everyone can be Christiane Amanpour, hm?”

Christiane Amanpour? The name sounded relatively familiar, but you couldn’t place where you had heard it from. 

“You know, the world renowned journalist?” Agatha added on, deep blue eyes boring into your own, and you quickly nodded.

“Of course, I’m such a big fan of her work,” you gushed, but in the back of your mind you had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going the way you hoped it would.

“I’m sure you are,” Agatha mused, and there was something in her words that led you to believe perhaps this was going worse than you were imagining. “How about I ask my assistant to make us some tea? That always helps calm my nerves.”

She was so kindhearted, you noted, feeling yourself relax again as you nodded in agreement. The responding grin Agatha gave you sent a shiver down your spine.. Maybe you could make this work. Sure, you weren’t actually a journalist at The Times and Agatha would eventually realize that when no story came out, but that was a problem for the future. You barely paid attention as Agatha made a quick call to her assistant, but after she hung up you refocused.

“I have to tell you, Sharon was very helpful this morning,” you said honestly, still feeling some lingering guilt over using an enchantment on her. 

“Who’s Sharon?” Agatha deadpanned, giving you a puzzled look. 

For a moment you thought she was joking as you let out a nervous, quiet laugh, until you realized she was being serious.

“Um, your assistant?” 

“Oh, Shannon?” Agatha corrected you, waving her hand dismissively. “She does what she’s told. A bit too chatty for my personal taste.”

You tried to hide the surprise from your face as you processed what the mayor said. That was a bit strange, but maybe the receptionist’s nameplate was wrong? After all, Agatha was so good. All the work she had been doing for the city, you knew she genuinely cared about helping people. Right?

“Of course, my mistake,” you said quietly, awkwardly crossing your legs.

Sharon, or Shannon, came in a few moments later with two cups of tea. Her eyes were still slightly glazed over, but the enchantment would surely wear off soon…probably. Actually, you weren’t sure how long the spell would last. But she would be fine…probably.

When you were alone again, Agatha let out a low chuckle, and you frowned. You didn’t say any of that out loud, right?

“Oh don’t mind me, dear,” Agatha said, giving you another charming smile and you felt your worries instantly slip away as she held out one of the cups. “Tea?” 

The mayor’s lithe fingers brushed against yours as you accepted the cup, and you let out an involuntary shiver at the lingering contact. Slowly withdrawing her hand, Agatha smirked at the flush you could feel spreading across your cheeks. Raising her own cup to her lips, you were entranced watching her ruby red lips part as she took a small sip. 

Following her lead, you lifted your cup, but hesitated. The tea’s sweet aroma invaded your senses as you inhaled, and for a moment the scent smelled oddly familiar. You weren’t usually a tea drinker, you preferred coffee, but it was odd, the longer you allowed the scent to settle the more you wondered what was in it. 

Looking up, you found Agatha watching you again, her cup lowered back on her desk as she surveyed you. 

“Is the tea not to your liking?” The mayor asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

“No, it smells great,” you insisted, raising the cup closer to your lips.

Her blue eyes were so warm and inviting, and she gave you a small encouraging nod, enticing you to take a sip. The warm liquid was as sweet as it had smelled, almost too sweet, you noted, allowing it to swirl around your mouth as you swallowed. 

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, so quietly you barely heard her.

Blinking, you felt the room begin to spin as you struggled to make sense of what was happening. The sickeningly sweet taste lingered in your mouth as you felt your body grow heavier with every breath you let out. You barely heard the crash of your teacup hit the floor as your hands fell to your sides. 

Your eyes struggled to remain open as you attempted to fight whatever was happening to you, but felt firm hands hold you in place.

“Don’t fight it, pet, I’d hate to have Shannon clean up even more of a mess,” Agatha whispered in your ear as everything went dark.

The throbbing of your headache was the first thing you were aware of as you finally came to, eyes fluttering open. There was a dull ache that seemed to run through your entire body, and you struggled to recognize your surroundings. It was then you realized why you felt a dull ache, as you came to the startling realization your body was suspended midair, hands and feet bound. 

Were you still dreaming? 

“Not quite, dear.”

What?

You tried to move your head, but failed as you heard a responding chuckle at your fight to free yourself.

“I must say, you’re clever. Inexperienced, but clever,” Agatha mused as she came into focus, walking towards you with a smirk painted across her face. 

“I…” you struggled to speak, your throat far too dry, and Agatha fake pouted, raising her hand to brush against your face.

“Is someone feeling shy? Where’s that confident little witch who used an enchantment spell on my assistant?” Agatha mocked, lightly slapping your cheek before tracing a finger across your lips. “Tell me, what was your plan after slipping me that love potion?”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” you said deliriously, still feeling an odd sensation in your head.

“Normally I’d have drained you of your magic by now,” Agatha said aloud, her long fingers moving lower, and you gasped as they wrapped around your neck. “It’s been a long time since someone’s managed to surprise me.”

“You’re a witch?” You managed to get out, torn between the paralyzing fear of what was occurring and a more carnal desire as you felt a heat pool between your legs from the way the mayor was looking at you. 

“And here I thought you were clever,” Agatha said, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she squeezed, the pressure causing you to moan.

She moved closer to you, not releasing her hand from your throat as her lips grazed yours. “Now, I think it’s time I break in my new toy, hm? Why don’t you show me how much you worship me.”

The mayor released you from your magical bindings as you hit the floor, and swirls of purple magic surrounded you, forcing you on your knees as she roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. 

“I’ve always wanted my own pet.”

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“ 

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths. 

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds. 

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping. 

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.” 

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner. 

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute. 

“Pretty banged up.” 

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else. 

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?” 

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym. 

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm. 

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause. 

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.” 

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more. 

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home. 

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise. 

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s not awake.” 

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see. 

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion. 

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.” 

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision. 

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation. 

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”  

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go. 

She's not wrong. 

You need to go to bed. 

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him. 

Simon asked you stay with him. 

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back? 

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap? 

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all. 

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs. 

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery. 

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients. 

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment. 

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh? 

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here? 

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested. 

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath. 

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown. 

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job. 

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck. 

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway. 

[qqueenofhades]

"Radiant" is a perfect word to describe her. Gosh she's just fantastic.

I just.... am still FULLY in shock. At the start of July we were deep in the sordid depths of BidenDebateGate and the media feeding frenzy was fully underway and things looked bad. In the middle of July we had the Trump assassination attempt and the RNC and backstabbing Democrat stories every two minutes and things looked very, VERY bad. My mental health that week was a mess. I was terrified and could barely function and was seriously contemplating having to plan for the worst-case scenario.

And then. July 21. Biden drops out. 24 hours of terror, anger, and confusion, and then? AND THEN???

At the start of August (after the 6543 weeks of July) we were riding insanely high with the Kamalamentum, on August 6 she picked Walz and immediately launched a gangbusters battleground-state tour, here we are after a basically flawless convention that ran as if she was intended to be the nominee all along, and I just... wow. Thank absolute fuck that Biden decided not to listen to all the people who wanted the nightmare of an "open convention mini primary" and immediately endorsed Kamala. Thank fuck that everyone came in line right away. Thank fuck she picked Walz and the whole rollout has been beyond incredible. AND NOW???

After the soul-crushing trauma of 2016 and what looked like another generation of old white male Democratic presidential candidates before they would ever dare to try again, we have a brilliant and experienced woman of color as our presidential nominee. We could experience the absolute god tier karma of said woman of color both making incredible history and ending Donald Trump's entire career all at once. We just witnessed the four-day convention that was riveting and unmissable television. We are raising absolutely stupid insane amounts of money and volunteers and effort and... I just don't understand how this can happen in the Bad Timeline we have been living in, except to hope that if it is, we have somehow finally left it, or can leave it. God. Wouldn't that be nice.

People keep saying that we can't get complacent and we still have to vote, because we are all as noted still traumatized from 2016, but... quite honestly, I don't think that's the issue this time. People are raring at the fucking BIT to vote, in a way that I, who have spent 10+ largely bitter and thankless years on here telling people to vote, can't entirely believe. People want to do this. The younger among you have asked if this is what Obama felt like in 2008, and: Yes, but this is even more unbelievable. At least we could see him coming and had some context for it and watched him gain steam through the primaries, etc. But there was still considerable rancor and uncertainty around whether THIS GUY was going to be the nominee, and plenty of Democrats were pretty skeptical. They warmed up a bit as it went on, but things were still fairly neck and neck with McCain until the great economic crash. After that, Obama began to pull away and finally won in a crushing landslide.

By contrast, 2024 with Kamala is now the most united and excited I have seen the Democrats, EVER, and I have been voting for Democrats and paying attention to politics for almost 20 years. It's literally indescribable. Wow. That is all I can say. Wow, and of course, LET US FUCKING DO THIS. LET'S FUCKING GO. MADAM PRESIDENT. IT'S TIME.

[for-a-longlongtime]

Guilty Pleasure (2/7) - dbf!Joel x reader

After having gotten yourself off twice to the thought of Joel, your paths cross again in the kitchen. Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 42), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU. Word count: 2.6K A/N: Thank you to everybody who commented on and/or shared part 1! It's quite a trip writing this, but I appreciate the support so much. Part II took a little longer to post due to circumstances, I promise you that part III will follow a little quicker.

< part 1 | series masterlist | main masterlist

“... it’s a responsibility we don’t take lightly. We’ve made a commitment to not just look after the citizens of Texas, but far beyond that. In our work as…”

You roll your eyes at the sound of your father’s voice coming from the tv. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you head into the kitchen, already feeling exasperated about hearing him a lot more often than you’d like to. “Does that need to be on?” You brush past Joel who is leaning against the kitchen island, his eyes on the large tv screen on the living room wall, who seemingly is a lot more interested than you are in what is being said.

The urge to touch him, or pretend to bump into him and feel his body is more than just tempting. Even passing this close is enough to smell a whiff of his cologne again, the scent making your nipples hard as you think about the welcome hug you got from him earlier. Frankly, it’s challenging enough already to not blush in front of him right now. 

It was barely five minutes ago that you were fucking your own hand, coming hard while thinking of Joel eating you out to then rail you into your mattress until you were gasping his name. You may not know yet just how big he is - but something tells you that nothing on this man is small. Not those broad shoulders, or those large hands, and definitely not his cock. You can’t wait to discover that by yourself some time soon.

So you try to distract yourself for now, pretend that you don’t feel flushed by this man who made you weak in the knees from the moment you saw him - perhaps really saw him for the first time ever in your life. You nod at the tv, irritation already creeping under your skin as you watch your father speak during the televised press conference. “Blablabla. C-SPAN would be more riveting than this crap.”

Joel scoffs for a moment, turning to look at you questioningly and perhaps somewhat surprised. Raising his eyebrow like that truly shouldn’t be so attractive, nor should his lips look so plush and tempting when he speaks to you. “What? He’s doing good work.”

“Work?” You imitate his scoff from earlier, which amuses him apparently, judging by the smile in his eyes. “He’s just standing in front of a camera in an ill-fitting suit to say some meaningless words.” 

Joel glances back at the tv. “Pretty sure that’s tailored, actually,” he says as he meets your eyes again, and the smile you saw earlier is now a proper smirk, tugging at his lips.

“It’s still - jeez, not the fucking point, Joel.” You shake your head as you grab a glass from one of the cabinets, making sure to reach for one on a higher shelf that requires you to put in some effort. You know that your skirt is probably riding up your legs, giving him something to look at, and you wonder whether he’s an ass or tits kind of guy. But did that really matter in the end? Any guy his age would gladly take a good look at any part of you, so you’ll make sure to give him plenty to look at. “Want some water?”

You notice how it takes Joel a moment to respond, and you smile to yourself when you hear him clear his throat before he speaks. “I’m good, thank you.” The hoarseness in his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago almost makes you giggle, and you’re pleased that he definitely seems to like that skirt on you. “Y’know, should probably cut him some slack,” Joel continues. “I’ve known your dad for a long time. He’s always worked hard. For you and your mom, and…”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s a real fucking hero,” you sigh as you fill your glass with ice water. The last thing you want to talk about is the man whose absence is always just as noticeable as his presence. But you do want Joel to keep talking, to get to know him more. Not to mention the way his voice is sexy as hell. 

“How long have you known each other anyway?” You hop on one of the barstool at the kitchen island, making sure to sway your legs just enough that he may notice it. His eyes quickly flick over your body, absolutely lingering on your legs and skirt - and this time you can’t help but smile, because that’s the second time he’s checked you out. “I don’t think I remember, just that you were around a lot. And that you have a brother.”

Joel tilts his head, thinking it over as he studies you for a moment. “Quite some time,” he then says, a smile playing over his lips. “Over twenty years, before he even met your mom. There was a period we didn’t see much of each other because he was so busy with everything - work, life, and you were born.” You’ve seen pictures of both your parents from that time, of course, but none with Joel as far as you remember - there also aren’t any from back then on the large photo wall at the stairs.

“Got back in touch when you were about four. You were…” Joel’s laugh pulls you out of your thoughts, and he shakes his head. “A bossy little thing. Pigtails and that stuff. Following your dad all around the house and his office whenever you got to join him there. Saying you wanted to work there, too. It was cute.”

“Over my dead body would I ever work there.” But it’s not as snarky as it normally would be, because goddamn - that smile of his is really doing something to you, making you weak in the knees and more mellow than you prefer to be. “Tell him that if it ever comes up.”

“Yes, ma’am. ” He gives you a mock salute. ���See? I told you. Bossy back then and it never went away.” He pauses when you reach into your glass of ice water, pulling out an ice cube with your fingers and then bringing it to your lips so you can suck on the refreshment. Yes, you know you’ve dripped water over your top with that - and that you’re being rather slutty with that ice cube. You’re also really hoping that move will work. “But look at you now,” Joel says almost absentmindedly, eyes watching you closely as you part your lips and slip the piece of ice into your mouth.

“Yeap, still bossy. And look at me now indeed.” You try to ignore the fluttering feeling inside of you that squeals with excitement about him having such clear memories of you, even if you only were a kid back then. Not to mention the ‘look at you now’ comment that made other parts of you respond with even more enthusiasm. You crush the last bit of the ice cube, chewing on it as you let your glance slowly travel over him, once again admiring the outfit as you did earlier. 

The worn out jeans, the shirt that just might be a size too small - either deliberately, or because he’d bulked up -, and messy hair, which you hadn’t really noticed before, but now couldn’t keep your eyes off the few curls that clung to the back of his slightly sweaty neck. It’s then that you realize that he’s letting you look freely - maybe not exactly inviting it, but not shying away from it either as he clearly doesn’t seem to mind the attention. 

“Well, maybe you should see me in pigtails now,” you say as you use your best innocent voice, brushing some imaginary dust off your shirt. It works, because his eye is drawn to the movement almost immediately, even though he tries to not show it. So you take the opportunity to tug a little at the fabric, adjust the top on you, and make sure he’s got a good view of your cleavage. “Less cute. But definitely… hot.” 

You bite your lip and smile when you see his eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but wonder if that’s something he’d be into. Your hair in pigtails and a short little skirt paired with a top that would clearly show your tits. Or maybe a lacy bra, no shirt. Your ex sure had gone nuts for it, and even wanted you to call him daddy, which you did. But there’s not much about a 22 year old boy that makes him actually feel like a daddy dom, not even if he spanks you good. Now Joel, on the other hand…

You look up when you’re interrupted by your mom entering the kitchen. “There you are, honey!” she says happily as she wraps you up in a hug, and you have to force a smile on your face to greet her with similar enthusiasm - even though you’re seething about being interrupted, just when it felt like you were getting somewhere. But it is nice to see her again, you can’t deny that. Your mom was plenty busy with her job on most days, but the major difference with your father was that she always found a way to make some time for you. Her working from a home office instead of being stuck at some firm certainly helped with that, too.

“I’m sorry that I’m so sweaty, I just got back from the gym,” she explains while grabbed a bottle of water for herself, offering one to Joel as well. He dismisses it with a slight shake of his head, grown noticeably quiet since she entered the kitchen, but the look in his eyes almost makes you shiver. Especially when his eyes meet yours, only to quickly look away again. 

Yeah, Joel is absolutely into this. But it’s no surprise that he doesn’t want to let on anything around your mom - it would not go over well. You try to hide your smile as you consider what would happen if you’d get caught with him. The way your father’s head would explode, his facade perhaps crumbling at last. That alone would already be worth the effort of getting into Joel’s pants. 

“... and I got you those mango popsicles you love. Hey. Sweetheart?” Your mom’s voice interrupts your thoughts as she hands you a popsicle, pressing one into Joel’s hand as well. He shakes his head as he tries to hand it back to her, but she won’t have any of it. “Oh c’mon Joel, give them a try. You’ll love them too,” she insists, waving away his hand as he tries to protest. “Alright, I’m gonna go shower and take a power nap before my meetings. I finish at six tonight and maybe we can get some dinner?”

“Sure, six is great, thanks mom,” you say absentmindedly, sucking on the cool treat as you lean back against the counter - it’s delicious and perfect in this summer heat. You wait until she’s left the room, then bring your eyes back to Joel. “What was it we were talking about?”, you ask him in a flirty tone of voice, then take a long, slow lick of your popsicle. “Oh, God. Joel. This is so good. Really hits the spot…”

You see his jaw clench for a moment, his eyes following your every move, but he then shrugs as he bites a piece off his treat. “ ‘s okay. Not my favorite,” he says after a moment.

You give him your brightest smile, as you once again lick your popsicle, this time also catches a spilled drop or two that had dropped on your finger. “Oh don't be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this,” you sigh, this time holding his eyes as you suckle on the fruity ice some more, and you see the confusion creep onto his face.

“The- what? Who?”

You can’t help but giggle at his confused face. “Fuck me, you really are old,” you tease him. “Miranda Priestly? The meme? Devil Wears Prada?”

“Don’t know what any of that means, darling. Sorry.” For a moment he looks awkward, flustered even, as he slips the rest of his popsicle back into the wrapper and pushes it aside. You can’t help but be disappointed - it would’ve been a pretty sight to watch him eat it all the way, even if he did it in that gruff manner. What kind of psycho bites into a frozen fruit bar? 

Applause sounds loudly from the tv, and closeups of people - including your father - shaking hands with each other fill the screen. Joel’s eyes slide back to the tv for a moment, and you can almost hear him thinking, trying to find a way to change the topic - a reason for him to not look at you licking the fruity treat. 

“We were talking about your dad’s work.”

“Mmhmm. Screw that. Like I said, it’s bullshit.” You suck on the tip of your popsicle, mentally willing him to look back at you. “Him, and the others too. I don’t like those boys in suits or corporate gigs,” you offer, thinking back of your ex and several of the guys in your classes this past semester. Too clean. Too proper. No, what you want is exactly what you had seen on Joel’s Instagram. A big strong guy like him, sweaty and dirty and intensely focused - you just knew that he’d be that same way when fucking you. That glorious collection of unfiltered videos and photos for his business had gotten you wet right away and you would definitely revisit them later to masturbate to again.

“I like *real men* who work with their hands, you know?” you continue. “Not afraid to get dirty while laying some pipe.” Almost as if on cue, you hear water running through the pipes somewhere above you, indicating that your mom got into the shower, and you try not to laugh at how that coincides with your words.

Joel’s jaw clenches again as you take another slow lick of your mango treat, your eyes still locked onto him. He shakes his head as he reaches for the remote and turns off the tv, blissfully removing your father’s voice from the room. “Your dad actually is good with his hands. Y’don’t even know,” he says as he picks up his mostly uneaten popsicle, throwing it into the trash bin. “I know you’re pissed at him, but-...”

“I’m not pissed at him,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even stop them, your voice so sharp that even Joel looks surprised. “I mean, I don’t even care about what he does,” you try to recover, dialing it down. “Why would I? It’s not like he’s ever even home.” 

“Alright, darling. Whatever you say.” Joel gives you an amused look as he washes his hands, then dries them on a towel. “I’ve gotta get ready to head out and meet Tommy, so I’ll see you later. Welcome home to Austin.”

You watch Joel leave the room and head upstairs, and you sigh as you throw out the wooden stick of the popsicle you devoured. “Whatever you say, darling. I’ll fucking show him”, you repeat his words mockingly, rolling your eyes as you grab your phone to text your friend. 

“Got cock blocked earlier by mom. He’s totally into me, just seems scared. Will try again later,” you write, then fill up a whiskey glass with ice before you wander over to the liquor cabinet.

Time for that drink now.

next: part 3 >

series masterlist | main masterlist

🚨 Follow @longlongtime-updates to be updated when the next part drops!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Billboard project

* * * *

One for the history books!

September 12, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

After delivering one of the best debate performances in American political history, Kamala Harris is receiving begrudging and stinting praise from many in the media and commentary class. But 67 million people saw Kamala Harris demonstrate she is made of presidential timber. They witnessed a masterful performance that revealed a penetrating intellect tempered by decency and humanity. On the substance and execution, she should have earned the support of all voters and unqualified praise from the media and political commentators.

Trump's performance was vile and disqualifying. It was worse than Joe Biden’s widely panned debate by far. While Joe Biden turned in a horrible debate performance as measured by the artificial rules of made-for-tv spectacles, Donald Trump made dozens of statements that were objectively depraved, racist, antidemocratic, delusional, and deceitful.

Trump transcended the debate format and devolved into fascist demagoguery that should have resulted in universal condemnation by all voters, the media, and political commentators. If Joe Biden was driven from the presidential race because of his poor debate performance, Trump should be banished from politics, expelled from his party, and relegated to a place of dishonor in the annals of American history.

Talking about the debate is difficult because of the urge to focus on Kamala Harris’s brilliantly executed strategy of baiting Trump into ranting about his insecurities and the horror of Trump's worst-in-the-history-of-the-nation performance on substance.

I get it. Harris’s ninja debating moves and Trump's racist deer-in-the-headlights stare made for riveting television. But we focus on those aspects of the debate to the detriment of the substance of Kamala Harris’s message. She spent a substantial portion of the debate discussing her policies and her plan to help heal the divisions that beset America.

It is disappointing to see so many stories and commentators describe the debate as “fierce” or “contentious.” I heard one commentator on MSNBC bemoan the fact that neither candidate seemed interested in bridging the divide in America. That is false. Kamala Harris promised to be a president for all Americans and to focus on the needs of the people, not the needs and wants of the president. She said, in part,

And I think the American people want better than that. Want better than this. Want someone who understands as I do, I travel our country, we see in each other a friend. We see in each other a neighbor. We don't want a leader who is constantly trying to have Americans point their fingers at each other. I meet with people all the time who tell me "Can we please just have discourse about how we're going to invest in the aspirations and the ambitions and the dreams of the American people?" [¶¶] I've only had one client. The people. And I'll tell you, as a prosecutor I never asked a victim or a witness are you a Republican or a Democrat. The only thing I ever asked them, are you okay? And that's the kind of president we need right now. Someone who cares about you and is not putting themselves first. I intend to be a president for all Americans and focus on what we can do over the next 10 and 20 years to build back up our country by investing right now in you the American people.

Kamala Harris repeatedly offered her policy vision for America, including tax breaks for business startups; subsidizing downpayments for first-time home purchases; incentivizing the construction of starter homes; granting tax credits for families with newborns; investing in American chip technology, quantum computing, and AI; supporting worker’s rights; reducing reliance on fossil fuels; granting tax cuts for the middle class; requiring the ultra-wealthy to pay their fair share of taxes; and protecting the Affordable Care Act, Medicare, and Medicaid. She also promised to protect reproductive liberty, LGBTQ equality, and voting rights of all Americans.

The media has hounded Kamala Harris for weeks about the alleged absence of policies in her campaign. On Tuesday, she talked about dozens of specific policies—and the media is not saying a word about those policies after the debate.

Not. A. Word.

It’s almost as if the media didn’t really care about Kamala Harris’s policies but were only interested in a talking point they could use to criticize her. Hypocrites!

So, before talking about how well Kamala Harris executed her strategy of baiting Trump and how abhorrent Trump's performance and positions were, let’s give Kamala Harris her due on the substance: She gave a presidential-level discourse on policies that will affect the lives of hundreds of millions of Americans. The fact that Trump and the moderators ignored those policies does not diminish the respect she showed for the American people by clearly setting forth her policies if elected as president.

Among the many insipid criticisms of Kamala Harris was that she used facial expressions to convey her disapproval, amusement, and disbelief over Trump's utterances. This was an effective use of her non-speaking time and allowed her to diminish Trump without saying a word.

Dahlia Lithwick demolishes the critics who faulted Kamala’s facial expressions—a criticism that would only be leveled against a woman. See Dahlia Lithwick, Slate, Harris–Trump debate: Kamala Harris’ face on Tuesday was the stuff of legend. (slate.com). Lithwick writes,

It must be beyond maddening for a political actor to be summoned into a “debate” that is not really a debate, pitted against some frothing amalgam of WWE reenactor and Tasmanian devil, warned that your microphone will be muted while he is speaking, cautioned that he will be allowed to talk over you and the moderators, then be criticized for … blinking? [¶¶] Harris’ face roamed free and far on Tuesday, and it was thoroughly warranted and frequently enjoyable. I think of her mobile, legible face as a satisfying call-and-response to Trump’s lifelong preference for female adulation and Botox. Women have faces. Their faces have expressions. If that was upsetting to you during Tuesday’s debate, you might be dismayed to learn that deep beneath our expressive faces lie thoughts, dreams, frustrations, and other markers of human agency. If a woman smiling freaks you out, imagine what happens when a woman votes.

While talking about Kamala Harris’s facial expressions may seem superficial, it is not. One of Harris’s most significant accomplishments was her ability to show herself to be a likable, relatable human being. She did so by using the medium of television to her advantage. Were the expressive facial reactions real or practiced? It doesn’t matter; they were successful. People liked Kamala Harris. For a candidate who has been on the national scene since 2018, the percentage of voters who still say they don’t “know” her is shocking. But she went some distance in the debate to introduce herself to those voters in a positive way.

Among Harris’s many pointed and powerful answers on Tuesday, none were better than her response to Trump's gloating over the demise of Roe v. Wade. Harris said,

In over 20 states there are Trump abortion bans which make it criminal for a doctor or nurse to provide health care. In one state it provides prison for life. Trump abortion bans that make no exception even for rape and incest. Which—understand what that means. A survivor of a crime, a violation to their body, does not have the right to make a decision about what happens to their body next. That is immoral. And one does not have to abandon their faith or deeply held beliefs to agree: The government, and Donald Trump certainly, should not be telling a woman what to do with her body. You want to talk about, this is what people wanted? Pregnant women who want to carry a pregnancy to term, suffering from a miscarriage, being denied care in an emergency room because the health care providers are afraid they might go to jail, and she’s bleeding out in a car in the parking lot? She didn’t want that. Her husband didn’t want that. A 12 or 13-year-old survivor of incest being forced to carry a pregnancy to term? They don’t want that. Understand in his Project 2025, there would be a national abortion—a monitor that would be monitoring your pregnancies, your miscarriages.

There is more room to praise Kamala Harris’s performance in the debate, but we must turn to Trump's horrific statements during the debate. So, let’s get Trump’s “debate performance” out of the way: It was the worst debate performance (in terms of style) in the history of political debates. See The Guardian, Republicans dismayed by Trump’s ‘bad’ and ‘unprepared’ debate performance. Brit Hume of Fox News said, “Let’s make no mistake. Trump had a bad night. We just heard so many of the old grievances that we all know aren’t winners politically.” Coming from a Fox commentator, that is as bad as it gets for Trump.

There were many disgraceful, disqualifying statements during the debate by Trump: Refusing to say that he hoped Ukraine would defeat the Russian invasion; refusing to acknowledge that he lost in 2020; refusing to express any regret for his actions on January 6; claiming that “every Democrat” wanted to “get rid of” Roe v. Wade.; and repeatedly saying that execution of babies after a full-term delivery was permissible under existing law.

To state the obvious, if Kamala Harris had uttered a single statement that was one-tenth as egregious as any of the above, the major media would be calling for her withdrawal from the race.

But Trump's worst statement was the race-baiting claim that Haitian immigrants are capturing domestic pets in Springfield, Ohio and eating them. That trope was originally directed at immigrants from other countries but has been repurposed by Trump to slander Haitian immigrants who are legally in the US.

The claim is false and started as triple-hearsay thrice-removed:

On Sept. 6, a post surfaced on X that shared what looked like a screengrab of a social media post apparently out of Springfield. The retweeted post talked about the person’s “neighbor’s daughter’s friend” seeing a cat hanging from a tree to be butchered and eaten, claiming without evidence that Haitians lived at the house.

So, a “screenshot” of a retweet (three levels removed from personal knowledge) talked about a “neighbor’s daughter’s friend” (three more levels removed from personal knowledge). In short, the claim is the worst sort of internet rumor—intentionally unverifiable. Repeating such a rumor is beneath a candidate for the presidency.

But the crassness of repeating the rumor is the least of the offense. Trump did not repeat a rumor—he asserted the rumor as “fact” for the purpose of stirring racial hatred against Haitian immigrants. The false rumor has been circulating for weeks among right-wing websites that attack Haitian immigrants as the cause of an increase in crime in Springfield. See WaPo, Anatomy of a racist smear: How false claims of pet-eating immigrants caught on.

Trump then leveraged the cat-eating Haitian claim to smear all immigrants as law-breaking, violent, less-than-human invaders whom he would deport en masse from the US. The entire episode was an appeal to the most racist, xenophobic backwaters of American society. It was shameful and divisive. It may lead to violence against immigrants—just as past statements by Trump have led to violence against immigrants in Texas. See NBC (8/5/2019), Trump's anti-immigrant 'invasion' rhetoric was echoed by the El Paso shooter for a reason.

No modern presidential candidate has appealed to racial animus during a presidential debate. Trump's attack on the Haitian community should have been the end of his candidacy. As should his statements about Ukraine, the 2020 election, January 6, and abortion—and that list excludes his dozens of other falsehoods.

In short, the debate should move the needle in favor of Kamala Harris. Whether it will do so is a different question—one that will be determined, in part, by whether the media maintains the same intense focus on Trump's  debate performance that it maintained on Biden’s debate performance in July. On the substance, Trump's debate performance was objectively worse, by far. Let’s hope the media doesn’t get distracted by the less consequential matters.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[fleuraimer]

Something with dumbification, please!! Anything from the smut starters would be amazing

oooh ok coming right up! kinda made my own prompt/au for this so hope u like nonnie <333

wc: 1.6k

cw: smut. minors dni. 17+. alcohol consumption. d/s dynamics. oral (m receiving). dacryphilia. degradation&dumbification kink. pet name bunny. pls lmk if i missed anything!!

Y/N never thought she'd find herself intertwined with the likes of a biker gang.

They say love makes people do crazy things, though.

"C'mere, Bunny!" Bucky shouts over the commotion swirling through his house, cold neck of a beer bottle clutched in his large, tattooed hand. She glances at him from her spot by the television, where she'd been conversing with the other girlfriends' and female members. Though, suddenly their once riveting topic of conversation is no longer interesting to her.

She knuckles out of her position sat between Peggy, Steve's girl, and Natasha, another member, on the couch with a half-hearted mumble of departure—a departure met with hootin' and hollerin' from her girls', cheering her on in her rousing endeavors. She throws them a desperate look over her shoulder, something that surely reads as please, shut the hell up. They snicker amongst themselves, but otherwise leave her be.

The excitement running through Y/N's body—butterflies with flower petals for wings, fluttering—blooming—soft in her stomach, strays squeezing their way into her throat, stuttering her words—is solely a product of the man beckoning her. She's practically skipping over to his place by the pool table, cue clasped in the hand not holding his beer.

Her enthusiasm is decidedly muted, no less—forcibly subdued—when her approach comes to stop in front of him, hands cradled behind her back, lashes fluttering with her demure gaze peering up at him from underneath. She bites her lip to suppress a giddy smile.

"Hi, Bucky," she mumbles to him as his fist—fingers still clutching the neck of the bottle—moves to her waist, along the side, up to the expanse of her back over her cherry red, tight blouses, through the space between her arms and arching back. He tugs her into him, making her stumble over her feet—legs like Bambi's, just like her eyes, button nose, and pretty, sweet lips—and fall into his chest. Her fingers unfurl from behind her back to swing in front and grip at his pecs, steadying herself there.

He smiles down at her, fond, "Hi, Bunny."

They're pulled from their little bubble when a hand shoves into Bucky's broad shoulder.

"C'mon, Dude, y'brought her over here to help us, not eye-fuck 'er in front of everyone," his pool partner, Sam, groans exasperatedly, though her throws Y/N a sly wink over Bucky's shoulder. She smiles, and shakes her head at his pointless antics.

Bucky sets his drink, harder than necessary, on the ledge of the pool table. Starts to turn, with this ridged, irate look in his eye that has Y/N bringing her hands up to keep his shifting shoulders facing her, not keen to wipe blood from his knuckles.

"He's teasin'," she whispers to him, right hand sliding up the thick of his neck, to his ticked jaw to cradle, thumb soothing over his chiseled cheek. He barely flits his gaze to her's before he's trying to spin out of her hold again—iron-clad, surprisingly, for someone so Bambi-like.

"He's fuckin'—"

"Teasin'," she says again, firmer this time. She brings his eyes back to her's, "What'd you need me for?" Bucky looks at her with that same indignant spark, merely dulled, and his shoulders sag with defeat.

"What was it y'was tellin' me 'bout the other day, the law of— 'f inflection?"

Y/N snorts, smile curling at the edges of her lips, but she can't help the flutter in her heart at his words. He'd been listening, remebered even—incorrectly, but, it's the thought that counts—what she was talking about when she'd been prattling on and on, mindlessly, about her latest physics assignment.

"The Law of Reflection?" She mutters up to him. He nods cartoonishly, and her smile widens. She reaches for his pool cue, "May I?"

He offers her the cue and then lifts his hands in surrender, smirk hinting at his mouth. "S'all yours, Bunny."

She takes the cue and turns on her heel to face the pool table, unfazed by the many eyes surrounding her, watching the game between Sam and Bucky, and Steve and Tony unfold.

"The Law of Reflection states that when light reflects off a smooth surface, the angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence," she assesses the position of each pool ball still sat on the table. "Stripes?" she mutters to her biker, getting a rumbling grunt in response. She nods, and bends to lean against the table, lining the cue up with a ball. "In other words, if you hit the ball into the ledge at a 60 degree angle—" she shuts one eyelid, focuses on the projection in her mind, mumbles just loud enough for those around her to hear, "—it should bounce back off at the same angle," and gives the ball a sure nudge. It rolls into the side of the pool table at said 60 degree angle, and bounces off the exact same way, opposite direction, directly into the middle left pocket. She smiles to herself, and stands to her full height, "Simple."

It was most certainly not simple, if the confounded looks gracing the faces of every biker listening to her mini lesson is anything to go off of. She only cares about one biker, though, and turns to face him immediately after finishing her presentation.

"Y'get it?" she chirps, going where Bucky guides her as he wraps his arm back around her waist, pulling the pool cue from her hand.

"Yeah, Bun, I got it," he smiles at her, pressing a kiss into her temple. He doesn't get it, but he knows if he drags her over here next week to do it all again, she'd explain it with that same pretty smile on her face. "Smart girl, is that what them fancy college courses been teachin' you?"

She smiles sheepishly, nods.

He drops his head down to her height, lips to the shell of her ear. "Tryna make me look stupid n'front 'f my boys?"

The deepness of the infliction of his tone—something reserved for her, dark and in need a satiating, raw and searching for a place to reside, a cave of refuge, a hole—heightens her senses and makes them all fuzzy in the same moment.

Her lashes flutter, eyelids suddenly heavy.

"N— No, Bucky! Never."

"Hmm," he hums, dismissive. The hand pressed to the small of her back slips lower, down to the swell of her plush ass, gripping, squeezing. "You'll jus' have't make it up t'me later, won't you, Bunny?" He knocks his knuckle under her chin, pool cue shifted as far from her face as possible, to make her look at him.

She nods, eyes flitting down to his soft lips. "Yes, Sir."

He pats her bottom twice, "Good girl, now go back there to y'girl's, Bunny, and sit pretty f'me."

——

On her knees, hands folded behind her back, with his cock shoved down her throat, is how she makes it up to him.

"Tell me, Bunny," he grunts, fingers dug into her scalp, dragging her mouth along his tongue, spit-slicked lips sucking, spit-soaked tongue petting, laving against the girth of his shaft, stretching the corners of her mouth, straining.

"Hmph hmm," she noises, eyes wet and lashes clumpy. He yanks her off with a stinging tug to her hair. Webs of drool cling from her mouth to the length of his cock as she pants, hiccoughs short breaths and claws into the flesh of her forearms. "Don' 'member, Sir," she whines, reaching to slip his cock back between her lips. He keeps her off by his grip in her hair, smirks all mean like when the tears bordering her lash line leak down to her rosy cheeks.

"Don' remember?" he croons, pressing a thumb past her parted lips. "C'mon, Bunny, think f'me—what happened to my smart girl?" She whimpers, melting into his hold, allowing him to move her—control her, like a puppeteer, fingers tangled in strings, steering their toy.

"Can't!" She cries after a brief moment of thought.

"Yes, you can," he groans, pulling her sweet, crying face into his cock, hips canting up to smear her pouting lips over the swollen, ruddy tip. "Tell me, Bun, tell me what y'been learnin' in all those fancy classes a'yours."

Her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter, tongue unfurling from her mouth, lapping at his hard cock. He moves a hand down to smack her cheek, not soft but not hard, just enough to bring her back.

"Fuckin' tell me, Bunny."

"Don' know!" she whines, lips downturned in a frown. "S'too hard, Sir, I don' know, can'— I can't—"

"Shh, shh shh," Bucky hushes her, reaffirming his grip in her scalp with one hand and fitting his other one to the curve of her jaw, bringing her back down on his cock, tip forced between her blubbering lips. He watches as the thick length of him disappears inside her soft, hot little mouth, groans long and low and deep as he sinks into her throat, head tossed back and Adam's apple bobbing as her button nose nuzzles into the sparse trail of hair at his navel. "Dumb Bunny," he mumbles sweetly as his head rolls forward, eyes fluttering to his smart, cockdrunk girl on her knees for him. "Little, useless thing, only good f'takin' m'cock in all y'tight holes, yeah?"

She gurgles something incoherent against him—mouth drooling, leaking over him, pooling at his full balls—that has his hips stuttering, cock forced farther (if that's even possible) down her throat while he moans from the vibrations of it, rocking through him, from the tip of his cock to the tips of his toes.

"Shit!" he curses, chest starting to shake with a soft laugh. "S'a good girl; forget y'fancy homework but y'always r'member how't suck m'cock, don'chu Baby?"

She nods from under his oppressing grasp on her hair.

He snorts, "Yeah, my dumb fuckin' bunny."

——

a/n: bang! bang! slumber party continues!! hope u like :))

not edited/proofread!!

[therand0mwriter]

Bare Your Soul

Alastor Hartfelt x Female!Reader

When the Hazbin Hotels second, more appropriate, commercial was interrupted by the news, Alastor decided to air his original, sarcastic, commercial. What no one expected was for the commercial to actually work.

"ɨ… աǟռȶ ȶօ… ɢɛȶ ȶօ ӄռօա ʏօʊ."

"𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽?"

Chapter 1 - The Hazbin Hotel

[Unedited]

[Update 02.08.24 - since I've had a lot of people come to me, pissed about the fact that I made Alastor's last name Altruist (even though I thought it sounded catchy), I changed it to Hartfelt. Yes, I know his last name isn't confirmed yet, but Hartfelt is the closest thing we'll come to a last name.]

[A/N: (h/c)=hair color, (h/l)=hair length, (h/t)=hair type (wavy, straight, curly, etc.)]

[2nd A/N: When I put (s/c) and (e/c) you can do what ever color you want, you're a demon in this story, have fun with it:)]

*3rd Person POV*

Charlie came back from the meeting with Adam and was feeling down on her luck. She had no idea on how to tell everyone that Extermination Day was now sooner than they expected. But when her girlfriend, Vaggie, came bounding up to her and told her that everyone at the hotel had made a new commercial, her heart swelled and her eyes teared up.

Charlie and Vaggie joined the group in the main area to watch the commercial, but was sorely disappointed when it was interrupted by the news announcing that Extermination Day was pushed up by six months.

Alastor, on the other hand, seized the opportunity. "Well, my dear," He started, standing and turning to Charlie. "I could always air my original commercial. Now that the announcement of Hell's newest problem is out of the way, I'm sure it won't be interrupted by anything. I'll even broadcast it from my radio tower!" He ended with a flourish of his staff.

Vaggie then stood, standing in front of Charlie, "Hold on, can't we just re-air the better commercial?" Alastor's already large grin widened, "I'm afraid not, dear. The agreement was to only show it once!" The one-eyed girl let out an 'ugh', face palming. Charlie stood next to Vaggie and begrudgingly started, "Well, I guess that's all we can do. Go ahead, Alastor."

"Wonderful!" The radio demon shouted before disappearing into his shadow. "Maybe it'll convince someone to come here?" Charlie said to Vaggie, a sheepish grin on her face.

*Time Skip, Next Day*

Everyone at the Hazbin Hotel just finished watching Alastor's original commercial, Alastor's grin more joyous than usual, Vaggie's eye was twitching wildly, Charlie was grimacing, and everyone else had looks of surprise. "I really hope nobody saw that." Vaggie commented, distaste clear in her voice.

*Meanwhile*

In a dark room, where the only source of light was the television, sat a lone woman. She watched with wide (e/c) eyes as a commercial out of place from the other ones started to play.

"Well, hello there you wayward sinner! Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course you do! That's why you're in Hell! But what would you say if I told you there was a place to stay that had none of that? Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, a misguided path to redemption! Founded five days ago by Lucifer's delusional daughter: Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your fate in her inexperienced hands as she tries to work through her  daddy issues by fixing you! Here, we offer fun things! Such as, somewhat functional staff! And 24 hour pest control. Custom rooms, and just look at this tacky parlor! Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident. Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel! Your last desperate attempt at salvation starts here."

The woman muted the TV after the commercial ended, still staring with wide eyes as she processed what she just watched. Eventually, she started to giggle. Then that giggling turned into full blow boisterous laughing. She placed her hand on her forehead, shaking her head until she calmed down. Once she did, she let out a tired sigh, her shoulders drooping. "This might be my only chance." The woman said forlornly, turning off the TV, enveloping the room in darkness.

*Time Skip, Next Day*

At the hotel, Charlie was pacing back and forth as her cat, KeeKee, was also pacing with her, swerving in and out of Charlies moving legs. "Okay! So the extermination is coming in six months instead of a year. No big deal! Just a little setback! Nothing we can't handle." At this point in Charlies rambling, KeeKee had run off, most likely finding a place to sleep. Charlie continued her worried rambling, "Just Angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls? Am I right?! And next time when they cut the time in half again and again, we'll just handle it, right?!" 

Vaggie came up to her girlfriend and placed her hands on Charlie's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks and her panicked rant, "Yes, we will." Vaggie sent Charlie a comforting smile, but that smile was gone when Angel spoke up, "Oh, please. Ya had less than half a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit. And now," Angel paused, looking down to his phone to see multiple text messages from his boss, Valentino. "Ain't no silver lining this time, toots."

"Sure there is. We just have to look a little harder for it." Charlie responded, a hopeful smile on her face. "Well, while you're lookin', the rest of Hell is going nuts." Angel stated, turning his phone to Charlie to show multiple news headlines. "People are already freaking out about the news. Look at what's happening in the Doomsday District."

When Charlie leaned forward to look at Angel's phone, a text message popped up. "Uh, what is a 'donkey show'?" She questioned, her red eyes squinted in confusion. Angel's eyes went wide and he quickly brought his phone back to him, "Ah! Eh, nothing! My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news, too. Like I said, everyone's losing their shit."

"Yeah," Vaggie started. "That's true. Sinners are desperate. Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the extermination?" Charlie gasped, a smile growing on her face once more, "This is the prefect time to recruit more sinners for the hotel!" She ended, throwing her arms up in the air in excitement. "Cute idea and all, but you really going to go out in all of this?" Angel questioned, turning his phone to the two women to show a fire and demons screaming in fear. 

"Well, it's not like people are just going to show up on our doorstep." Charlie said and immediately after a loud explosion sounded, causing the girl to shout in surprise. The three turn to see a hole in the wall next to the bar. They then heard a dramatic voice come from outside, "Show yourself, Alastor! Come and face-" The voice, Sir Pentious, paused, looking from the hole in the wall to the balcony above it from his ship. There, sat Alastor, drinking from a mug that said 'OH DEER' on it. "Oh, there you are. Face my wrath!" Pentious continued. Alastor took a sip from his mug before turning back to the snake demon, "Who are you?"

"Who am I? Who am I? I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!" Said demon boasted as Alastor went into his shadow, moving to stand next to Charlie, Vaggie and Angel who had come outside to see the cause of disturbance. One of Sir Pentious Egg Boi's turned to him, "Woo! You tell 'em, boss." 

Niffty had also came out from the hotel, climbing up Alastor's back and gasping with excitement, "Ooo! He's a bad boy." Alastor reached behind him and took ahold of Niffty by her scruff, placing her on the ground, "Huh, well if all that's true, you'd think I'd have heard of you." Pentious eyes were wide with disbelief, "I attacked you literally last week." The Radio demon tilted his head in confusion, a static hum coming from him. "We've done battle, like... 20 times?" Pentious explained, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Well, you must have been really bad at this." Alastor said, a smug tone in his voice.

"Silence! Now cower!" The snake demon shouted. "For when I've slain you, the almighty Vee's will finally acknowledge me as their equal!" Niffty had climbed back onto Alastor's back, gasping in excitement once more. She then paused, "Wait, who are the Vee's?" Alastor waved them off, "Oh, nobody important. Now, let's deal with the nobody in front of us." The Radio demon chuckled darkly, static sounding from him as giant black tentacle came from the ground, wrapping around Sir Pentious ship, shaking it.

One of the tentacles smashed into the cockpit, causing Pentious to shout in fear, "Ahh! Please! Stop!" Alastor chuckled at the sight in front of him, his chuckling turning into manic laughter. "Um, Alastor?" Charlie called out, "I think he's had enough." Angel grinned, "Nah, he's got a few more hits in 'im."

The tentacles tilted the ship to where Pentious fell out of the cockpit and onto the cement with a crack. "Thanks for another forgettable experience." Alastor said, twirling his staff then leaning on it. Pentious slowly lifted one of his arms and slowly spoke, "Thank... you..." He then propped himself up, "For letting your guard down!" He quickly shot his tail out, taking ahold of the corner of Alastor's coat, ripping the edge off. "Haha! Yah!" Pentious shouted with glee, but immediately cowered as Alastor growled with anger, his antlers growing. "Oh, shit!" Pentious said before he was blasted off. He let out a scream of pain as green smoke followed him through the air as he flew.

When Pentious was out of view, Alastor turned to the three behind him, "Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor. Best of luck, chums!" He turned back around, waving goodbye. Vaggie then stepped forward, "Wait, you're leaving? Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job." She stated. Angel added, gesturing to the large hole, "We need a wall." The Radio demon turned back to them, 'Of course! Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?" Alastor snapped his fingers, causing six black and white demons to appear from the ground as he walked away.

Angel giggled, pushing Vaggie out of his way as he made his way up to the largest black and white demon. "Hey, sweet cheeks." Angel started in a sultry tone, leaning one of his four arms on the demons shoulder. "What you doing later? I love me a man with a giant..." Angel pause, looking down at the demons crotch. "Tool." The spider demon finished. 

"Um, am I interrupting?" A new voice started. Charlie, Vaggie and Angel look to their left to see a female demon they've never met before. Her hair was (h/l), (h/c) and (h/t), her clear skin was (s/c), and her eyes were a brilliant shade of (e/c). On top of her head was a set of antlers that were decorated in little colorful flowers. The antlers went up and curled into each other, forming the shape of a heart. Also on the top of her head was a set of fluffy (h/c) ears, similar to a deer.

[A/N: Something like this for your antlers. Image does not belong to me.]

"Wow! You look a lot like Alastor!" Charlie said, slightly amazed. The new female raised her eyebrow in confusion, "I'm sorry, who?" Vaggie then stepped in, a cautious tone to her voice, "Um, the Radio demon? You're not related to him, are you?" The new females eyes widened with realization, "Oh! Yes, I've heard of him. Don't worry, we aren't related. Are we that similar?"

Angel went and stood with Charlie and Vaggie, leaving the six black and white demons to do their job. "It's just the antlers and ears y'all got in common." Angel added. The female nodded in understanding and Charlie took a step towards her, a warm smile on her face, "So, what can we help you with?"

"Oh! Yeah!" The she-demons eyes went wide once more, remembering why she was there. She then became nervous, her hold on her suitcase, that the three others just noticed, tightened. "Uh, I saw your guys commercial. About the hotel. And I want to join, if that's okay?" With each word the female spoke, Charlie's grin grew wider and wider until she finally burst.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" Charlie jumped up and down in excitement, running forward to take the she-demons hands in hers. "Yes, yes, yes! Of course you can stay here! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! We're going to help you get to Heaven! My names Charlie!" The said demon introduced, vigorously shaking the new females' hands. The blonde then stood next to the new she-demon, gesturing to Vaggie and Angel, "That's Vaggie, my girlfriend! And that's Angel Dust! Our other resident!" The two waved a greeting to the new girl, but before she could return it, Charlie was already pulling her inside.

"Here's our bartender, Husk! And over here we have Niffty! She does our cleaning! Oh! And these are my pets! Razzle, Dazzle and KeeKee! Oh! Let me show you all of the floors, the kitchen, the bathrooms-" Vaggie then stepped in front of Charlie, placing her hands on her girlfriends shoulder, "Charlie! Honey, we don't need to show her everything all at once. Take a breath and let her breath." And Charlie did just that, both her and Vaggie turning back to the new female.

"I'm sorry, during Charlie's excitement, we didn't get your name." Vaggie said, both her and Charlie sending a smile to the new female. The she-demon brushed off her dress, calming down from being pulled here and there. She cleared her throat before straightening her back and bowing her head slightly in a formal greeting, "My name is (Y/N) (L/N), It's an honor to meet you, princess Morningstar. Same with you, Vaggie. I hope I can be a good guest and help you achieve your goals."

Vaggie's eye went wide with surprise at how polite this she-demon was being, the only other person she's met that's this kind was Charlie. It made Vaggie a little suspicious. Charlie, on the other hand, was warmed by the greeting as tears swelled in her eyes. Angel then stepped up to the three women, "Wait, you said you saw a commercial. Which commercial did ya see?" Charlie then gasped, "Wait! You saw our commercial?!" The blonde shouted, shaking with excitement.

(Y/N) nodded, small smile on her lips, "Yes, I thought it was quite entertaining in all honesty." Charlie and Angel were confused while Vaggie squinted, "Wait, why was it entertaining?" (Y/N) gained a nervous sweat, "No offense, but I think my favorite part was about Charlie's daddy issues. I have no idea why you added it, but I liked it." She ended with a shrug. "Oh..." Charlie said dejectedly and Vaggie slapped her hand against her forehead. "Ugh, you saw Alastor's commercial." (Y/N) raised her eyebrow in surprise, "Really? I'll have to give him my compliments when I meet him."

Charlie shook her head and smiled again, placing her hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder, turning her towards the staircase, "Well, (Y/N), let me show you to your room. And please, just call me Charlie." The blonde said, referring to when (Y/N) called her 'princess Morningstar'.

Vaggie watched the two go up the stairs and disappear around the corner, her eye squinting with suspicion. Angel raised his brow at her, "What's with your face?" Vaggie ignored his comment, "How can someone in Hell be that nice? It doesn't make sense. Somethings gotta be up with her." Angel rolled his eyes at her paranoia, going and sitting back on the couch.

*Time Skip*

*(Y/N)'s POV*

It's been around an hour since you've arrived at the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie left you alone for the moment to settle into your room. After you finished placing your last piece of clothing away, you sat on your new bed and sighed, rubbing the area where your shoulder and neck connect. 'Charlie sure is energetic.' You thought to yourself.

Just then, you heard static outside your door. You look and see a shadow move from under the gap. As the shadow disappeared, so did the static. 'What was that?' You thought to yourself. You stood and made your way to your door, opening it and peeking your head out. You saw a red figure round the corner, the sound of static following them. You look around for Charlie, Vaggie, or anyone you could ask about the being you briefly saw. But there was no one in the hallway. 'Well, let's hope curiosity doesn't kill the deer...' You meekly thought, leaving your room and following after the red figure.

When you rounded the corner, you didn't see the figure. You then listened for the static, faintly hearing it. You made your way towards the noise, peeking your head around another corner. You then saw a door that was out of place from the other ones. This one was wooden, and had a small window near the top. Then, a light flickered on above the wooden door. You look and see it's an 'ON AIR' sign.

You thought back to when you first got to the hotel. On the outside was what looked to be a broadcasting tower, you just didn't think it was still functional from how it was leaning away from the building. "Salutations! Good to be back on the air!" You then heard a voice that sounded like it was coming from an old-timey radio say. 'Is that Alastor?' You thought, your curiosity growing. 'What does the infamous Radio Demon look like?'

Without thinking, you approached the door and pulled it open to see a metal flight of stairs leading up. "Yes I know it's been awhile since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast, sinners rejoice!" You heard, what you assumed to be, Alastor say. You continued up the stairs, hearing a new voice you didn't recognized. This voice was clear, as if he was speaking to you in person, "What a dated voice!"

When you got to the top, you were met with another door, but this one was left ajar. "Instead of a clout chasing mediocre video podcast!" You heard Alastor say. You peek through the opening of the door and finally laid your eyes on him, The Radio Demon. He had pale skin, red eyes, short red hair that turned black for the last few inches, deer like ears that were larger than mine sat atop of his head, a set of antlers that were smaller than mine also accompanied his ears, and a large, sharp tooth yellow grin.

He wore a red suit and monocle, his bowtie, gloves, pants and shoes being black (accented by red). In his hand was his staff that, what looked to be, an older version of a microphone. "Come on!" The unknown voice shouted. "Is Vox insecure pursuing allure? Flitting between this fad and that, is nothing working?" Alastor responded smugly into his staff, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

"Ignore his chirping!" The second voice, Vox, shouted once more, sounding irritated. "Every day he's got a new format." The Radio Demon added. "You're looking at the future, he's the shit that comes before that!" The TV demon bellowed with a singing tone. Unfortunately for him, his comment didn't bother Alastor one bit. "Is Vox as strong as he purports, or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without the other Vee's!" Alastor sang back, his comment causing you to smile in amusement. "Oh, please!" Vox said, not knowing a better comeback. 

"And here's the sugar on the cream, he asked me to join his team-" Alastor was interrupted by panicked Vox, "Hold on!" But the Radio Demon continued to sing into his staff, leisurely leaning back in his chair, "I said no and now he's pissy, that's the tea!" You had to cover your mouth to keep the giggle bubbling in your throat from slipping out.

"You old timey prick! I'll show you suf-suffering!" Vox's voice started to glitch. "Uh oh! The TV is buffering!" Alastor teased, propping his head on his hands. "I'll destroy yoo-o-u-u you little-" Before Vox could finish his sentence, he cut out, along with all of the power in Hell. You jumped in surprise at the sudden darkness coming from outside, but also at the fact that the only place that still had power was the broadcasting tower.

"I'm afraid you've lost your signal." Alastor continued, leaning forward, the air in the tower becoming sinister. "Let's begin, I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone." With every word he sang, Alastor's antlers grew along with his malicious grin. "Tune on in. When I'm done," Alastor stood from his seat, his form growing larger and more lanky. The red in his sclera turned pitch black, only his iris staying red. What looked to be red stitching started to appear all over his body and clothes, making him resemble a voodoo doll. "Your status quo will know its race is run," Red liquid started to leak from his mouth. "Oh this will be fun!" Alastor ended with a maniacal laugh, his pupils turning into little radio dials.

'So this is him... The Radio Demon.' You didn't know if you should be scared shitless or amazed by his power. Alastor returned to his normal form, taking a sip of his tea. He then suddenly spoke up, "Are you going to join me or just keep watching me from the shadows?" Alastor turned to the door, and I instantly knew he was talking to me. 'He's a powerful demon, of course he noticed me.' You thought, mentally face palming. You noted that he still sounded like he was speaking through a radio. 'How strange, but fitting for the Radio Demon.' You pushed the door open and stepped in, "I apologize, I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

*3rd Person POV*

"I apologize, I didn't mean to eavesdrop." When the she-demon stepped in, Alastor paused, taking in her looks. (H/l) (h/c) hair, (s/c) skin, (e/c) eyes, deer ears, and antlers in the shape of a heart with flowers. She wore a long-sleeved black dress that stopped mid-thigh, with small black buttons on the top of the dress, along with a thin black bowtie that sat above her exposed chest (but of course not exposing anything indecent). She also wore white tights, covering the skin on her legs. On her feet were black Mary Jane heels that completed her outfit. 'How strange,' Alastor thought. 'She doesn't look half bad.'

[A/N: Something like this for your dress. Image does not belong to me.]

Alastor stood and made his way to the girl, "It is no problem, my dear! I broadcasted it for all of Hell to hear. Did you at least enjoy it?" He then twirled his staff in a flashy manner. The she-demon nodded, a small smile adorning her (thin/plump) lips, "Yes, I thought it was entertaining." Alastor's never-leaving smile widened at her words and he straightened his coat, "The names Alastor! Alastor Hartfelt! And who do I have the pleasure of being in the presence of?" He held out his hand to her, bending his body slightly to meet her height.

She stared at his hand, then back up to meet his eyes. Alastor tilted his head at her hesitancy. She started to stutter, embarrassed when she realized she had been staring, "S-Sorry, it's just that your eyes are much brighter up close." Before Alastor could respond or even think about her comment, she took ahold of his hand, shaking it. "My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it's an honor to meet you. I am the newest resident of the Hazbin Hotel." She said, slightly bowing her head in respect.

Before she could take her hand back, Alastor brought it up to her lips, leaving a kiss on her knuckles, "Please, dear! The pleasure is all mine!" When he let go of her hand, (Y/N) placed both of her hands behind her back, out of sight to Alastor as she rubbed her knuckles. Alastor discreetly pursed his smiling lips afterwards, both of the demons thinking:  'Why did that burn?'

"So," Alastor started, tilting his head again. "You're the newest resident? How did you come about the hotel?" To his surprise, she started to chuckle. "I actually saw your commercial, and I have to say, I found it quite hilarious." She giggled, placing her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter at bay. Both Alastor's eyes and smile widened with glee, "That was the goal, dear! I'm so glad you liked it! But I have to say, I am surprised it made you want to come here."

At his words, (Y/N)'s laughter halted. Alastor took note of her mood change. "Yes, well, you did say in your commercial that this was a path to redemption. Even if it is misguided," She let out a soft chuckle at the memory. "I want to get into Heaven." Alastor hummed, "Why do you want to go to Heaven?" (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond, but then shut it. She thought for a moment, a mental battle clear on her face. Eventually, she gave Alastor a strained smile, "Personal reasons."

Alastor hummed again, 'Interesting...' He thought. "Very well!" Alastor started, twirling his staff once more. He then moved to the door, holding it open. "Shall we? I'm sure Charlie hasn't finished giving you the tour yet. We don't want her to be disappointed at your sudden absence." (Y/N)'s (e/c) eyes widened and she took quick steps to the door, "Ah, you're right! It's rude to be late!" 

As (Y/N) made her way down the stairs, she missed the way Alastor looked at her. His head was tilted and his eyes were squinted. 'What an anomaly.' He thought right before following her.

*Time Skip*

Charlie had just finished giving (Y/N) the full tour of the hotel, with Alastor accompanying them and making little sarcastic remarks here and there, making (Y/N) chuckle (much to Charlie's dismay). "Well, what d'ya think!?" Charlie asked, grin large and holding her arms out wide, gesturing to the hotel.  (Y/N) nodded, small smile on her lips, "It's nice." At her words, the blonde squealed, "Ah! I'm so glad you like it!" She then took ahold of (Y/N)'s  hands in hers, "Trust me, (Y/N)! I'll do everything in my power to get you redeemed and into Heaven!" 

Alastor took in the doe demons expression and could easily tell she was uncomfortable at her personal space being invaded. But, she continued to smile. "Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate your effort." She said, making the princess jumped in happiness. 

Just then, Charlie's phone went off with a notification. She looked at the message and gained a mischievous grin. "Oh, (Y/N)!" Charlie said in a sing-song tone, "There's something waiting for you in the foyer!" The blonde started to make her way, skipping in excitement while Alastor and (Y/N) followed behind at a leisurely pace. 

The doe demon sighed, but smiled nonetheless, "It's a welcoming party, isn't it?" Alastor looked to her through the corner of his eye, seeing her looking straight ahead at Charlie with a tired fondness. "How could you tell?" Alastor asked, already knowing the answer. (Y/N) softly chuckled, "Charlie is easy to read." The Radio Demon found this interesting. Then a question formed in his mind. He needed to gather more intel on this strange being. "Am I easy to read?"

Finally, (Y/N) looked up at him through her (long/short) lashes, her lips still holding that small smile, "No, you're an anomaly."

Alastor halted in his steps, staring at the doe demons figure as she got smaller and smaller, still following Charlie. When both of their figures disappeared around the corner, Alastor felt like he could finally breath. Multiple thoughts ran through his, now panicked, mind.

'Who is she?'

'Why is she here?'

'Can she read my mind?'

'She has to be fucking with me.'

'There has to be more to her.'

'She must be playing dumb.'

"Alastor? Are you still joining us?" The male snapped his head up to see just the person he was freaking out about. (Y/N) had stepped back around the corner, her eyebrow raised in question. 'Well you know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer...' Alastor thought before disappearing into his shadow just to reappear next to the girl, making her jump in surprise. "Of course, dear! I apologize if I kept you waiting." (Y/N) smiled in response, "It's alright. No need to apologize." 

The two then finished the walk to the foyer in silence, being greeted by a loud 'Surprise!' when they made it to their destination. There was a large banner that said: 'Welcome (Y/N)!' in different colored paint, the bar was decorated in hearts, there was a table full of food and the center pieces were bouquets of wild flowers, on a different table were various card and board games, and next to the couch was a... karaoke machine.

Alastor noticed how (Y/N)'s shoulders dropped when she laid eyes on the singing machine. He leaned down to her height, "What's the matter, dear? Don't like to sing?" (Y/N) shook her head, "No, not really. I don't sing." There was another thing Alastor found interesting about her. Every one in Hell sang, even him.

Charlie came bounding up to both of the deer demons, "So, (Y/N)! It's your party! What would you like to do first?" The girl looked around and noticed everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her response. "U-Um, why don't you guys get a game of cards started while I go get a drink?" Charlie smiled and nodded, her, Vaggie and Angel heading to the game table. (Y/N) made her way to the bar and Alastor watched her every move. 

"What will ya have?" Husk questioned, his tone bored. "Do you have any wine or whiskey?" (Y/N) asked, taking a seat. "No to the wine, and for the whiskey, we only have the cheap stuff." Husk responded, gesturing to the bottles behind him. "Oh," (Y/N) hummed, thinking about what else she should order.

Alastor disappeared into his shadow, reappearing next to the doe demon, making her jump in surprise once more. "I believe I might be able to help you!" Alastor said. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a bottle of whiskey from his personal stash that was already 1/4th gone. (Y/N) squinted her eyes to read the label, and when she saw what it was, her eyes went as wide as saucers. "No way!" She started, looking from the bottle to Alastor. "Macallan 1926?! How did you get that?!" Alastor chuckled, pleased at how she knew how valuable the alcohol was, "I have my ways, darling. I only bring this out for special occasions, so consider this a welcoming gift, from me to you."

[A/N: Fun fact, a bottle of Macallan 1926 is worth over two million dollars.]

When Alastor reached behind the bar and took two brandy glasses, Husk took that as his que to leave, taking a bottle of the cheap whiskey and joining the others. Alastor filled the glasses a third of the way, gently sliding one over to (Y/N). She looked at it with furrowed brows, turning her gaze to Alastor, "Are you sure I can have this?" The Radio Demon tilted his head in confusion, "Do you not want it?" 

(Y/N) vigorously shook her head, not wanting to offend the male. "No! Of course I do... It's just, I don't feel like I'm worth it..." She ended her sentence, playing with the base of the glass in a nervous habit. Alastor's head stayed tilted, wondering what the girl had done to make herself feel too guilty to accept a drink. Alastor then straightened up, taking his glass in his empty hand, "Well, believe it or not, I think you're worth it. If I didn't, I wouldn't be offering you this drink now, would I?" He ended with a laugh. (Y/N) looked up at him with wide doe eyes, surprised at the Radio Demon's kind words. She gave him a genuine smile, "Thank you, I appreciate it, Alastor." 

Something ticked inside of the males mind at finally seeing a smile that reached the doe demons (e/c) eyes and how his name sounded coming from her voice. 'How strange,' He thought. 'I'll dissect that later.' Alastor went and stood next to the girl, offering her his left arm, "Shall we? Everyone is waiting for us." (Y/N) kept her smile, standing and linking her right arm with Alastor's, her drink in her left hand, "We shall."

[A/N: let me know if I missed changing any 'Alruist' to 'Hartfelt']

[tmbgareok]

Dear John Flansburgh: I remember seeing Higglytown Heroes and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse a couple times on Playhouse Disney when I was a 4-year-old in '06 (and immersed in the TMBG sphere thanks to my mom purchasing Here Come The ABCs in April '05). I'm curious to know: what TV shows do you remember watching as a kid? Love, Charles.

JF: well-I'm old! So my memories are of very curious things from the 60s (and some reruns from the 50s) An early memory is watching a show called Rat Patrol which was a war drama and really not for kids. It seemed very grim but my dad enjoyed it, and I found the dream-like sets filled with smoke and lights and explosions fascinating. On weekends the television was pretty much on from 7am until I went to sleep, and was the background to any playing, or consumed my attention. it seemed like there were a lot of shows with live hosts that introduced various cartoons (Major Mudd in Boston, and national shows like Captain Kangaroo. Not sure if Soupy Sales was all live but that was a very hip show if such a thing is possible. On Saturdays Looney Tunes, Bugs Bunny and Roadrunner were constantly on, along with shows like Tennessee Tuxedo and Underdog. For a very brief moment the Saturday morning cartoon of Spiderman was broadcast which was riveting and crazy violent. The Banana Splits was popular but for some reason I found it a bit over the top. Later on cartoons like the Wacky Racers, with essentially no story, faded into the Archies, ScoobieDoo and Josie and the Pussycats which I would say were unwatchable except I watched them! And HR Pufinstuf was kind of the existential test of just "leaving it on" as it seemed to be made entirely of nightmare fuel. Sundays were the domain of strange rituals direct from the Boston archdiocese, but Gumby and Davy and Goliath were tolerated as the only stuff for kids. Sadly, I was born too early for Sesame Street. When it arrived I found tremendously appealing even though I was "too old" for it.

[seat-safety-switch]

Television loves to tell you all about giant robots. They're cool! They fight in the middle of cities! They're our only hope against alien invaders. Let me tell you that giant robots are not all they're cracked up to be.

First, there's the size. In your life, when has "making something bigger" resulted in a net positive outcome? Giant robots consume a remarkable amount of fuel, they're harder to park, and statistically you will step on about 1.22 people every time you take it out for a ride. Sure, that number is offset every time you save humanity from the Globthorians, but let's be honest with ourselves: you are not driving the giant robot exclusively to wage heroic interstellar war. Sometimes you're heading down to the liquor store and end up pressure-washing a pet salon off your 10-foot-wide boot before the rivets rust.

Beyond the practical concerns, it is a bad look for only the well-heeled depressed teenagers to be piloting these suckers. Children with emotionally distant fathers and a confusing puberty are found in all socioeconomic strata, but a recent study showed that only the super-rich and well-connected are ever "chosen" for their "merit" as potential robot pilots. Maybe someone with a little more empathy would do a better job. We have to raise the question here: are we promoting equal access to giant robots, or is this merely another stage for the rich to get richer?

Last, there are some economic concerns to speak about. Giant robots, owing again to their massive size, cost an absolute shitload of money to build. We can't afford that stuff these days, what with being at war with the Globthorians and all. I suggest instead that we spend the money we would waste on a single giant robot on several hundred regular-sized robots. While the military's own accountability office and the defence contractors' lobbyists will tell you that this just encourages more waste with overhead per robot, let's not forget who are the assholes who decided to build a giant robot and then try to find an alien civilization to provoke in order to "see how it works out." It worked out badly, folks!

[kronoscythe]

this is the first season, their first quest, they should make a lot of mistakes but the show aims at a perfect portrayal where the 12 year old kids are never tricked by millenia old creatures. "well annabeth is so smart it wouldn't make sense if she didn't figure it out!" if we get season three maybe annabeth will know better than to fall of a cliff since she's a daughter of athena. riveting television i tell you. cinemasins ass logic

[starryluminary]

Welcome to the second Noco Collaboration: Lights, Camera, NoCo!

Any and all are welcome to join in and celebrate our dearly beloved Noco! This time… in Hollywood!! Riveting!!

Details

To grab a spot in the collab, simply send me a DM and specify if you’ll be participating as an artist or an author. You’re only allowed to be one or the other for the sake of letting as many people participate as possible.

The deadline for submissions is August 17, 11:59 PM AST (Atlantic Standard Time). The final collaboration would then be posted between the 18th and the 23rd.

If it happens that you’re participating and find that you can’t make the deadline, please let me know as soon as possible to take appropriate action in a timely manner.

General Submission Guidelines

Noah and Cody on the “lights, camera, action” theme. This includes things like movie or television references, genre parodies, or production if that’s more your speed. As long as it has to do with the Hollywood filming industry, it's fair game.

Please no NSFW. Pg-13 and safer. Please.

You can feel free to send your submission through tumblr’s messaging system, but if you’d prefer it, you can send it to me through discord! (starryluminary_49344)

FOR ARTISTS: The drawing must be full body and a transparent background. Both digital and traditional art is accepted! Should a traditional artist need help making a transparent png, I am willing to help! Sending your submission through discord ensures a higher quality image when sending, but feel free to send it through tumblr’s messaging system if you don’t mind the slightly lower quality.

FOR AUTHORS: Make sure your piece can be read in one sitting. Feel free to make it as long or short as you like, so long as it’s a one shot. You’ll have to choose one sentence or quote from your work to be displayed in the final collaboration.

You have full freedom to post your submission once it’s done. Every single entry, along with being grouped, will be highlighted individually, showcasing the work and its creator. Everything and everyone will be tagged and credited appropriately. If any of this discomforts you, you can always be referred to as “anonymous”!

That’s it! Please let me know if any questions or concerns you might have, and I’ll be sure to help and clarify to the best of my ability. Here’s to another great collab! Have fun!! <3

ARTIST SLOTS AVAILABLE: 0/15 (FULL!!)

AUTHOR SLOTS AVAILABLE: 7/10

Closed! Thank you all for your enthusiasm and contributions to this collab!!