#the fact that he just like. picks a bottlecap (?) off the floor to play with will never not be funny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

applsauss · 4 years ago

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Östliche Helden | I

Description: Your grin is unabashed when you hear him shouting after you.

Fandom: Hetalia

 Pairing: Human!Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt)/Reader

Word Count: 4k+

Warning(s): None.

Unsere Freundschaft mit der Sowjet-Union erzwingt den Frieden.

The words are printed on a sun-bleached poster featuring two working class men, one holding the red and gold banner of the Soviet Union, the other with a German flag with three stripes: one black, one red, one yellow.

“Our friendship with the Soviet Union enforces peace,” you whisper to yourself. Staring at the smiling men, trying to read into their expressions, you pick at the peeling corners of the poster, then try to smooth them down.

Behind you, through the window, the sky is aglow with a strong orange and dusty red that fades into pink. You’ve wasted the afternoon in an abandoned factory, with the small, portable radio Gilbert spent a fortune on tuned to a western station. The announcer is saying something about a concert, but you don’t hear him. The sun is setting. The wind drags its fingers through the trees.

Gilbert is sitting in the window, with one leg bent at the knee and propped up on the window sill, the other dangling against the outside of the building. He’s reading a book your brother gave to you about Frederick II, the greatest king of Prussia. You could never sit through it, but Gilbert hasn’t been able to put it down for the last two weeks.

You hum lightly to yourself as a different, tinny voice advertises some household cleaning product, and continue to observe your boyfriend. His brow is furrowed in focus, eyes scanning each page with intent, and his platinum hair is painted red by the blazing sun buzzing behind him. You can’t help but stare at him, and then past him.

The view from the window is framed by Gilbert’s body, and then by large, dark trees that inhale and exhale with the breeze. Behind the trees is a demolished industrial block, rubble left where it fell at the foot of the wall--then past that is the Berlin Wall, itself: nearly four meters tall, two thick, and with various layers of increasingly horrible deterrents running the length of the death strip. It is a grisly sight.

Behind that though, lies true innovation and freedom. Sunlight bounces off the windows of pristine West Berlin as if to say Look! Look at what is here. Look at Germans like you--but not--as they live with American autos, French wine, and Italian designer bags.

The radio announcer’s voice cuts off, and then the guitar chords of the next song fade in, plucking at all of your drifting thoughts and drawing them back tight again. It is a song of freedom, the western stations like playing it because they know it can be heard even behind the Iron Curtain. You close your eyes and let the music take you away, swaying in rhythm.

“I, I will be king,

And you, you will be queen.

Though nothing will drive them away,

We can beat them, just for one day,

We can be heroes, just for one day.”

You never listen to western radio in your house. It is silent except for when your father listens to a concert performance, or when your brother used to practice piano in the sitting room. Besides, your mother is frighteningly aware of the ears in the walls, and your father makes a point of socialising with people he suspects of being connected to the Stasi--probably in hopes of being recruited. It’s why you’ve been left alone, even after your Onkel took bolt cutters to the chain-link border fence at the Austrian-Hungarian border.

You hear your shoes scrape on the floor as you step side to side, getting more into the song, nodding your head and then you hear Gilbert snicker under his breath. You peak your eyes open to find him watching you. His book is closed, resting on the window sill, and he’s now sitting with his legs inside the building. You stop dancing, laugh, but the music continues on without you, the sound like an afterthought calling to you.

Gilbert leans forward, watching you with steady eyes, then pushes off the window sill to stand. He tilts his head for a moment, like he’s appraising the music, then begins to snap his fingers on beat, tapping his foot and bobbing his head.

You join him, shimmying, waggling your eyebrows and he snorts, then gets more into the song, shaking his hips and dramatically reaching up towards the ceiling, then closing his fist and dragging it down in front of him like the disco stars on TV.

Trying to upstage him, you click your heels together and start to do the twist, but the song’s chords are drawn out, and so the shuffling you’re doing is more for comedic effect than anything else.

You pause when you’re closest to the ground, then jerk your head up to catch Gilbert’s eyes in challenge. He lets out a breathy laugh, then changes tactics. Not one to be outdone, he throws his arms above his head and begins thrusting his hips in time with the drums, while training his expression to remain serious, smoldering, almost. You laugh.

“And you, you can be mean,

And I, I'll drink all the time,”

“ 'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact,” he mouths the words dramatically, then winks and blows you a kiss, making you snicker again. “Yes, we're lovers, and that is that.”

Still thrusting his hips, he begins to make little hops towards you, dust from the floor kicking up around his feet. Grinning, you rise back up to both feet and meet him halfway, swinging your arms and stepping in time with the beat.

When you finally meet each other, he reaches forward, smooshing your face between his hands, then ducks down to plant a silly, solid kiss to your lips. Your teeth clack, your nose presses hard into his cheek, and he laughs into your mouth, then quiets when you kiss him back.

The music becomes less of something you hear, and more of something you feel thrumming in your heart, thrumming in Gilbert’s as it beats beneath your palm, and thrumming in the way you both sway side to side, caught up in the moment.

“Though nothing will keep us together,

We can steal time, just for one day.”

Gilbert sucks in a breath through his nose, kissing you earnestly, sincerely now, then pulls back slowly. His hands are cupping your face, thumb gently rubbing your cheek, and you’re humbled by the expression on his face, still painted in increasingly soft shades of red-pink. Affection blooms in your chest, warm like a candle, and spreads until you forget about the bite of the approaching evening. Almost overwhelmed, you pull his arms around you and lay your forehead on his shoulder, watching the West as the sun dips farther towards the horizon, as the sky begins to bleed the same red, the same damn Sowjetisch Rot, that paints their bloody flag.

You can hear him smiling in the way he breathes, feel it in the way he settles the weight of his arm over your shoulders and presses his face into your hair. You forget about school, you forget about the stress of your parents’ disapproval of Gilbert, of you, you forget about the future and you forget about the gottverdammte West. “Lieb’ dich, Liebchen,” he whispers into your hair.

The intimacy scares you. You think about pinching the soft fat on his stomach and twisting like you would a bottlecap to relieve some of the carbonated tension that’s filled the space, the tender moment buzzing around the two of you, surrounding you with its quiet intensity. The sudden thought makes you laugh, and you settle farther into his embrace instead, letting yourself sink into this feeling despite the fear for once. “Lieb’ dich, doch. You’re my favourite, you know.”

You somehow both see it coming and are taken by complete surprise when he pinches the meat of your arm and twists enough for it to smart.

“Ow-a!” You shove him off you and he stumbles back over a piece of broken furniture, snickering. You huff, dust your pants off, and try to glare at him, but you can’t bring yourself to be all that annoyed. Afterall, you chose this place and you chose him.

And the sun continues to set.

***

The morning is grey outside the apartment. It’s still early enough for the streetlamps to be on, and from under your bedroom door, you can tell the hallway light is on as well. You hear the muted clamor of breakfast coming from the kitchen, and your father coughs.

You smooth your hair back in the vanity one more time, double-checking your appearance, then grab your backpack and head out into the hall.

“You came home late last night,” your father comments from the dinner table as soon as you enter the sitting room. In front of him sits an empty plate, a mug of coffee and a half-empty glass of orange juice.

You set your bag on the table and head into the kitchen. “I know.”

“You shouldn’t ride your bike at night,” he calls after you.

“I know.”

Your mother is by the stove, wearing her sunflower print apron and black slippers. The room smells like breakfast sausage. She has her back turned to you and when you approach, she spins on her heel and pushes a full plate into your empty hands before you can do anything else.

“Ah--Guten Morgen, Muti. Vielen--” you’re caught half-way through a yawn--“Dank.”

“Good Morning, Liebling. Eat up.”

You smile and return to the table. Your father is waiting, but says nothing. He continues to say nothing as the clouds are pushed across the sky and the food on your plate disappears one bite at a time.

Eventually, he grows tired of the silence. He takes a long sip of his coffee, then says, “You were out with that boy, weren’t you.” It is not a question.

“You know his name,” you say mildly as you push your chair back and stand to take your plate into the kitchen. Your mother appears at your elbow and collects it for you instead. Without another excuse, you pull your bag across the table to check if you have everything you’ll need for school.

Still sitting where he is, your father asks, “When are you going to break up with him?”

“I’m not.”

He gives you a hard look. You pull your arms through the straps of your bag. “Is there really no one else for you?”

“I’m going to class now.”

He sighs, seemingly giving up on the conversation. “You have work after, right?”

“Right.”

Another sigh. “Alright. Be safe. See you soon.”

He drains the last of his coffee. Your mother kisses you on the cheek and tells you to have a good day as well.

“You, too. Lieb’ dich.” You turn to your father, “Bye, Vati. See you soon.”

***

Childhoods are not made equal, and the law of even-stevens is not something adults seem overly interested in. You first learned this in year three, when you were dropped off by your mother to play with a friend who lived in an apartment the size of your living room. Her bed was folded up neatly under the coffee table and the bathroom was two floors below hers. When you explained all this to your parents, they never allowed you back.

The second time you learned that adults were not as worried about being fair as they pretended to be was at Gilbert’s house, when the two of you could only play cards on his bed because his newborn brother was sleeping and anything else would have woken him. His mother made you sandwiches and when you asked about her lunch, she said she wasn’t hungry, then ate the discarded crust off your bread.

The third was when Gilbert was visiting your house, and switched on your family’s brand-new color television set. He casually flipped through the channels until he found one you’d never seen before, and you watched with confusion as image after image of the glamorous, rich, free West Germany flashed on the screen--something you’d never seen before, something he thought of as common knowledge, and something that made you begin to question what else was hidden from you. Your father catching the two of you soaking in the perverse capitalist propaganda movie ‘Grease’ was the beginning of his long-lasting feud with Your-Best-Friend-Gilbert.

The list goes on and on, your eyes not so much being opened to a single dawning realisation--but rather that realisation was inevitable, a full picture fed to you piece by piece each time you bore witness to some other lie fed to East Germans, who chew and chew and swallow because they’re so starved of everything else.

This is what you’re thinking about as Kristian goes on explaining Nietzsche to you. It’s terribly pretentious, he’s terribly pretentious, and so, regretfully, terribly, are you.

“I thought it was interesting. Didn’t you as well? What Herr Ullman was saying about the difference between Nietzsche’s master and slave morality--obviously we are the strong masters. We must not be pitied.”

Kristian is a person who never for a second thinks for, or critically, of himself. He is in your Philosophy lecture, your father knows his, and he has never once wanted for anything. The urge to fidget overcomes you, and so you grip the underside of the shop-counter, and rock back and forth on your heels to stop the annoyance from crawling up your arms.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked what you thought of how Nietzsche’s ideas could be applied to our politics now.”

“Oh, well--” you pause for a moment to think about how much of yourself you’re willing to put into this conversation-- “It’s interesting how some people claim to be masters--”

“Of course!” he interrupts. “You’re brilliant--because in reality, they are not. Take here, in the DDR, for example. The majority of the working class think of themselves as masters, while holding slave moralities,” he finishes for you, incorrectly. You bite your tongue.

Sometimes, Kristian is enjoyable to be around because it’s like a game, to have a conversation with someone who refuses to hear anything you say. You like to test the limits of his perception of you and see just how far he’ll go to rationalise whatever you say so that in his head, you agree with him.

Recently though, it’s become clear that he has an interest in you that is just a little more than friendly, and casually letting him down is becoming a problem because he refuses to take a hint. Now, at Uni, every time you turn a corner, he’s there to follow you to your next class, and his forwardness is beginning to unroot whatever amusement you used to feel around him.

Kristian is another item to add to the growing list of reasons you’d rather be wasting your day watching the clouds go by than be at Uni--or be trapped behind the counter of the Apotheke you work at, begging the powers that be that Kristian leaves before your shift is up, otherwise he might get it in his head that you have free time to spend with him.

Time moves in slow motion as Kristian stands in front of the register and continues to talk. No one has come in after him so you don’t have any excuses to leave the conversation. You feel awkward, like being alone with him is a mistake that you can’t escape from because the owner of the Apotheke is out taking his lunch in the park across the street.

“We think so alike, you and I…” Kristian trails off, and then he fiddles with the soda he bought ten minutes ago, and looks away, embarrassed. “Hey,” he begins again, and at the tone of his voice, your stomach drops. Before he was just dropping hints or loosely suggesting the idea of going on a date, but this is a confrontation that you’re not prepared to deal with. “I was wondering if sometime you’d like to--”

The bell above the door trills, and you jump into action. “Ah--Willkommen! How can I help you today?” you speak loud enough to smother the end of Kristian’s question.

“Liebe,” you hear the customer say, and immediately you know that it is Gilbert. What timing! He’d taken the morning off to go see Ludy’s school play and mentioned that he might be able to swing by after running a few errands for his mother. “You’ll never guess what happened! Oh! Kristian--” he pauses-- “Hallo. Anyways, I was riding my bike down Schulstrasse after the play and I--”

“We were talking,” Kristian interrupts, whatever boyish shyness he’d had evaporating as he crosses his arms and turns to face Gilbert, almost puffing out his chest like a bird.

Gilbert gives him a funny look, then asks, “yea?” He looks to you for confirmation.

You shoot Gilbert a wobbly, unconfident smile and gesture to Kristian with wide eyes. He furrows his brow in confusion, then looks around and realizes you’re alone in the shop. He then turns his full attention to Kristian and, with fake pleasantness, asks, “how are your classes, Kristian?”

Kristian rocks back on his heels and unfolds his arm at the sudden question. “Good, I guess…” He shoots a look back at you, and you pretend to be seriously inspecting the cash register for defects. You pop open the drawer and feign counting the Deutsche Marks.

“Good!” Gilbert presses forward. “I hear Herr Ullman is a hardhead.”

“A bit,” Kristian replies, then turns his back to Gilbert and tries one last time to get your attention. “Y/N--”

At the sound of your name leaving Kristian’s mouth, Gilbert slides an arm on the counter between you and Kristian, who bites off the rest of his response and drops all pretenses to glare at Gilbert.

“Interesting,” Gilbert says flatly, “Sowieso, Schatz, when does Herr Friedman get back from his lunch?”

Kristian doesn’t wait for your response. He just huffs, snatches his drink off the counter, and stalks out of the Apotheke. The bell trills as he pulls the door open, then lets it slam shut in its frame.

“Tschussi!” Gilbert calls after him, and you really should reprimand him for that last, unnecessary taunt, but the amount of relief you feel now that Kristian is gone is ridiculous, and so you reach over the counter to grip his forearm with both hands, grinning up at him.

“Don’t be so mean,” you say half-heartedly.

Gilbert cocks his head to the side. “Then he should take a hint and listen when you tell him no.”

His genuine response surprises you when it shouldn’t. Afterall, you know what sort of man he is; you’ve known for years. It’s what kindled your crush on him in secondary school, the year before he went off for his apprenticeship in that garage he still dreams of, it’s what fanned the flames when he returned for his year of mandatory service, and it’s what stokes the love even now. “Thank you.”

“Why?” He grins. “Did you think it was awesomely sexy when I made him back off--”

You choke on a laugh, cheeks warm. “Oh, shut it! You ruin everything!”

He laughs like a witch’s cackle, and you pretend to be put out, then ask,“what were you trying to tell me about before?”

“Oh!” He straightens. “Remember that pigeon from school?”

***

“Gib can talk to birds, you know,” Ludwig says factually. ‘Gib’ is his childhood nickname for Gilbert. You nearly trip at the sudden change in topic.

“See!” Gilbert throws a hand out to gesture at Ludwig, vindicated. His other hand holds his bike steady as the three of you continue to walk down the sidewalk.

You groan. “I swear to god, the pigeon does not know you!”

“Yes he does! I’ve named him--”

“Don’t remind me--”

“His name is Gilbird.” Gilbert proudly sticks his nose up, and you resign yourself to pushing your bike in silence. You’ve had this same dispute since school. Gilbert is convinced that since he saved a pigeon from a hungry alleycat one time, it now owes him some sort of life debt, or at least he thinks the pigeon thinks that.

“I think it’s clever,” Ludwig says quietly, squeezing the straps of his backpack tighter in his hands as he continues to walk beside you and Gilbert, who are pushing your bikes to keep pace with him.

“Ludy,” you stage whisper just loud enough so Gilbert can still hear you, like you’re sharing some grave secret, “he’s been saying the same thing since year five. I don’t even think it’s the same bird!”

“Schatz!” Gilbert cries, outraged.

You roll your eyes dramatically. “C’mon,” you say, and goad Ludwig into jogging ahead of Gilbert with you. As much as Ludwig hero-worships his elder brother, he also can’t resist the temptation of teasing him, especially when you offer him the upper hand.

“Ah!” Gilbert exclaims once he realizes your plan. “Hey!” When you pass him, you stick your foot out to unhinge his kickstand, making him stumble over his bike.

“I’m too awesome to not be telling the truth!” he calls after you. “You were there! Hey!”

Ludwig laughs out loud, and so you turn around as well, only to see Gilbert struggling to untangle his handlebars from a bush. “Quickly!”

You swing your leg over the seat of your bike, then usher Ludwig into the basket fixed over the rear wheel. It’s not meant for a person and is an uncomfortable fit, even for little Ludy, but the two of you manage.

“That’s cheating!” Gilbert calls out sorely, still a little ways behind the two of you, though you know he’ll catch up in no time. Ludwig giggles right in your ear, and then you push off the concrete and begin pedaling down the sidewalk.

“Look at him, all the way back there,” Ludwig teases.

You can’t turn around to bask in your victory, you’re afraid to lose balance and throw Ludwig off the bike. “Is he still stuck?”

“Yes--No! He’s just freed himself! Schneller! Faster!” Ludwig leans more of his weight forward, onto your back, and you laugh breathlessly, then pedal harder. You take the curb hard, pushing yourself off the seat to absorb the shock of your front wheel dropping onto the asphalt, then the rear wheel squeaks in protest under Ludwig’s added weight.

From around the wide bend of the road, you see the young trees that are planted in front of Gilbert and Ludwig’s Plattenbau, the tall apartment building looming over the road like a victory line. Your thighs begin to burn under the exercise. You pant, and Ludwig squeezes your shoulders tighter. “Oh no!” he cries.

Then it’s over. “Ha ha!” Gilbert tuts victoriously as he flies past the two of you, legs stuck out in a silly pose as his gears rapidly click.

“Aw! That’s no fair, Gib! Y/N has me on the bike, too!” Ludwig defends you from over your shoulder.

“You should have thought about that before you two unawesomely conspired to push me into that bush!”

“We didn’t push you! You tripped!” You slow to a stop in front of the side entrance next to Gilbert, and wobble under yours and Ludwig’s combined weight. Gilbert drops his bike in the grass and moves to help Ludwig down from his perch on the basket.

Gilbert rolls his eyes. “Same thing.” He sets Ludwig on the ground, then adds with fake scorn, “cheaters.”

Ludwig laughs, and you inspect your backpack, which Ludwig had been crouched on for the duration of the short ride. “Do you go to work now, Gib?” he asks.

“Ja. But I’ll be back like normal.” You look up in time to see Gilbert messing with Ludwig’s hair. You feel a pang of jealousy, thinking of your own brothers.

“Okay.” Ludwig walks to the entrance, then pulls open the door. “See you later!”

“Bye!”

“Bye, Luddy!”

For a moment, the two of you just breathe the filthy air. This part of town always stinks like a car’s exhaust pipe. Then Gilbert looks back at you. “Race you to your house?”

You eye him critically for a moment, then turn your bike around and begin pedaling as fast as you can without so much as waiting for a fair start.

Your grin is unabashed when you hear him shouting after you.

***

Translations:

Unsere Freundschaft mit der Sowjet-Union erzwingt den Frieden. Our friendship with the Soviet Union enforces peace. From this 1979 propaganda poster.

Deutsche Demokratische Republik. DDR. German Democratic Republic. Abbreviated ‘GDR’ in english. The official name of ‘East Germany’.

Onkel. Uncle.

Sowjetisch Rot. Soviet Red, referring to the Soviet Union’s flag colour.

Gottverdammte. Goddamn (f).

Lieb’ dich. Love you (slang, not proper grammar).

Liebchen. Sweetheart, lovely (noun). Term of endearment. (Literally: little love, love I am fond of, the -chen is diminutive and cute).

Doch. Too, totally, all the same, nevertheless. This is a ridiculous german word.

O-Saft. Orange Juice (slang).

Guten Morgen. Good morning

Muti. Mom.

Vielen Dank. Thank you very much.

Liebling. See Liebchen, though this is a more common version.

Vati. Dad.

Apotheke. Drug store, pharmacy.

Willkommen. Welcome.

Liebe. Love.

Hallo. Hello, Hi.

Deutsche Marks. Mark der DDR. Currency of the GDR.

Sowieso. Anyways.

Schatz. Babe, baby. Term of endearment. (Literally: Treasure)

Tschussi. Bye-bye, toodles. Cute with children, though usually used sarcastically by adults, especially men. (Gilbert is making fun of Kristian here)

Schneller! Faster!

Plattenbau. A cheap style of building made from prefabricated concrete slabs common in the GDR. (Literally: Panel building)

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years ago

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Helluva Hotel/Hazbin Boss (Parody)

HELLUVA HOTEL (PILOT) October 82, 9102

THE PILOT IS HERE!

Starring the incredible talents of Wat-is Dis, Irma Imp, Johnny Hazbin and Red Doe 666.

In HELL, Imps are the lowest of the low in society, but what happens when one starts a hotel and recreation business? This happens!

Follow Blitzo (the “o” is silent) as he pursues his seemingly impossible goal to help demons peacefully express themselves to reduce the mockery of lower class sinners…plus the exterminations of fellow demons by Exterminators and a rival Heaven group. After a yearly extermination and having his previous office set on fire, Blitzo opens a hotel complete with an office for himself. He hopes that patients will become better individuals, grow to appreciate the imps and support Blitzo’s love of musicals and murder. While most of Hell mocks his goals and dreams, his father and his fellow employee Moxxie mocks it doubly so. Moxxie’s wife, erotic dancer and test subject Millie stick by their sides. When a grumpy Hellhound entity known as “Moonlight Howl” Loona reluctantly reaches out to Blitzo to help in his endeavors, his crazy dream is given a chance to become reality.

HAZBIN BOSS (PILOT) November 52, 9102

THE PILOT IS HERE!

Starring the incredible talents of Blonde Disney Princess In Inferno, SJW Aggressor Moth, Porny Horny Spider Boi, Diabolic Deer Daddy, Gambling Grumpy Cat and Maid of DisHonorly Lust.

Follow Charlie, the princess of Hell as she attempts to run a hybrid rehabilitation/killing residence in a very competitive market and careless chaotic society. She is the head of D.E.M.O.N. (Denizens End Misery Or Not) in correlation to I.M.P. (Immediate Murder Professionals)

She has help from her weapons specialist Vaggie, her powerhouse Angel Dust and torturer/receptionist Alastor. With the help of an ancient book obtained by one of the rich Eldritch family members, they manage to make their work possible by killing humans at the requests of their demon clients, sending them to the Magne Hotel to be tortured, redeemed or be stimulated by endless entertainment. They also attempt to survive each other while trying to keep their business afloat.

But a rival company exists as well in correlation to C.H.E.R.U.B (Cherish Human Existence Revive U Back): A.N.G.E.L. (All Nobody’s Get Extended Life) a.k.a. they reincarnate people so they have a chance to life their human lives, worship God, and not have to endure the forced rehab program.

The scene opened up with “Red Doe 666 Presents…” as shadow curtains opened…

Against a white background designed with eyes, a shadowy figure of Blitzo was seen riding a horse with horns and a spiked tail.

Blitzo was heard singing:

“Here I am…this is me.

There’s nowhere else in Hell I’d rather be

Here I am…what am I to do?

I hope someday I can make my dreams come true

It’s a new world, it’s a new start

Alive with the screaming and the fresh hearts

It’s a new day, it’s a new plan

And it’s waiting for me

Here I am”

A shadowy pentagram glowed and the camera moved down, showing shadowy figures of humans being killed by the three imps with weapons.

A shadow figure of Blitzo looked up at the princess and Lucifer, his face downcast. He wished for a better life, but Lucifer looked down on him as common dirt. Blitzo then turned to the right and encountered a silhouette of his father and mother. Blitzo appeared to try and reason with them, but they both pointed in the other direction. Blitzo sadly turned around, his parents not listening to him.

The city spun within a glowing white pentagram as white angels holding spears surrounded it. Imp City appeared to be burning as shadows of other denizens turned their backs on it.

“Why have I always been a failure?

What can they reason be?

Why don’t they see they can’t take me?

Why don’t they know I long to be free?”

Blitzo stood small and downcast under a towering horned silhouette of his imp father, Donner, yellow critical eyes glowing. Black tendrils made the screen go black. A spinning globe appeared with white eyes blinking at it. Silhouettes of Exterminators later posed with swords and bloodstained bodies around them. Each of them had an x over their right eyes and creepy grins on their faces.

The next scenes showed Imp City in disrepair, weapons and bodies littering the streets. The Pentagram moon stood out in the crimson sky. Homeless demons sat in despair under ripped cardboard boxes, with “Satan Bless,” signs around them. One old store read: “Tricksters and Trades,” another said “Pimp Imps: Strip Club.” The most prominent building was metallic with black and white stripped horns extending out for decoration.

Blitzo slowly walked out from the building onto a balcony. He leaned on a railing, briefly brushing his hand against his face. He was wearing his usual tattered navy blue work suit with orange pink buttons and a red undershirt with a pink straw pin with a face on it. He was also wearing silver cowboy boots.

Blitzo picked up a trumpet and blew a bugle sound, the notes echoing throughout the area, signaling that it was safe for the other imps to come out. The imps opened their windows and peered out from behind alleyways. Blitzo stared at his phone and the clock tower in the live video on it read “365 days until next cleanse.”

The title then appeared: “Welcome to the Helluva Hotel.”

A car barreled through an open portal and ran over a poor imp before screeching to a stop. A red imp with wild black hair stepped out, a bloodstained knife sheathed at her side.

“Wow that was some kill, thank for the backup sweetie,” said a male imp, Crosser. Both of them had just finished killing their target via a runaway chase. Crosser had dreamed of crossing over to the human world, and had wanted to run the human man over after the man had killed one of his sinner friends.

Millie shut the door, wearing her usual black tank top, torn black pants and black collar around her neck. Her horns were shirt and black with small white stripes on them.

“Yeah, listen, I don’t want to let word out that I’ve been helping random clients with unusual requests for their targets. It was just a quick cash grab, you got it?”

She smiled with large doe eyes.

“Whatever you say, slut,” Crosser remarked with a laugh that followed.

“Wow how rude can you be?” she exclaimed. She leaned in dangerously close. “Let me know who you find something better to call me, you scrawny runty pack of bird shit. Tell the boys at the club I said hi.” She blew him a kiss before stepping back. He grumbled and drove away before his car crashed with a sideways flip.

Millie strolled along the sidewalk and grabbed someone else’s stick of rotten candy.

“Hey!” the imp yelled as Millie ran off with a giggle. “You snooze you lose, sucker!”

She couldn’t wait to tell Blitzo of her successful day.

Later, Moxxie and Stolas were busy helping Blitzo prepare for his big speech. Moxxie was straightening up his navy blue jacket, while Stolas was massaging his horns. They were in Stolas’ room and the meeting would take place in front of the palace.

“Do you remember what to say, sir?” Moxxie asked Blitzo.

Blitzo smiled and stood up straight. “Yes, let’s do this!”

Stolas smiled as well, wiggling his eyebrows. “Just look at me if you’re nervous.”

“Come on guys, I know what to say!” Blitzo exclaimed. “I just feel like we need to…I don’t know, make things sound more exciting…”

He randomly played with bobble-heads of Moxxie and Millie before tossing them aside. Then he gasped, getting an idea.

“What if I…”

“Sing a song about it?” Moxxie asked with a huff of annoyance.

“Exactly Moxxie! Now you’re starting to get the hang of things around here!”

Stolas playfully poked Blitzo’s face, while Blitzo and Moxxie responded with grimaces.

“Please don’t sing,” Moxxie chided to his boss. “This is serious.”

“Well you know…” Blitzo said, climbing on top of Stolas’ dresser, knocking things down, “I do find I’m better at expressing my goals through song!”

“Blitzy, stop knocking over my belongings!” Stolas puffed up his feathers in anger.

Moxxie glared at Blitzo as he walked over. “Life isn’t a musical, sir. Even if it were, yours would be so atrocious, not even Vox would allow it on that unwatched channel!”

“Then I’ll just have to use more of your salaries to release a better jingle,” Blitzo responded with a glare and sneer. He reached over for his plastic cup of iced coffee and downed several gulps of the light brown and white liquid. He sighed in content after he finished. Stolas made a disgusted face as some splashes of the drink spilled onto the floor.

“I’d be more than happy to watch it,” Stolas replied to him. “In fact, I could watch you all day in any form…”

“Oh please,” Blitzo scoffed at Stolas. “Get over that one time thing already. My credibility is at risk of being lost here!”

Moxxie folded his arms and opened his mouth in frustration. “Your credibility? What about I.M.P.? You’re just making it look like a fucking joke!” He took a breath and pinched his nose briefly. “We are still a company, even if…things have changed a bit…”

None of them could forget when someone “accidentally” set their office on fire, and had to start over with several tasks.

Blitzo grinned and pulled out a piece of paper. “Oh, I have these other ideas of what to say. The highlighted bits are the best parts.”

Moxxie took the paper, and scanned it in disbelief. “It’s all highlighted. Are these drawings?”

“Yep!” Blitzo affirmed, pointing to the paper. On it were several drawings of horses of different sizes, colored in with brown, gray, white and black crayons. The drawings looked like those that a child would do. Beside the horses were several names labeled for each one: Thumbtack, Bottlecap, Stapler, Live Wire and Toothpick. The list read: I.M.P. History, Why Blitz Is The Best, Jingle Suggestions, and Ending Song. At the bottom was a crude drawing of Blitzo on a stage, dancing with Moxxie, Millie, and Loona as dead humans with xs on their eyes and tongues out piled up around them. Nearby, imps and demons tossed them money and flowers.

Blitzo’s eyes were shining in wonder. “See! That’s the ultimate goal! Everyone’s happy and appreciating us. And we still get to kill to our hearts’ content.”

“It’s not that simple, sir!” Moxxie groaned with a face-palm. “Just follow the talking points we went over.” He grabbed hold of Blitzo’s collar. “And Do. Not. Sing.”

“Whatever,” Blitzo said as he shoved Moxxie off him. “If not that, then I can always do my improv skills.”

Blitzo saluted and walked out of the room, while the others followed. They were soon outside the palace near a round table where several owls had tea one time. There was a camera crew and several imps taking pictures. Blitzo took his seat in a chair, while Stolas stood regally nearby. Millie grinned and gave Blitzo a thumbs up. Loona slouched in a chair and shot avatars of Moxxie and Husk in an app game on her phone.

“Hi I’m Blitzo,” said the imp to a wealthy demon with white tentacle hair, gray-green skin and a pink dress with fur and matching heels. Her gray skinned brother wore a green suit and a green top hat decorated with living yellow eyes and teeth around the brim.

“Helsa Von Eldritch,” she deadpanned. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but that’d be a lie. You can put your hand away. I don’t touch imps and sinners. I have standards.”

Blitzo withdrew his hand. “How’s that working out for you, Hel?”

“Be glad that I’m letting you live after you so rudely forgot to address me as Lady Helsa Von Eldritch,” She fluffed her hair. “My time is money and no one really wants you here. You’re only here because Charlie forgot to show up for Hell’s Royal Vogue fashion segment. One that features me as the favorite, obviously.”

Nearby were magazines that showed Sevaithan, Helsa, Octavia and Charlie wearing fancy clothing while their faces were obscured under wide brimmed hats. Seviathan wore his usual green top hat with eyes on it and fancy green suit. Octavia wore a dress of black, Helsa’s was pink and Charlie’s was apple red in the pictures.

“But…” Blitzo began, before Helsa cut him off.

“So don’t get cocky with me clown or I’ll fucking strangle you.” She bared her sharp teeth as Blitzo silently gulped. Helsa sat down in her seat, painting her sharp nails.

“And I thought that bratty kid was a piece of shit,” Blitzo thought to himself.

Blitzo spotted Stolas’ daughter Octavia with her mother sitting in high throne-like chairs at an adjacent table.

“How’s it going, Via?” Blitzo called.

“Good until you showed up,” she replied in a British accent.

“Oh!” Stolas added. “We should all go on a family trip to Loo Loo Land sometime! I’ll bring some balloons and popcorn if you want.”

“That place reeks of corporate shame,” Octavia scoffed in her seat. “It’s just a rip off of Loo Loo World, anyway. Besides, I would much rather hang out with Helsa than die of embarrassment again.”

“So…you friends with her or not?” Blitzo asked in confusion.

Octavia rolled her eyes and retorted. “You and my father still a thing?”

“Blitzo,” warned the white owl queen Melodia, mentioning to the waiting crew.

Blitzo took his seat near Helsa and Seviathan, the two wealthy Eldritch siblings.

“Right,” Blitzo said, straightening his clothes and looking at the cameras.

“Hi, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent and I’m the founder of I.M.P. Are you a piece of…”

Moxxie shook his head and mouthed, “Not an ad.”

“…shit.”

Blitzo took a deep breath, his smile fading a little. “As most of you know, I was born here in Hell, and growing up, I’ve always tried to see the good in everything around me. Hell is my home and…”

A stray feather floated in front of Blitzo’s nose, causing the imp to sneeze.

“…some you are my clients, so I suppose I should try to be more concerned about you. We just went through another Extermination.”

Millie gave him two thumbs up.

Blitzo continued. “We’ve lost so many souls, including homeless people, and it breaks my heart to see other imps and hellhounds being slaughtered every year. Same goes for sinners. I mean, they brought it on themselves mostly, but then again, if there were no demons around, then there would be no business for me to run.”

Sudden anger sparked in his golden eyes. “In our society, imps are not even given a chance!”

He pounded his fist on the table, spilling his coffee drink all over his jacket. He swore and tried to lick some of it off. Stolas arrived and quickly wiped the stains off as much as he could. Blitzo brushed the owl prince away before continuing.

“Imps are the lowest of the low? Why is that? Because we’re somehow poorer than sinners? We’re lesser in numbers so imps and hellhounds can be called to service by random strangers anytime they wish? How are imps somehow lower than sinners, who are supposedly lower than the elite hellborn? I mean, imps are born in Hell…shouldn’t we get the proper treatment we deserve? I’m the founder of the most well-known company in Imp City, along with access to the human world, no less! That should definitely count for something! I cannot stand idly by while the place I live is subject to such judgement and death.”

Blitzo continued… “So, I’ve been thinking…isn’t there a better way to hinder ignorance, and in my case, hinder the lower ratings for my company? Isn’t there a more alternative way to change clients and souls through…recreation? Well I think yes, and that is what my project aims to achieve! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m expanding on my company and making…a conjoint hotel to encourage self-expression and I.M.P. appreciation!”

Blitzo spread out his arms at the table. He then muttered nervously at the confused faces. “You know…cause when demons learn to appreciate us more and be somewhat nicer…we won’t have to worry about those blasted Cherubs or the angels coming after us…”

“Angels?” laughed an imp as he watched Blitzo on TV. “Is that imp for real? Oh he’s nuts!”

Blitzo went on…”and those who come and cheer for me at my musicals will receive a 15% discount the next time they need my gang to kill people! Yay!”

“Stupid clown,” mocked an imp before Millie punched the cameraman right in the face, sending him off the stool.

Blitzo looked around in concern. “Look, I know that each and every one of you has something good inside you. I know you do.”

Then he smirked, getting an idea. “Maybe I’m not getting through to you…”

He mentioned to his black haired imp sisters Tilla and Barbie Wire, who suddenly walked in view of the camera, wearing black and pink circus outfits.

Moxxie face-palmed with an “oh no.”

Blitzo began his song while standing on the table…

“I have a dream, I’m here to tell

About a wonderful new I.M.P. hotel

Yes it’s one of a kind

Right here in Hell

Catering to bloodthirsty clientele”

Blitzo’s sisters provided harmonizing vocals.

“When you want somebody gone

And you don’t wanna wait too long

Call the Immediate Murder Professionals

Your vengeance gone wrong?

Are you looking for a song?

At my new hotel, we won’t do you wrong

I.M.P. just wait and see

Embrace you inner demons and live free

But we expect, to treat us with respect

Or we’ll have to break your neck

Yes it’s hard to learn to be good

But to escape stressful lives, you know you would

Give us some green and don’t be mean

This’ll be greatest show you’ve ever seeeeeen!

Don’t feel blue

We provide service to you

There’s no room for inner strife

When we could have a better life

There will be no more loss

And there will be no more schemes

Just horsey-horse nuzzles and iced coffee dreams

And traveling a better way

You’ll be like “Yay!”

Once you check in with meeee

We do or job so well

Cause we come straight up from Hell

We make your troubles go away

And you can find a place to stay

Via the Immediate Murder Professionals

Kids die for Freeeee!”

Blitzo and his sisters ended with poses on the table.

One demon with one eye said “Wow! That was shit!”

Everyone except Blitzo, Tilla, Barbie Wire, Moxxie, Loona, Millie, and Stolas burst into laughter. Blitzo buried his face in his hands on the table, while Millie fired her gun at the crew. Moxxie booed at Blitzo.

Helsa Von Eldrich sneered at the imp, her brother next to her.

“What in the Nine Circles of Hell makes you think people would give two shits about becoming a better person? You have no proof that this experiment even works. You want people to be good and pay attention to your measly company just…because?”

“Well,” Blitzo argued, “I have an employee already who’s dedicated to my cause.”

“And who might that be?”

“Oh just someone named…Millie. Oh and we also have a new guest coming as well…Mimzy!”

Seviathan glanced over and asked, “The flapper girl?” He had previously dated Charlie but would occasionally mess and flirt with sinner girls to mess with them. Mimzy’s fame had appealed to him.

“You fucking would, Sevia!” Helsa bared her teeth. “Anyway, I bet that girl wouldn’t bat an eye to your company unless you had a million souls.”

“Admit it, Blitzo,” added Sevia. “You and your gang of imps are dead to us and to Hell. How does it feel being a total failure?”

The sibling snobs cackled at a hurt Blitzo.

“Yeah, well how does it feel that your ex loves a sinner over you, huh? Bastard bitch?!”

Sevia and Blitzo managed to yell and land a few punches before they were forcefully separated via Stolas’ bird guards. The meeting ended abruptly on the spot. Blitzo and his companions felt dejected on their way back to the office. Stolas had generously given Blitzo some money to add another connecting hotel building with rows of rooms, a stage and a bar.

The three imps arrived at their building and after filling out some paperwork, they met in a lobby of the separate building. There were pictures along the walls of the I.M.P. members. Blitzo posing with his sisters after performing at a circus. Blitzo holding a puppy Loona lovingly. Moxxie and Millie in wedding attire, the couple gazing lovingly at each other. Millie and Moxxie sitting with a large Apple mascot for Loo Loo Land, Moxxie crying in fear and discomfort.

Millie walked over to the fridge and pulled out a box of popsicles. She happily sucked and ate a black raspberry one.

“You know you might as well get more food for this place,” Millie mentioned to Blitzo. “To feed all the wayward souls in this place.” She giggled and added, “I can help organize the car wash while you search the fridge for spoiled butter!”

Blitzo just sat dejectedly on a wooden crate of booze. Millie considered comforting him, but Moxxie gave her a look and shook his head. Millie sighed and followed her husband to let Blitzo be alone. Blitzo stepped outside and called a familiar person on his hell phone. The label read “Stolas, a.k.a. One Night Stand Bird Dick.”

“Hey Stolas, it’s me.”

“Hello Blitzy, how may I entertain you tonight?”

“No you really don’t have to.”

“Perhaps a show that can make up for today’s broadcast?”

“Yeah about that, I…don’t think I’m making a difference. I mean, I’m lucky to be alive after the Extermination but, everyone thought my plan was stupid.”

“Perhaps unusual,” Stolas mentioned. “Redeeming and trying to change demons is like trying to freeze Hell’s fires. It’s just not possible.”

“Not that I want to do it completely…but if things keep going wrong, I’ll lose my company and maybe even my families’ lives from those in Heaven.”

Stolas squawked with laughter. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of those flying cherubs and sheep?”

“Fuck that! Those dancing revivers are annoying pieces of shit trying to interfere with my hard work.”

“How about this way, C.H.E.R.U.B. or whatever those things are, revive humans so you have more humans to kill later on!”

“But having to kill the same people again and again? How boring is that! I.M.P. needs more variety, less repetition. Thumbtack, my horse, agrees.”

“Didn’t you tell me about how you killed that bratty kid twice?”

“It was Moxxie and then me but that’s not the point. If this company goes out of business, then I’ll never get the chance to live my musical theater dreams.”

“Don’t be sad, Blitzy,” said Stolas. “You have your associates and you also have me. I’ll make sure no one messes around with you.”

“I think my dad was…right about me…”

“You’re no failure Blitzy. He can hardly call himself a father to you. And if he ever tries to make you lonely and bring you down because of your goals…”

Stolas then ranted on with a series of curses and a lot of cringe-worthy sentences. Blitzo laughed nervously.

“If this is your way of trying to get into bed then I ain’t having it.”

“No, not this time.”

“Okay then. Thanks for the advice.”

“Anytime.”

“Good bye.”

Blitzo hung up by tapping on the phone screen. He wiped tears from his eyes as he headed back inside. He leaned against the door, eyes closed, frustrated and fatigued.

Just then, he heard a knock on the door. One loud knock that made it sound like someone had decided to punch the door. A smile grew on Blitzo’s face as he opened the door.

There stood Loona in her usual gray tank top with a black downward pentagram design below her neck. Her pants with a moon on it wore torn and she wore no shoes. Her eyes flared red, her red tongue just visible among her sharp teeth.

Blitzo beamed. “Loo…”

Loona slammed the door hard. Blitzo opened it.

“…ny!”

Loona slammed it again.

Blitzo eagerly turned to Moxxie. “Hey Moxxie!”

“What?!” asked the agitated imp.

“Loony is at the door!”

“What?!” Moxxie asked. “Oh?” asked Millie.

Blitzo was cheered up. “What should I do?”

“Don’t let her in!” Moxxie spat.

Blitzo waltzed right to the door and opened it.

“May I rant now?” asked the hellhound.

“You may,” Blitzo responded.

Loona stomped inside. “The nerve of you guys to just leave me behind like that. I mean, did you want me to sit through another segment of royalty bitching about their outfits. When my punk clothing is superior anyway. Man Blitzo, I haven’t seen anything so embarrassing since you decided to give me spiders and sleep with that privileged asshole. Heh, you were kinda pathetic.”

She had her sharp black claws out, and her breath smelled of alcohol.

Moxxie pointed a gun at her. “Stop right there! I know that look and I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone else here, you lunatic emo meth addicted bitch!”

Loona just lowered the gun with her fingers. “If I wanted to hurt anyone here, I would’ve done so already.”

She growled and bared her fangs. “Ya know, I came because…I was thinking of helping.”

Blitzo looked confused. “Say what?”

“I wanna help you run this place. Why not, nothing else to do.” She scoffed. “Though Blitzo, your plans are ridiculous as always.”

“Why do you still have her around?” Moxxie shook his head. “She hardly answers the bone phone and has skipped work too many times to count!”

“Don’t talk about her like that, she’s fine. Sometimes she has what some people would call…ruff days.”

Loona flipped the bird before searching the fridge. “Any avocado salads here?”

“No. I already ate mine early thanks to you eating mine last time.”

“Nobody claimed it and besides, people like you don’t need lunch.”

“Hey!”

“Alright,” said Blitzo. “I’ll be happy to have you help. Just…don’t fly off the handle or get into any trouble.”

“Fair enough, whatever.”

The hellhound looked around. “Any hotel visitors around here?”

Millie mentioned to a chubby short blonde haired woman reading a magazine and humming a tune. “Just Mimzy.”

“You’re never fully dressed without a smile,” she sang.

“Meh. Not enough. Hey Millie, any extra things you can do?”

Millie grinned. I can snuggle you and give you kisses.”

“Ha! No.”

“Your loss.”

Loona sighed. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. I can sniff you a few people who might be helpful.

About fifteen minutes later, she came holding a squirming blue anglerfish demon in her paw. He was wearing a gray lab coat, yellow goggles and a hanging light from his small top hat.

“This little amphibian is Baxter,” Lonna said, dropping him.

“I-I’m Baxter,” the fish stammered. “That mutt over there just tracked me down, right when I was about to gather my ingredients for my next p-project. It’s a top secret formula that I m-must complete.” He raced around to grab more beakers, vials and a burner nearby. “It’s been a w-while since I’ve seen new people. And I don’t want to see any more. No, no, no, stay back! Back off I say!” He pointed a white shrink ray at anyone who came too close. “If you’ll e-excuse me, I must get back to work!”

Several moments later, not too far from headquarters, a white and red hellhound was strolling along listening to rock music on 90s headphones. “Why am I even here?” she thought. “I can’t believe that I’m stuck in this vast scary place.” Music and a tough front hid the insecurity underneath. She received a tap on the shoulder.

“The hell? The fuck is this?” She turned around and spotted Loona. “You!” she broke into a large toothed grin. She wore black leather, metal rings on her pointed ears and a spiked collar. Her shirt was pink red with a white skull on it. Porn magazines lined her pockets.

“Crymini,” Loona greeted, hiding a small smile.

“So glad to see you again, Loona,” Crymini replied. “Anything on your mind? What shall we do? Go for a drink? Vandalize a building after a smoke? Or we could chew on some bones of demons…they’re my favorite snack!”

“I wish,” Loona rolled her eyes at the more hyper hound. “I feel somewhat obligated to help Blitzo and company recruit more people to help promote I.M.P.”

“I think I saw commercials of it,” Crymini mentioned. “That imp killing company?”

Loona nodded.

“Wait…you work there too?”

“Pretty much. A receptionist. Filled to the brim with paperwork, calling clients and annoying fellow employees.”

“Your condition still there?” Crymini asked.

“Syphilis can go fuck itself.”

“I wish it would for your sake and mine as well.”

“One wouldn’t say being in a rock band is much easier, but it’s still pretty fun.”

“I’ve seen you play guitar and sing. Pretty good I must say.”

“Thanks! I’ll be performing at a concert later this week. Will you be there?”

“Sure,” she replied with a shrug.

“Let’s go to your headquarters then!”

Blitzo, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Stolas, Mimzy, Baxter and Crymini were soon together at the building.

“Anyone want some booze and fresh meat?” Loona asked.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Not too far away, concealed in bushes, a figure was watching them with orange eyes. Roo, the kangaroo Australian demon. She had white skin, wild aburn hair and wore orange. A large wide brimmed dark hat concealed her face in shadow. A parasitic creature slithered from her mouth, its body covered with white spikes and eyes.

She bared her sharp teeth, blood and liquid dropping from her mouth. One thought emitted from her head, the parasite in sync with her thoughts.

“Feast.”

#hazbinhotel #helluva boss #moxxie #millie #blitzo #loona #stolas #hazbinboss #helluvahotel

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loudgrito · 7 years ago

Text

Ditto-A Ghost/Coco Crossover

Chapter 9- You have to earn it

Hey guys! I'm going to be posting chapters of Ditto here from now on, but you can find the first 8 on my main blog, @untitled5071 . Without further ado, onto the chapter!

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Imelda brushed off her skirt, put the mugs in the sink. She was still fuming from the incident, but in typical Imelda fashion, she was far to proud to show how much Ernesto's advance had ruffled her feathers. She took a towel and bent to take care of the shattered pieces of mug that lay scattered next to the counter, but stopped in er tracks and straightened to examine them.

Good thing, too. She had ben reaching right through Hector's abdomen.

She stared at the mug, wondering. She hadn't seen any part of her or Ernesto knock it over, and Pepita was nowhere close....

But then again, she had been a little to preoccupied to notice much.

Still....

Hector stared, waiting. He could see the spark of thought in her eyes, and it looked as though she was considering....

Imelda shook her head, driving all contemplations out of her mind and consequently shattering all hopes Hector had held onto.

Of course not.

She reached through Hector-who was too dejected and heartbroken to step out of the way-and picked up and threw away the shards of mug, and one of the only remaining pieces of Hector left.

He felt as broken as the mug.

Imelda ran her fingers through her hair and let out an exasperated breath, then turned to go get Coco, who had been staying obediently in her room. Hector made a move as if to follow her, but stopped himself. She clearly didn't want him around. Instead, he turned to a table in the corner, where a basket of marigold flowers lay. Their scent and color was intoxicating, but he forced the thoughts out of his mind as he tried to gather all of his strength. He could hear Imelda laughing in he other room, and he could just make out Coco's squeals of delight.

He wished he could join them, but he had bigger matters to attend to.

He swiped his hand through the basket as hard as he could manage, but to no avail. Not a single petal quivered as his hand sailed through the blooms. He tried again, with a fist, with his eyes closed, picturing Ernesto, but nothing. He was panting now, not physically tired but annoyed. He heard a door open behind him, and Coco came barreling out of her room, one braid still undone as she ran to her Papa. Hector smiled at her and bent down, longing more than anything to reach up and cup his hand to her cheek, to help brush and braid her hair, to..to..

To be there. Alive.

Coco didn't seem to mind though, as she took advantage of the time that she had to tell Hector,

"Mama is cleaning my room, so I wanted to say hi without her getting angry."

She cocked her head out of curiosity and inquired,

"What are you doing?"

Hector paused, trying to come up with a logical reason for his actions.

"Mi'ija, I was just..."

He was just what? Trying to push over the flowers so he could convince a still skeptical Imelda of his presence? Trying to prove that he could still interact with the physical world? Trying to be like-

Wait.

Hector thought fast, perking at the sound of Imelda's voice echoing through the loft.

"Coco? Mi'ija, get back here!"

A chuckle, and then,

"I haven't even finished your other braid yet!"

Coco looked back at her father, questioning. As an answer, he bent and planted another kiss that neither of them could feel on her forehead, looking her in the eyes.

"You go to your Mama. Don't tell her about me, she'll just get mad. There's some things I have to do, okay? I'll be back soon, okay mi'ija? Te amo mucho, chica. I love you so much." He stood and began sprinting towards the door, calling over his shoulder,

"Be good!"

Coco watched her father run right through the door and disappear.

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

Hector sprinted through the streets, running in between cars when the sidewalk traffic got to be too much. He felt weightless-probably because he was-and he was amazed at how far and fast he could run, now that he didn't have a physical body to weigh him down. He ran through alleyways and carts, people and tourists, until he found his way to the subway entrance. He jogged down the stairs, looking back and forth for something specific that he couldn't seem to find. No one payed him any mind, but Hector was to pre-occupied to notice or care. He stopped at the edge of the rail, leaning forward when a train approached and bracing for impact. He wasn't surprised when none came, but it took him a second to get used to the disorienting feeling of having his feet planted on the platform but his torso inside a moving train. He looked around, and when he couldn't find what he wanted, he pushed himself forward, into the train and onto a passing one.

He jumped from train to train, looking, searching, but didn't find what he was looking for until he had almost given up hope. He was running through a train, and it wasn't until the last car that he spotted him.

The ghost from earlier.

He was standing behind the last seat, looking over the shoulder of a man reading the paper. He still looked as small and stout as before, but Hector knew how dangerous he could really be. The 'spirit copy' of the guitar he had made earlier lay forgotten on the floor. Hector mustered up his courage and took a breath in.

"Hey!"

The other ghost's head whipped around so fast that Hector assumed that he would have gotten whiplash if he was still alive. The ghost's eyes narrowed at the sight of Hector, and he took one threatening step forward, fists clenched.

"Get off my train!"

Hector swallowed, his fists loosely balled in nerves. He stood his ground. He needed this.

"No. I'm not leaving until you teach me how to move things."

The ghost seemed taken aback, but he started to stalk down the isles towards Hector, knocking things out of people's hands as he went.

"Get off!"

Once again, Hector continued to stand his ground, looking down at the ghost as he moved closer. He was almost upon him now, and Hector could see the fury in his eyes. Suddenly, without warning, the other ghost lunged at him.

But Hector was prepared.

He sprang into the air as the ghost barreled towards him, using his new weightlessness to his advantage. He rolled gracelessly over and used the other ghost's shock to seize the opportunity to grab the discarded spirit guitar. The ghost snarled and turned again, but stopped dead in his tracks when Hector expertly began to pluck out a tune. The notes flew through the air, and the other ghost looked strangely at Hector. Seeing his chance, he stopped and spoke.

"Please, teach me."

The ghost looked at him, then crossed his arm, and said,

"Finish the song first."

Hector looked confused, so the ghost elaborated.

"You want my help, you have to EARN it. Now come on. Keep playing."

Hector swallowed and nodded, letting his nerves float away with each vibration of the guitar strings.

"Well, everyone knows Juanita......"

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

"From your gut, like I told you."

The other ghost (who had introduced himself as Chicharron) was pacing along the empty platform, keeping a watchful eye on Hector, who was currently crouched on the floor of the subway platform, attempting to flick a bottle cap. The ghost had reminded him that he had no more body; that everything he did had to be thought about, and how everything about his existence now depended on his mind.

What a comforting thought.

He tried once more to flick the bottle cap, only to have his finger pass through as though the bottlecap was made of air, when it was, in fact, the other way around. Chicharron chuckled and bent next to Hector, flicking the bottlecap with ease.

"Come on, kid. What else you got?"

Hector sat up and ran a hand through his hair, letting his frustrations out in a breath.

"Nothing, apparently. Why can't I do this?"

Chicharron looked thoughtful, then turned to Hector.

"Why you want to learn this, anyway? No one is as insistent as you without a reason.

Hector exhaled.

"I guess....I'm doing this for my family. They need me. I need them."

Chicharron snorted and turned away, pointing at an old can on the corner. Hector moved over to it an began trying to kick it, just barely avoiding loosing his balance and falling.

"You need to get all of your emotions into a ball, then let it explode out. Big help you are to your family if you can't touch anything in their world."

Hector fumed, and tried harder. He had to do this. For Imelda, for.....

For Coco.

Chicharron continued to talk through all of Hector's attempts.

"You know, I bet the don't even miss you."

Hector kicked the can again, harder.

"I'm sure they've already found someone else..."

And image of Ernesto popped into Hector's mind, and he kicked harder.

Did he just see it twitch?

Chicharron would not let up.

"And I'm sure they're just going about their lives, not caring, not missing you. You know what, I bet they're glad you're-"

CLANG!

Hector's foot collided with the can, sending it flying right through Chicharron's head. Chicharron watched it bounce onto the rail, then turned back to Hector, smirking.

"Not bad kid. See, that's the key. Your family. Think of them. Do this for them."

Hector beamed, and began to move onto other items in the subway, honing and shaping his new skill, until the fiery light of sunset began to seep into the platform. Having just successfully sent an old shoe flying off a trashcan, Hector turned back to Chicharron.

"Thank you. For everything. I won't forget this."

Chicharron smiled, and stepped onto the edge of the rail as the sound of a train approached. He turned to Hector, and before he re-claimed his car, he said,

"Thanks for the song."

And he was gone.

Hector smiled and began to walk away, whistling and kicking things as he went. He was going to do this. He had to.

He had a mission, a purpose, and he wasn't going to fail now.

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