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kaylopolis · 2 months

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Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Sixteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

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Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

I'm so sorry! I've been so sick, but do not fret this fic is still alive!

Events of this fic take place right after Western Energy S2E4 of Helluva Boss. Full Moon events have not yet happened.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Sixteen - Let's Kill God

Content Warning: Minors DNI!!!!!! Mentions of murder-suicide

Alastor smiles in his sleep.

It’s not his Radio Demon smile. It’s not his half-cocked know-it-all grin. It’s a soft upturn of the lips, a bittersweet smile that’s more sweet than bitter. One that can only be worn properly by the innocence of youth and not by an Overlord of Hell. You’ve only seen that look on his face once before: in Louisiana.

Over a round of King Cakes, Alastor told you of his mother and her joy. He made her seem perfect: the exact embodiment of what a mother should be. Your heart twisted in your chest for him. To have been loved, cared for, and cherished like that and then to have lost her in such a violent way…

Still, to have a mother ~period~ and one who raised such a respectable gentleman (despite the murders and cannibalism) is a treasure. In this moment, seeing the peace on Alastor’s sleeping face, you understand why he became the Bayou Strangler and then later the Radio Demon. To go after men of such caliber, of such terrible deeds over and over again. To prevent further violence and murder, those men might have committed.

It was like he was saving his mother over and over again with each of their deaths.

Alastor then wasn’t the Alastor you knew now. He was a completely different person before his father shot his mother in a murder-suicide. Just an innocent young man looking to make his own way in this world, all the while just trying to make his mother smile. He was powerless then and he’d never let himself be powerless ever again.

That’s where his thirst first took root: a legend born of violence. Not much different from yourself.

Alastor attempted to turn over in his sleep, but when his body couldn’t subconsciously turn from his back to his side, it woke him. The demon blinked out of synch, his left eye blinking and then his right, as if blinking the blanket of sleep away. It was cute, the way he dreamily met your gaze and smiled even wider. You couldn’t help but match his grin.

“It seems I am trapped,” his voice was groggy as he spoke.

“Oh, no. Whatever shall you do?” You joked.

You woke not long ago, minutes before the demon stirred himself. Eventually, the silence of the room woke you. There was no music on his radio, no static - a barrier of white noise to keep out the silence that haunted your dreams.

When you had woken you didn’t move. At some point in the night your wings had appeared and cocooned the two of you in a black blanket of feathers. It’s a good thing your feathers were soft - unlike some of your brothers whose wings poked and itched like Hell whenever you rubbed up against them.

Alastor scooted closer to you, his eyelids drooping. The demon once told you he barely ever slept - his own personal curse. Yet, last night, the two of you passed out the second your heads hit the pillow.

It had been a long, exhausting day, after all…

The thought that Alastor finally found some peace was a relief to you and most likely explained the radio silence. His body was finally able to relax, which meant he felt safe here, cocooned in your swaddle of protection.

You snuggled up into the demon, not wanting to leave the warmth of your embrace, which encased the two of you from head to knees - well, your calves and Alastor’s knees.

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How are you this morning, mon couer?”

You sighed in the fluff of his chest at the sound of Alastor’s raw and unfiltered voice, “Sore.”

It was true. Your body had taken a beating - most notably your lower abdomen.

Alastor chuckled, the vibrations running through his chest and into your own. God, you’d kill if only to hear that sound again, a moment more.

The demon ran a hand through your hair, the other trapped beneath the pillow supporting your head. Alastor shivered when you ran your foot across his calves and over his hooves.

Hooves. Damn. Alastor was the only demon classy enough to not only make them look posh but also sexy at the same time. If only Hell knew. Maybe he would have won Hell’s Hottest Bachelor, after all.

As the demon massaged your scalp, your wings tightened as if sensing the end of your perfect moment slowly slipping away. The two of you have been hiding up here since the fight. You hadn’t called anyone or texted anyone to let them know that you were alive - not that you could text, but Alastor did have a hidden landline. Rosie was probably the only one to think that the two of you didn’t kill each other off and that’s only because she was playing matchmaker and was still holding out. Everyone else? They are going to be pissed.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor asked, cupping your chin and tilting your face into his. The red of Alastor’s irises burned into your cheeks.

If you ever found whatever force designed Humann Sinners’ demon forms, you would thank it a million times over for this man.

Apparently, you had sighed a bit too loud at the thought of Angel throttling you when you got back to the Hotel.

“I just… I don’t want this to end,” you swallowed dryly. “I’ve had so few perfect moments in my life that I’ve learned to appreciate one when I am in it, but I'm desperate for them to never end.”

Honestly, you had no idea what life was going to look like now, what it was going to look like when the two of you went back to the Hotel - if there was a Hotel to go back to. What if Charlie didn’t want you there anymore? All your presence would do is invite competition, just as Sir Pentious came seeking Alastor that first fateful day you met. Not to mention the sheer emotional and mental damage you put Charlie through by lying to her about who you really are.

Charlie had every reason to hate you and every reason to kick you out. What then? Would the rest of the Hotel gang still want to be friends with someone like you? It’s bad enough they know you're an Angel, but an Archangel at that… Mikaela Morningstar, the famous Golden Girl and General of all of God’s armies, and now a Hotel guest of Princess Morningstar. That’s a sentence you never thought you’d say.

So no, you didn’t want to leave your little cocoon of protection just yet, but you knew you needed to. You had to face reality eventually…

“This does not have to end,” Alastor breathed into your hair, the demon woefully intoxicated on your scent.

You scrunch your nose in confusion.

The demon ran his thumb over your cheek, “Join me for dinner tonight and we can pick up right where we left off?”

A flock of butterflies erupted in your chest, “Alastor Hartfelt, are you asking me on a date?”

As if in response, the radio on the side table flickered to life. Alastor smiled his half-cocked grin as Nat King Cole’s “Darling je vous aime beaucoup” thrummed to life on the radio.

Oh, my God. A date. A date with the Radio Demon? A date with the Radio Demon! A date with Alastor! You’d compare this sensation to how you felt when Vox asked you out - repeatedly, you might add - but didn’t want to think of the overgrown iPod while you were naked in bed with Alastor.

“I…” You smiled in disbelief. “I…”

“Say yes,” Alastor’s free hand found your hip. He pulled you flush against him, running his claws down your thigh, he hooked it over his waist. Your leg sat perfectly in the dip of where his hip crested - as if it was designed just for you.

Actually, all of Alastor fit you like a glove: his hands a perfect cup full for your breasts; the way his curves matched yours as you lay enveloped within each other on your sides; he was the perfect height for you to lean into him and rest your head on the fluff of his chest.

“Yes,” you said, capturing his lips with yours, but pulled back with a gasp as Alastor flipped you atop him.

Straddling Alastor’s waist, your wings instinctively stretched out, unfolding to their full width. Groaning, you rolled your shoulders, working out the stiffness that had cultivated overnight. How long were you unconsciously cuddling Alastor like that?

“Absolutely breathtaking,” the demon lay mesmerized by your feathers. Capturing a feather between his fingers, the demon traced the length of its spine, relishing in the softness of the black vane.

Rarely have your wings been touched by hands not your own. Pain. Your wings have only known pain. In battle, they’ve been stabbed by steel, sliced by arrows, singed by magic… Bare hands have only ripped and shredded your plume. Never have they been touched by strong yet gentle hands. It was almost a shock to the system to feel his fingers caress your feathers.

And, apparently, wings are very sensitive…

You saw the question in his eyes before he even asked it. “I didn’t portal to Hell the day Rosie found me,” you shuttered when he collected another feather between his fingers, this one lower down and longer than the previous. “I slipped between the planes, the way a Soul would after it died. I didn’t notice that my wings had turned black or my hair grey until after Carmilla strung me up from the ceiling of Rosie’s back room, and the evidence was lying at my feet.”

Alastor’s expression suddenly changed, his eyebrows knit together, his smile flattened to a thin line. “Did it hurt?”

You blinked. “Did what hurt?”

“When you fell from Heaven?” A half-cocked smile slowly spread across his face.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Before you had a chance to stop him, Alastor flipped you again, this time placing himself on top. With wings splayed out around you - the tips just barely brushing the edge of Alastor’s gigantic mattress - the demon’s body encased your own. The fluff of his chest pressed into your bare breasts as he leaned in for a kiss. His tongue strokes yours for the briefest of moments before retreating.

“How I do so enjoy the taste of you, mon couer,” the demon purred, placing one hand beside your head to support himself. The other found the crest of your wings. Tracing the bend in your black cape with his finger, the demon maintained eye contact, watching as your lips parted, the gasp escaping your teeth.

His eyes sparked. “And that look, that sound - that reassures me that I have ensnared you as much as you have me.”

“I think you also like torturing me,” you breathed, your heart kicking up as Alastor aligned his hips with yours. You were both naked - having foregone even the bathrobes not long after your session on the balcony.

Alastor tilted his head back and laughed before wrapping his hands around your waist and tugging you down into him. Alastor’s cock was pressed firmly between your hips and his, settling on your lower belly. You debated folding your wings away, but the thought of fucking Alastor while his fingers stroked your feathers…

“Mon couer, I love torturing you.”

Before you had a chance to question his choice of words, Alastor sheathed himself inside you. You cry out at the sudden sensation, but already, he is withdrawing and thrusting back in. Wrapping your arms around his neck…

There was a pull behind your navel. You stopped abruptly, your entire body freezing. Alastor also froze, sensing the sudden change.

Orange and mint. Your vision was flooded with the hues of purple. Fuck. “Octavia,” you breathed.

Alastor slowly pulled out, moving so you could jump to your feet. “The armoire on the left.”

Folding your wings in and magicking them away, you jumped to your feet. The wooden wardrobe was stocked with clothes you had never seen before—all obviously here for you. Move now, question later. Grabbing for a pair of pants, you searched the room for the black underwear and bra Alastor took off you yesterday two days ago?

“Top drawer,” Alastor motioned to the dresser by the bathroom door. The demon sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees, the sheets covering his more sensitive parts - the parts your heart really wanted to see.

You pulled open the first drawer, questioningly, before slamming it shut. “That is not underwear,” you couldn’t help but snort.

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Was that Rosie’s idea or yours?” You pulled on the slacks as Alastor ditched the bedsheets for a closer look. You stared then, taking your fill of where exactly that red happy trail led before he pulled open the drawer.

The demon looked as shocked as you did, but there was an underlying hint of devilry that gleamed in his eye. Okay, so it was Rosie’s idea, but Alastor was more than pleased by it. You huffed and pulled out the least scandalous bra in the drawer—red, of course—and spun before pulling it on. You couldn’t look Alastor in the eye for fear you might never leave this bedroom again - not that you were complaining.

The demon grabbed a grey sweater with a turtle neck - the same color as your hair - and a black clip. He held it behind you as you threaded your arms through the sleeves. Alastor took the buttons from you while you flipped your hair into a knot, the metal securing it in place. You did a double-take. Was Alastor taking care of you?

SNAP! A portal appeared. The color of the sky told you it was the Pride Ring. What was Octavia doing in the Sinner Circle?

The demon wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. Fuck, he was still hard.

A wave of cold breezed past your ankles. “You’re not sending me alone.” A statement, not a question.

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead as a cold breeze swam past your ankles again: Rolf. You should have guessed - the demon didn’t leave you alone when you were his enemy, why would he start now when you were his… His what exactly? You didn’t dare ask, it was too soon, too early to broach that topic. But one thing did pop into your head as you stepped through the crack in reality: what were you going to tell Rosie?

The Radio Demon smirked as he handed you a pair of shoes, “Till tonight, mon couer.”

POP! The portal closed, leaving you with a pair of brand-new Mary Janes in a dirty alleyway. You allowed yourself one final breath to think of the demon who so often took it away before bolting for the street.

It was time to move.

“Stolas got what? How…? He can get hurt?” Blitz’s voice carried over the crowd of reporters swarming the main entrance to St. An’s Hospital.

What the fuck is going…

“Thestral!” Octavia appears behind you before you got a chance to speak, tugging you towards the I.M.P. Crew who looked absolutely defeated.

Millie and Moxie are covered in blood. Loona’s in a cone. Blitz just looks absolutely dumbstruck. What is happening?

“Where is he?” Octavia demands of the group. The poor owlette looks scared out of her mind. Which is saying a lot because she rarely shows emotion on her face. The girl could cycle through five different emotions and if you couldn’t hear the inflection in her voice you would never know what she was thinking.

“They just took ��em inside,” Millie bows her head.

“How…” Blitz’s voice cracks. The imp continues to stare into the crowd, his mind still not truly processing the events unfolding before him. Meanwhile Loona is passed out in the back seat of the van.

Jesus, what kind of day did they have? More importantly, why are you being summoned only now? Or had you been summoned earlier but were too busy to notice?

Guilt sours in your stomach.

Octavia takes one look at the crowd, and immediately you know what she’s thinking.

“Rolf,” I whisper, knowing the shadow can hear me. “Get us up there.”

Taking hold of Octavia’s arm, Rolf shadows you into a sterile white hallway. A team of plague doctors work vehemently behind a glass wall, doing whatever it is healers do to injured Goetia Princes.

A sob rocks through Octavia’s chest as she collapses against the window. You do your best to catch her, your mind flitting through a million different scenarios as to how exactly this could have happened.

Angels can die. Goetian Princes can get hurt.

What next…?

____________________________________________

It had been hours before the plague doctors allowed you and Octavia to enter the room. It was hours while you stood there and did nothing but watch. You could have healed him right then and there with your blood. You could have done something to ease his suffering instantly…

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not with the media breathing down your neck outside and an entire hospital monitoring his health. Hell knew you were an Angel, but they didn’t know what you could do. That was a secret you weren’t going to share but you did let yourself think about it if only for a moment.

You stared down at your hands, your blackened fingers looking more elegant and refined than lethal. They didn’t look like weapons—not like Alastor’s claws. Your skin was soft, absent of callouses and scars a battle-borne soldier should have. In fact, you never scarred, save for the bite mark that refused to fade from your neck. It’s almost as if your body heard your wish and kept that one just for you.

But your hands… If you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were hands of healing, not hurting. Was that what you were intended for before Father dug his twisted sense of morals into your brain? If not, then why gift you with the power of healing? Lucifer couldn’t do that. None of your brothers could. Their blood was golden, but it wasn’t magical.

Why was yours?

You swallowed that thought, the emotions burning your throat as you made to stand. You had to get back to the Hotel eventually, and Octavia was passed out in the chair at her dad’s side, a blanket thrown over her sleeping form.

“She won’t forgive you when she finds out, you know?” Stolas’ voice shakes you from your thoughts. How long had he been awake?

“Stolas,” you find your seat once more. “I’m sorry I…”

“You did not know,” the Prince answers softly, afraid of waking his sleeping owlette. “Neither did Octavia.”

“What happened?” You whisper back.

“Take Octavia to her mother, will you?” He changes the subject. If he didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t blame him. You’ve seen enough shell-shocked soldiers to know when to leave it be. At least he was awake and talking.

“I will,” you breathe. Stolas still thought you were trustworthy enough to take care of his daughter even though…? “I gave myself away in Louisiana, didn’t I?” The keys. He knew a Human Sinner couldn’t cross between Rings. Yesterday’s news merely confirmed it.

Stolas met your gaze then, his usual soft eyes now full of… despair. “You have protected my daughter like you would a sister, and for that, I am grateful, but after today…” The Prince huffed. “Take her to her mother and take the card with you.”

You blinked. “Stolas, I would never hurt Octavia…”

“Take. It. With. You.” The Prince commanded, steel coating his words. “And the keys…” He added as an afterthought.

You didn’t dare say another word. The message was clear as day. Fuck, you couldn’t argue with him. Your mere presence invited trouble now that Hell knew who and what you were. Regardless of how you run into Octavia in the future, you’d be putting her at risk just by being around her.

And Stolas was a father scorned…

You nodded your head before collecting a sleeping Octavia in your arms.

“Goodbye Stolas…” And Rolf shadowed you into darkness.

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“Are you sure this is the right place?” Keenie squeaked.

“Of course, I’m sure!” Cletus barked from his place beside her.

“I’m so excited!” Collin sang.

The three banished Cherubs stood peaking around the corner, searching the growing mob of media crowding the front doors.

“She’s not just going to walk right in the front door!” Keenie argued, the yellow floof of her hair swaying with the shake of her head. “Look at how many demons are here!”

“Well, how else is she going to get in?” Cletus argued.

“Oh! Oh! During the Battle of Troy, she convinced the Greeks to build a giant wooden horse to hide inside…” Collin began.

Cleatus banged him on top of the head. “Would you shut up!? Mikaela Morningstar isn’t going to sneak inside the Hazbin Hotel in a horse! This isn’t one of your fan club meetings!”

Two days ago, Cleatus received a phone call from Rachel, who had given them an ultimatum. Track down the rogue Angel and bring her home. In exchange, they earn back their place in Heaven.

Then Cleatus got the picture.

And Collin went ape-shit.

“Hey! The Golden Girls are not just a fan club, okay? We are a group of warriors who would volunteer our lives if General Morningstar were to ever go to war again! We have studied, we have trained…”

“We are annoying!” Keenie interrupted him. “I swear if I have to hear one more…!”

“Stop it!” Kleatus jumped in the middle. “Look!”

The Cherub pointed down the road to a figure melting from the shadows. A silver-haired, pale-faced woman took one look at the growing crowd blocking the entrance to the Hotel before taking a step back and disappearing once more. It was but a moment but it was long enough.

“That’s her!” Collin’s jaw was practically on the floor, his eyes glazed over in amazement. “The last time I saw her in person was during the Welcome Home parade after the last Crusades on Earth!”

Kleatus and Keenie nodded at one another.

It was confirmed. Their target was none other than the famous Archangel Mikaela Morningstar. And they were going to bring her home whether she liked it or not.

____________________________________________

Niffty’s voice was the first one you heard as you shadowed into the lobby of the Hotel. “Yeah. Where are your tits?”

Vaggie sighs, “Any other questions?”

Husk grumbles, “I got one. How come every time Charlie talks to Heaven, we get in deeper and deeper shit?”

The gang hadn’t noticed you yet as you quietly tiptoed into the foyer—well, except for Alastor. The zip of static running down your spine told you he was here, and he knew you were, too. You hadn’t really talked to the crew since the big reveal. You didn’t know how they were going to take it, but walking in on a conversation such as this was not boding well for you.

The ex-exorcist rubs her temples, “It's not her fault. Angels are just…”

Angel Dust interrupts, “Liars?”

And the other shoe drops…

“Mikaela, how lovely it is for you to finally join us!” Alastor lights up like a Christmas tree as you round the corner.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him in a newly pressed black tailored suit. Seems Rosie made him more than one, but this one put him in all black - even the suit jacket beneath. His hair was tied back from his face into a short ponytail at the back of his head, accenting his sharp teeth as he beamed at you.

God, you loved this man in form-fitting black. It made the butterflies in your belly fly circles in anticipation. And his hair? You never wanted to wear your hair up again for fear of never feeling Alastor’s fingers combing through it ever again. Meanwhile, you never wanted Alastor to wear his down. He was too handsome, too deadly, too enticing, with his hair pulled back from his face.

You froze as all eyes fell on you.

Fuck. What do you do? Do you greet Alastor back and find a seat? Do you sit by him? Do you sit far away from him? Do you not even respond at all? Do you respond normally - wait, what would normal even look like!?

You didn’t know what to do. You and Alastor hadn’t had a talk to straighten out whatever was between you. You didn’t establish boundaries or titles - if there were even titles to be given. No, this was all too soon. Maybe Alastor didn’t even want to have any titles? Maybe he wanted to keep this all a secret? Revealing what you meant to him…

Alastor stood and crossed the distance between the two of you before you could even think. Claiming your hand in his, the demon pressed a kiss to the top and smiled, “Tu es toujours aussi belle, ma cherie. You look as lovely as ever, my darling.”

You sucked in a breath, waiting for the others’ reactions.

“I’m outta ‘ere!” Angel threw his many hands in the air before stomping away. The spider demon stormed up the stairs, not daring even a glance in your direction.

Was Angel mad at you?

“Come,” Alastor leads you to the sofa as Rolf swirls around your feet. “Take a seat.”

The demon sat you at the end of the couch, directly adjacent to the armchair he had been inhabiting before you showed up.

Husk gave you a quick nod as you passed, signaling that things between the two of you were good. However, the nasty look he shot Alastor after displayed his disapproval of that situation. Yet the group did not comment. Probably too afraid of what Alastor might do, had they.

“Charlie’s trying her best,” Vaggie continued. The Ex-Exorcist didn’t know what to make of you in that moment, her eyes constantly flitting back to Alastor who was currently humming in his chair, nonchalantly listening to the conversation. The demon did love gossip.

You had a sickening feeling that Vaggie’s eventual confrontation was coming. Not at this moment, however. She had enough on her plate to deal with.

Husk took a swig of his drink. “Yeah, well, her best is turning out real well so far.”

You blinked, finally noting the Princess’ absence. “Where is Charlie anyway?”

Vaggie shot you a look you couldn’t smell - the scents too muddled together. Exasperation? Annoyance? Sadness? Guilt. Definitely guilt. “She’s upstairs. Coming up with something. I’m sure. In our room. Alone.”

Alastor’s “Hmm,” would have been barely perceptible had you not been hyper-aware of the demon’s every move. Alastor leaned in, “I’ll be back in a moment, ma cherie.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “What happened to ‘mon couer?” You teased.

The demon’s grin turned sideways. “I think that’s best saved for when we are… alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Can hear everything the two of you are saying,” Husk grumbled next to you. “Just so ya’ know.”

Your face heated as Alastor melted into shadow, silently giggling as Rolf whisked him away.

Nifty ran to the base of your shoes, “Where are your wings?”

POP!

The black mass of feathers unfurled behind you

“Ooooohhhhh,” Sir Pentious clapped. “Ssssssssplendid!”

“Owe!” You jumped.

Nifty grabbed a fistful of feathers. The tiny demon laughed maniacally, “For my collection.” Then she took off to who knows where to do who knows what.

Yet again, you repeat to yourself, Nifty was not a mystery you wanted to solve.

“Show off,” you heard Vaggie mutter.

Okay, you kinda felt bad about Vaggie’s situation, but now everyone knows.

“Hey, aren't you like her boss or something?” Husk asks.

And the questions begin.

“Technically no…”

You begin, but Vaggie interrupts you, “The General was in charge of God’s armies. The Exorcists are under Adam’s domain and technically a secret division in Heaven.”

“Wait,” Husk does a double take. “You mean to tell me that Heaven doesn’t even know about the Exterminations?”

“Nope,” Vaggie crosses her arms.

“What kind of fucked up…”

Maniacal laughter interrupts the conversation as Nifty sprints back into the foyer, a ball of golden fluff in her hands. “Look! Look! Look!” She sings like a small child. “Another for my collection!”

“What isssss that?” Sir Pentious asks.

Husks plucks it out of her little hands. The tiny demon protests, jumping for her newfound treasure as the cat demon holds it out of reach. “It looks like wool.”

“Like from a sssssheep?” The snake demon slivers over to get a better look.

“Nifty, where did you get that?” Vaggie prods.

“The little flying sheep gave me…”

“Ahhh!” You collapse as a burst of power shoots through your core, the sudden intrusion of magic burning you from the inside out. The room is plunged into an aura of green as your face hits the carpet.

“No. No!” Vaggie screams and runs for Charlie’s room.

Husk slowly lifts you off the floor and guides you back onto the sofa. “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m…” You hold your head to force the world to stop spinning, the pain fading as fast as it had appeared. Whatever the fuck that was, it felt… familiar. “What was that?”

Husk looked at you as if you had grown a second head. “It looked like Boss’ static.”

Alastor’s magic. That was impossible. You released Alastor from his contract. You couldn’t have access to his magic anymore. At least, you shouldn’t. Right?

Looking down at your hands you watch the remainder of the green aura fade into your skin. Your blood, it felt energized as if a surge of electricity had charged it like a battery. It was eerily similar to the feeling you got when you had Velvette by the throat atop V Tower.

You had wielded Alastor’s magic in that fight as if it were your own. His static jumped at your command, the power pooling into a well large enough to take down one of Crim’s balls of electricity. Fuck, even your voice became riddled with Alastor’s radio filter.

You had chalked that up to the verbal contract the two of you had made many moons ago atop the radio tower. Now? Now it didn’t make sense…

Sir Pentious joins you on the couch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just…” You had an instinct to run to Alastor since whatever had just happened was because of him. That’s why Vaggie took off for Charlie’s room. Did he… Did he make a deal? Is that what that was? You started to panic.

Did he own Charlie’s soul? Did Charlie even have a soul?

Shit. That’s not how this was supposed to go. Charlie was supposed to be an intermediary in this plan - a tool to threaten Heaven and nothing more. She wasn’t supposed to become part of the game.

Wait. Wait! Don’t panic. Alastor also made a deal with Lilith and Lilith wasn’t stupid. If the protection of Charlie was part of your deal then it was also a part of Alastor’s. Whatever the demon had just done, Charlie wouldn’t be harmed.

Hopefully…

You sat back on the couch, your mind swimming with a million different questions, but deep down… Deep down, you trusted Alastor.

Fuck. You trusted him.

“I just need to lie down a bit…”

You trusted him, and you were okay with it.

And suddenly, the ever-solo Golden Girl found herself not so lonely anymore. And you didn’t mind it - the thought of your little solo act suddenly becoming a duo.

Only if that’s what Alastor also wanted…

____________________________________________

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

You stood in nothing but a towel before the red dress hanging in your closet. That!? Rosie had made you that!? That devil of a woman. You were going to have a serious talk about her recent lengths regarding your wardrobe. Red, you were okay with, but the lingerie and now this!?

The dress was a red crepe with a low-hanging neckline and thigh-high leg slit. It was completely backless, which meant you were going to have to wear your hair down (which you wanted to do anyway). But, it also meant hiding your rune in public was going to be difficult.

Which meant you were going to need a shawl or something to cover it up. You didn’t have a shawl, however, but you know who would. And you got the sense that he was royally pissed with you.

Forgoing your bath towel for a Hotel robe, you quietly tiptoed to Angel’s door. You didn’t know why you felt the need to be quiet; not like Angel was going to attack you or anything, but instinct just took over.

There was music playing on the other side of the door—some sort of pop music, probably something by Verosika Mayday. You and Angel hadn’t really talked since Lucifer’s visit when he convinced you to tell Alastor the truth. Sure, he watched over you during that week when you and Alastor weren’t talking, but you had pushed him away the entire time. You had snapped, argued, rolled your eyes, and dismissed any attempt he had at trying to break you from your spiral of depression and guilt.

You had pushed and pushed, and all he did was try to help you. So when you quietly knocked on his door, it wasn’t so much to ask for a shawl or a jacket or whatever. It was to apologize.

“Go away!” Angel yelled over the music.

“Angel, can we talk?” You rubbed the back of your neck, the bubbles of anxiety festering within.

There was a moment of silence before the door slowly opened but a crack. The spider demon stood on the other side, closed off despite his willingness to engage in conversation. God, he looked angry.

“What?” His words were sharp and pointed.

Fuck, you hadn’t thought this through, you hadn’t rehearsed anything. So, you simply said, “You seem mad…”

Angel raised an eyebrow, “Ya’ tink? Did ya’ big scary Angel powers tell ya’ that?”

Shit.

“Angel, I…”

“Be careful what ya’ say, Hairclip. Every time ya’ open ya’ mouth, ya’ lie.” Angel snaps.

Ah, that’s why he’s mad.

“I…”

Fuck, you weren’t good at this feelings thing. You were awkward and couldn’t understand how to comfort others. Friendships - not alliances - were new to you. But hadn’t that been what you were doing from the start? Despite your apprehension, you had grown attached to the Hazbin crew and they you.

They were your friends and so it was time you started acting like one.

Your Endgame plan was growing more and more complicated by the day.

“I’m sorry,” it came out as a whisper. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I’ve disappeared on you not once but twice now. I’ve lied. I’ve manipulated. I’ve done nothing but hurt you and use you and for that I am sorry. I’m a horrible friend and for that I do not deserve your friendship.” You hung your head low.

Angel sucked his golden tooth, the hallway filling with awkward tension. And right before you thought it was going to explode in a wave of anger, Angel spoke. “Look,” he huffed. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I never pretended to be somethin’ I ain’t.”

Right. That’s what killed Angel in the end. A gay Italian gangster in his time… The demon’s overdose wasn’t an accident.

“But, if we’re gonna do this friendship thang, we gotta do it right. No more of this lyin’ and disappearin’ bullshit.” With one set of hands on his hip, the spider demon opens the door completely.

Wait. What?

“And you're gettin’ a phone. I want no pushback on that one, sistah. I ain’t havin’ ya’ disappear on me again without at least a heads-up.”

Holy shit. You thought he was going to cut you out of his life like Stolas had, but no, he was making room for you in it. With stipulations, of course, but you could follow his rules, no problem! Whatever he wants so long as you still get to call him a friend.

A friend! A real friend you didn’t want to kill and who didn’t want to kill you! A friend that wasn’t being ordered by Father to hang out with you or forced to follow your orders!

You jumped on the demon, bringing him into a bear hug that squeezed the breath from his chest.

“Thank you,” you breathed into his fluff.

“Alright, alright, toots. Come inside, we got a lot of catchin’ up to do….”

____________________________________________

“Why is she just standing there?” Cleatus whispered.

“She looks so pretty!” Collin drooled.

“This is our moment. We should go confront her.” Keenie shoved Collin out of the way.

“Wait!” Cleatus grabbed Keenie by her floof and hauled her back around the corner.

“Hey! Stop it! My head is still sore from that rat pulling out my hair!” The sheep protested.

“What are you going to say?” Cleatus whispered. “Hello, General Morningstar, we’re here to take you back to Heaven, so if you’ll just follow us…”

“So pretty…” Collin continued to ogle at the Angel standing before the doorway in a red, form-fitting dress. Her hair pooled down her back and shoulders in curled waves of silver. The curved neckline accented her breasts, while the backless dress swooped just above the crest of her hips, highlighting her feminine silhouette. “She’s as beautiful as she is heavenly.” The goat swooned.

Cleatus rolled his eyes. “We need a plan.”

“How do you know she’s not here on a mission from Heaven?”Collin stepped in. “Why do you assume she’s Fallen?”

“She’s in Hell. Cavorting with demons!” Keenie shook him. “She’s killed human souls. We all saw the footage, Collin.”

“But so did we…!” Collin countered.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The three Cherubs stacked their heads as they peered around the corner. A large shadowed figure opened the bedroom door and chaperoned the Angel inside. The door shut and then locked behind her.

“Now what…?” Keenie mumbled.

____________________________________________

You wouldn’t be going out tonight. You’d be staying in. As Rolf guided you into Alastor’s pitch-black room, a series of candles lit as if on cue, illuminating a walkway that led into the Bayou.

“What…”

Rolf smiled as he ushered you down the aisle way of fire, out into the grass of the pocket dimension. Your heels sunk into the ground, the bottom of your red dress dragging in the dirt. The shadow paused to take your shoes, then bunched the train of your dress for you to carry as you made your way across the plain.

It was night in the Bayou. The only light was from the candles at your feet, which led you towards the ever-growing forest and the twinkle of the stars above. As you grew ever closer to the trees, the soft sound of jazz quickly replaced the chirping of crickets.

You smiled as the static found your skin and the aura of Alastor’s scent filled your nose. As you rounded the large trunk of a tree, you came upon a small but familiar clearing. The same clearing he had shadowed you that night he meant to confront you. Now it was surrounded by candlelight and at the center…

“Perfect timing as always, mon couer,” Alastor spun, a glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other.

The demon stood there, hand outstretched with the goblet, in an all-black button-up and trousers. With his hair pulled back, the demon’s eyes soaked you in, and his smile dropped. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

You dropped the train of your dress, the fabric pooling at your feet. “Have I done something wrong?”

Alastor fell to his knees then and there, his radio skipping off its track. The goblet of wine and the bottle set gently in the glass. Taking your hands in his, he whispered, “You could never do wrong, mon couer.”

“Then why do you look at me like that?” Your red lips turned down in a pout.

“Can a demon not be rendered speechless by the most beautiful sight he has ever seen? Can he not be brought to his knees by such a wondrous creature, the embodiment of power itself? Can he not adore the vessel which adorns it, wholly and completely?”

His words render you breathless, and your mind blanks with a response. Rosie was wrong when she said Alastor showed he cared through his actions, not his words. Alastor took days to show you he cared through action, and by words, well… the demon spoke poetry.

So when he called you “absolutely beautiful” moments before he stabbed that Angelic blade into your gut, he was not talking about the power itself. He was talking about you.

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks and pressed your lips to his. For what could you say to match that?

“Come,” the demon said, climbing to his feet and pressing the goblet of wine in your hand. He had a wicked grin on his face as he led you towards the blanket, which held a picnic of food. “A little birdy informed me you enjoy a nice night in with a home-cooked meal and bottle of wine.”

You smiled as you sit, “A little cat, you mean?”

Yes, of course Husk rendered word for word your little rant after your date with Vox. Of course Alastor memorized each one.

“I know not what you mean,” Alastor smiles as he lay next to you, his own glass of wine in his claws. The demon’s fingers found the swoop in the fabric of your dress, his claw tracing the red as it lined your back.

Goosebumps formed on your skin. “And what of today?” You prod, referring to the small army Charlie arranged to fight Adam and his Exorcists.

Alastor takes a sip of the glass as he lays back on the blanket, supported by his elbow. “A gift.”

You blinked. “A gift?”

“The spark to ignite your war,” he smiles.

“You did that for me?” You asked.

Alastor places his glass down next to the picnic basket filled with what you assume is Alastor’s cooking. “Not wholly.”

You swallowed dryly. “You made a contract?”

The demon’s eyes fall to the basket. “In exchange, the Princess owes me a favor.”

Good, not her soul.

“Charlie can not be harmed,” you said carefully. You were touching upon Lilith but didn’t want to mention her by name, which was a sore topic for Alastor.

“I cannot, and neither can you,” his hand said, finding your arm and tracing it to the strap on your shoulder.

Also, good.

“We have three days,” Alastor continued. “I wish to spend them wisely.”

A.k.a. no more talking of plans and schemes.

“Speaking of which, you saw Rosie today,” you take another sip. “How mad is she?”

The demon hooked his claw under your strap, playing with it as he spoke, “On the contrary, the woman is insufferably happy.”

You beamed. Of course, she is.

“She’s taken it upon herself to design you a dress.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“To meet my mother,” Alastor played with the strap, his mind elsewhere.

Oh… Oh!

“But she’s… Unreachable at the moment.” You breathed. When had you become so breathless?

“In Louisiana, darling. I wish to visit her grave. If you’ll take us?” Alastor’s eyes met yours. Nothing but grief and sadness filled them despite the smile on his face.

“Of course,” you captured his hand with yours and brought it to your cheek. “In a heartbeat.” You press a kiss to his palm.

The demon smiled.

“But,” you smirked, “you must promise me something?”

“Anything,” Alastor answered immediately.

“For the next three days, you’ll train footwork with me.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Your footwork and swordsmanship are atrocious, and…!”

Alastor grabbed your hand and pulled you onto him. The glass of wine spilled into the grass as the demon wrapped one hand around the back of your neck and brought you into a kiss. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue darted out for yours.

Alastor broke away, seemingly unphased by the action, a knowing half-cocked grin on his face, “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

You were… Fuck, your entire mind went blank.

“I apologize,” he chuckled. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you arrived. I would have greeted you with a kiss, but this dress was distracting.”

You smiled back, your cheeks turning as red as the fabric. And then the question hit you again. “Alastor, when you spoke to Rosie today, what did you tell her?”

The demon’s eyes caught on something behind you. “It’s time.”

It’s time?

The demon motioned for you to lay down next to him, your back on the blanket and your eyes on the canopy of the trees. “Alastor, what are we…?”

“Shh,” the demon shushed. “Wait.”

The candles winked out at once, plunging the two of you into darkness. It was a rather odd change to the conversation, but you let it happen. It's not like the answer to that question wasn’t killing you inside or anything…

CLICK!

Alastor’s radio switched stations. Nat King Col’s “My First and My Last Love” began playing.

🎶I recall all the days of my childhood

And that bashful romance that we knew

In my teens, as I roamed through the wild wood

Then my first and my last love was you 🎶

As if on cue, a wave of green fireflies shot out of the darkness. The small bugs surrounded the two of you, as if you were swimming in your own sea of stars.

And the answer to your question has finally been answered: “was this romance?”

🎶When I strayed from our green fields of Clover

Still I knew that my heart would be true

Though I wandered the world like a rover

Still my first and my last love was you🎶

No, this was not romance. It was so much more.

You turned to Alastor, only to notice that he had not been watching the wonder around you but rather you the entire time.

🎶And your love haunted me like a song

Till it brought me back where I belong🎶

The green danced in his blown-out pupils as you nudged closer to him. Alastor’s forehead met yours as he whispered, “You asked me what I had told Rosie.”

🎶Now the days of my youth are behind me

And the years we have left may be few

But my memories will always remind me

That my first and my last love was you🎶

You nodded. You held your breath in anticipation of his answer.

“I told her what she had told me long ago,” he caressed your cheek with his thumb. “That one cannot live without their heart.” The demon cupped your face. “And you are mine, mon couer. I'm your guy, and you're my gal."

You sucked in a breath, “That doesn’t just mean being with me, Alastor. It also entails what comes with.”

🎶And your love haunted me like a song Till it brought me back where I belong🎶

The Endgame. Although Alastor had shown interest, he didn’t necessarily commit. Yes, today was a show of good faith, but there was something in it for him too. You needed a commitment to you and the plan. He could not get one without the other, but the demon already knew that.

The demon chuckled low. His other hand coming to the slit in your dress, and you gasped as his fingers met the outside of your thigh and climbed higher and higher. At the base of your ass, he grabbed your leg and threw it over his waist, his eyes never leaving yours.

The green danced all around you as Alastor ran a hand through your silver hair, his fingers playing with your curls. “Well then…”

🎶Now the days of my youth are behind me And the years we have left may be few But my memories will always remind me That my first and my last love was you🎶

His voice was low and filled with lust as he said, “Let’s kill God.”

And before you had a chance to reply, the demon pulled you in and kissed you savagely.

There was no more need for words after that. The food was long forgotten - for now. You’d be eating it afterward… The demon pulled you fully up onto him, his vision swimming with nothing but you in red and the green of the fireflies surrounding you, illuminating you.

And as Alastor broke the kiss to stare up at the Fallen Angel above him, he had cemented what he had been telling himself all along. He'd destroy, he'd kill, and he'd raise Heaven and Hell if it meant keeping you here by his side. Killing God was a menial task if it meant he got to keep you as the prize, but the Radio Demon had left out a few details regarding his talk with Rosie. You were his heart, that much was true, but he had much bigger plans in store for you.

The demon ran his claw across your bottom lip, admiring the red. Alastor took his time memorizing the shape of your lips, the pooling of your silver hair, and the flash of yellow in your eyes as the green from the fireflies danced around you. He memorized you as if it was his dying breath, for the demon never thought he'd known Heaven till now and had surely died but just hadn’t realized it yet.

He gladly welcomed the day God died. The thought of anyone making a mark on this skin but him... Alastor instinctively growled at the thought. His hand fell from your mouth to your neck. He pushed the hair aside to appreciate the mark. The bruises had faded thanks to your unnatural gift of healing, but the bite at the base of your neck, that one refused to fade.

Good. Let all of Hell know you were his.

Alastor watched as you unfurled your wings behind you, the black masses stretching to their full width. An Angel... He'd laugh if he wasn't so completely enraptured. Who would have ever thought he, Alastor Hartfelt had fallen completely and totally...

He couldn't say the words. He didn't want to scare you, didn't want you to think him another man in your life obsessed to the point of toxicity. You had a history with men, and Alastor didn't want to become just another face that haunted you at night. You've endured enough emotional, mental, and physical torture for one immortal lifetime.

So he didn't say what he was thinking. He'd go slow, give you space and time. He didn't want to push for fear of losing you.

After all, it takes one emotionally damaged soul to know another.

Alastor caressed your wings and watched as your mouth parted ever so slightly, your lips forming that wonderful "o" they make when he catches you off guard with a sudden sensation. By Satan, he loved the little noises and faces he could draw from you.

"Where were we?" Alastor purred. He ran both hands up your thighs, bunching the dress as he went.

Tiny blue sparks jumped from your form and into the grass. The Bayou was a wet and humid place, and it would take more than that to ignite it.

"We have no vèvè to protect us out here, mon couer," despite the demon's warning, his fingers continued to climb until they crested your hips.

Alastor shot you a knowing look, mischief glowing in his eyes.

You weren't wearing any underwear.

You smirked at the demon as you leaned forward, your hands going to his hair as you settled against his chest, your wings folded behind you, "Try not to electrocute me."

"Try not to set my Bayou ablaze," the demon purred, relishing in the feel of your fingers in his antlers.

With your eyes half-lidded, you purred, mocking his tone, "As you command, Mr. Alastor."

Alastor pulled you down to him, but he didn't immediately tear into you as you expected. No. He kissed you slowly and deeply, as if savouring the very taste of you on his tongue.

There was something very, very different about this time.

Alastor’s radio clicks on a smooth jazz, his favorite, actually: Nat King Col's "Unforgettable."

Slowly, Alastor's hands traced your silhouette, caressing your hips, the dip in your waist, the shape of your breasts. His hips did not buck, his teeth did not bite, his lips did not bruise. The demon did not give you any of the usual signs that he was hungry, insatiable as he had been for the past few days.

And then it hit you. Alastor was letting you take the lead.

You smiled against his mouth, and took the opportunity you didn't have before to roam his skin. You followed the chiseled edge of his jaw, to the spot just below his earlobe, before nipping it and eliciting an extremely satisfying gasp from Alastor.

You followed down his neck, planting featherlight kisses until you reached his chest. Alastor liked having only the top two buttons undone when he was being more casual, so when your mouth found the third, your fingers undid the buttons as your lips continued south.

When you hit his belly button, you pulled back to admire the sculpted chest before you. With his shirt completely undone, you traced his pecs with your fingers, following the lines of his muscles down his abdomen to the lean six-pack of his torso.

Alastor's face was red with lust, his eyes glassy, his heart beating at a million miles an hour beneath your hand. To think, you had the Radio Demon completely undone, and you hadn't even taken off your clothes.

And you weren't going to let this go to waste.

You pulled off his belt and then undid the button of his pants. Without hesitation, you grabbed Alastor's shaft and pulled his cock free. The demon grits his teeth as his claws dig into the meat of your hips. You stroke, eliciting a growl deep from within his chest.

Oh, no, you were going to savor this moment.

His head swells as you drag your thumb over his slit.

"Fuck," Alastor moans as a few green sparks of static sink into the grass.

You debated using your mouth, but to be honest, you didn't know what to do with it, but your hips? You knew how to use those.

Alastor’s head rolled back at the sight of you tugging your dress above your waist. With one hand firmly wrapped around his cock, you lined your clit up with his shaft and rolled your hips, timing it with the stroke of your hand.

Alastor made a noise halfway between a whimper and a moan that made you roll your hips again.

If you knew all it took to take down the infamous Radio Demon was the roll of your hips, you’d have had this man begging on his knees weeks ago. Oh, there is definitely more than one way accrue power and you had just found it.

“Beg,” you command, referring to all those times Alastor made you crave him, desperate for him to be inside you, hopeless for release.

The demon’s head shot up as if he didn’t hear you correctly, but you silenced any protest he would have made with another stroke and another grind of your clit into his shaft.

“Fuck,” he groaned again.

“Come on now, Mr. Alastor, where are your manners?” You pouted, drawing his attention to your lips. You licked them, if only to incite more annoyance with your demand.

Alastor growled, showing off his canines like an alpha male ready to pounce, but the demon wasn’t giving in just yet.

So you decided to up the anty.

Scooting back, you leaned down and ran your tongue across the head, lapping up the pre-cum leaking from the top. Alastor gasped, his hands instinctively knotting in your hair.

“Ah, uh, uh,” you tutted, pulling away. You leaned over his belly, stroking his cock as you intentionally brought it closer to your cleavage. Alastor’s eyes practically bugged out of his head at the sight.

You weren’t wearing a bra either and from this angle, Alastor had full view of your cleavage and breasts as you stroked again.

“What will it be, Mr. Alastor?” You kissed his lower belly, following a trail up to his neck before seating yourself atop his waist once more.

You stroked as you sat there, waiting for the demon to find enough sense - and enough air, was he even breathing? - to respond to your demand.

But oh, it was practically killing him to do so. Alastor had never begged for anything in his life.

“Please,” he moaned as you stroked, the demon completely disheveled beneath your. “Please, darling.”

Aww, how cute.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his nose, “Only because you asked nicely.”

You lined him up and gasped as you sank down to the hilt.

“Fuck, Alastor!”

The demon shot up and captured your moans with his mouth, his one hand helping to guide your hips as you slowly lifted up and came back down. With his other he palmed your breast and pinched your nipple through the red fabric causing you to yelp. Alastor continued to let you take the lead, his actions but mere assistance as you bounced up and down on his cock.

Using his antlers as leverage, you opted for hard rather than fast - knowing that’s how Alastor liked it. And with every bounce of your hips, the demon grew thicker and thicker inside you.

Alastor’s groans turned into full on moans, the most vocal you had ever heard the demon. And as your walls twitched, your climax building, you felt Alastor growing closer and closer to his own.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to last much longer, darling,” Alastor breathed.

“Good,” you smiled against his mouth. “I want you to cum.”

“Fuck,” the demon moaned.

“Cum in me Alastor,” you demanded, your hips moving faster and faster.

Alastor grabbed your hips then, his claws sinking into your flesh as he slams you down onto him harm. Sheathed to the hilt, his head bruising your cervix as he spilled inside of you with a low guttural grunt.

It was enough to send you into your own orgasm, your own personal high as the demon spilled inside of you.

You breathed heavily as your body rode the tingling aftershocks. Collapsing into Alastor, your head rested on his shoulder as the two of you sat there surrounded in a sea of green stars, your wings limp behind you.

It wouldn’t become apparent to you then, but about ten feet in every direction, with the two of you at the center, was a circle of scorched earth. You hadn’t burned down the Bayou but you had lit it on fire at some point.

And yet, the two of you did no harm to each other.

“Mon couer,” Alastor cooed as he ran a hand through your hair. “My heart,” he whispered. “Mine.”

The two of you sat there for a long moment, just drinking each other in, before continuing on with a long night of drinking, eating, laughing, and genuinely just being happy for the first time in your lives. You talked of jazz and radio, of Heaven and your life on the run with Eve. You talked of everything and nothing. You talked well past the point of exhaustion, never wanting the night to end.

And you savored every moment of it, for you had gotten good at recognizing the good times when you were in them, but knew they always had to come to an end eventually…

Awww, so cute. What could go wrong? *cough* foreshadowing *cough*

Possible alternate endings???? I'm indecisive AF

-> Chapter Seventeen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you wish to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

@chibistar45

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ts-janus-rp-blog · 2 years

Note

@pattxnsanders

Patton knew better than to wander in the woods this time of year. Everyone knew strange creatures and monsters would make their way nearby, passing through on their migration from the southern valleys to the northern forests, and so it was much too dangerous for anyone to be wandering.

And yet Patton was going out, alone. He was hoping to get a peek of the strange yet mystical creatures that would pass through, as well as getting some berries so he could make jam for his older brother. He walks quietly and swiftly, and keeps his gray cloak tucked in tightly.

Janus stumbled through the harsh greenery. He was keeping his roughened rags for clothes tightly against his body. His knees were trembling as he was trying to walk. One step. One step. One...step... The entire world spun around him, it was getting hard to see what was in front of him. But he has to keep going. One foot in front of the other. Come on Janus. You can do it. Once you reach the forests you'll have a much better chance at hiding from the predators. You can rest. Just gotta keep going. Keep going... Keep...

He tried to open his mouth, but then he was faced with the sharp reminder that he cannot. Why? Well, the predators got him once already. But he was able to run away... Not without some scraps and bruises, and a silver muzzle strapped tightly over his mouth. He can't even open his mouth slightly without the fur on his snout hitting the silver, causing his fur to hiss and be burned off. He can't even take the muzzle off with his fingers or else he's risking burning his fingers off. He also can't use his rags to take it off cause the silver burns him through the clothing. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Cause of this muzzle the werewolf hasn't been able to eat in... Oh, how long as it been? Months? Probably. It feels that way. Even as he is walking his stomach is painfully growling at him. He could feel his bones ache with every single movement. His knees won't be able to handle the weight of his body for very long. His ribs were poking out of his sides and he could feel it every time he held his arms to his sides. He's so hungry... So hungry... So hungry...

His head suddenly lifted, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly he turned towards a sound. Footsteps. Who would dare go near this pathway for mythical creatures such as himself? Either predators or someone that is asking for a death wish. He's one of the last remaining creatures to use this path for the season, everyone else is already ahead of him. Maybe they thought everyone was gone already so they can use this path again? Probably.

Or it's predators hoping to snag a few stranglers of the bunch.

Everything in his brain was telling him to keep going and try to hide away. It's most likely a predator hoping on snagging him. Go. Keep going. Try to find shelter and hide away until the human is gone-

That was, until he spotted the human.

His brain turned to mush. Every thought in his mind evaporated from his mind just like that. His pupils became slits. His mouth began to water. Drool splattered on the ground below him. His fur became thicker, denser, to protect his fragile body. And, his claws extended.

So... Hungry...

He let out a snarl before he went down onto all fours. Before he could even think he started bolting towards the human. So hungry. So hungry. So hungry. Food. Food. Meat-

SNAP

why isn't he moving? Janus snarled and growled as he clawed at the ground, trying to drag his way forward. In his wolf state he didn't even notice that his leg got caught in a bear trap.

@pattxnsanders

#sorry for the long reply

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haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll · 6 months

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Tracklist:

40 Years Super Hot Body Ready for Party • Aries Taurus Gemini Cancer Leo Virgo Libra and Scorpio Sagittarius Capricorn Aquarius Pisces Fart Song • Butterflies Scared My Cat When I Was Burping in Your Face on Wednesday Morning • Drunk Log out with Spooky Music Settings on My Firm Tits Pictures • Grandpa Says Fuck While Grandma Screams What Repeated Several Times • Grumpy Trumpy Python Toddler Taxi with False News and Emotions • Hugging Blood Thirsty Vampires with a Transylvanian Accent and Slapped Butts • I Farted as an Official Statement Against Global Warming, Expressing My Worries! • I’m Handsome When Wearing a Bag on My Head, Said the Horny Motherfuckers Politely • Is That Cellulite or Just Your Ugly Face? • Kindergarten Farting Fanfare Discussed with Disgusting Asian Clay Warriors Terracotta Song • Leaking Ladies Xylophone Solo Learning with Lusty Lashes Song • Lisping on Penis Peyote Creaking Mirth Radio, Let’s Lisp! Song • Lowering My Filthy Boobs to the Height of Your Curly Chest Hair with Freckles • Mom’s Cleaning Closet Looks Like a Women’s Porn Stash • My Gay Expense Combination Password Gore Seeking Battle Was Sinning • My Hangover Got Hung over by a Hung Guy from Hungary • My Horoscope Sign Is Poop and Yours Is Farts • Nearly Touching Myself with Your Girlfriend’s Hands While Doing the Dishes • Peeing a Farting Swearing Shouting and Pooping in Different Languages Made Me Famous Song • Petite Girls Liked My Fat Farts in Skinny Jeans with Justice • Pooping a Masterpiece in the Little Boys Room on National TV Broadcast • Puerto Del Penis Summer Holiday with Topless Sun Bathing and Surfing Fun • Puking Girls Are Holding Each Others Hair While Selling Butter to Pregnant Vomiting Men • Real Sharks Was a Great Accessory for My Swimming Pool Party Massacre • Relaxing Music for Penis Boys and Vagina Girls, I Have Money Cash, Yes! • Rescuing My Penis from Your Vagina at the Last Minute, Whoah! • Scary Music and Naked Ladies Cemetery Collection Flickering Through Growth • Shaking Sausages in the Men’s Room and Dangling Coconuts • Short Temper Anus Removal with Lipstick on the Collar • Shouting Poopers to Girls While a Crying Man Is Pooping Poop, How Adorable Screaming Babies Are! • Silly Talking Childish Macho Man Thanking Prayers for God’s Food Yes Hello! • Skinny Bitch, Fat Bitch, Rich Bitch, Poor Bitch, All Bitches Poop! • Smelling That Pussy in the Air at the Private Night Club Farting Room • Smudging Chocolate over the Toilet, So Everyone Would Think I Pooped • Sneaking Beans into Your Butthole While U Talk to a Handsome Stranger • Snuggling in Satan’s Satin Sheets with Shattered Dreams and No Boner Song • Solitary Fighting My Big Toe with the Desolate Strangler • Spoiling Desert by Pulling Your Finger Thirteen Times in a Row • Strolling with Morning Wood in the Woods While Mourning to This Song • Stutter and Chinese Food Destroyed My Artwork in the Toilet Bowl Coffee Shop • Sunny Morning Boner at the Beach Gym Towel Rental Song • Surprisingly Soft Boobs on the Milf Statue in the Garden of Jugs, Oh It Was Your Mom Sorry! •

Taming My Daughter’s Boyfriend with Booze and Fists of Agony • Teleporting My Cock to the Urinals Hurts When Peeing Penis Action • That Penis Is Not Mine, Stop Accusing Me of Curing Your Cancer! What • The Brothel Cup Cake Dispenser Had a Variety of Chocolate Brownies Too • The Giggling Killer Was Invited for Tea and Mustard with a Former Laughing Idiot • The Headache Fuckers with Migraine Were Chopping Fucking Painkillers • The Itchy Vampire Vagina Was a Gothic Curse from Medieval Times Song • The Lying Bitch Hermit Ducking Group Was Insisting on Bitch Slaps • The Penis Teens Shouting Squad Declared War on the Vagina Milfs Departure • The Pussy Cock Was Meowing and Cock-a-Doodle-Dooing with Glance • The Singing Orgy Group Remembered My Fancy Birthday Party, Super! • The Sock on My Penis Shook the Genuine Spokesman While Crying Song • The Syphilis Motown Singers Were Blowing Deranged Adultery at Me Song • The Toy Collector’s Mature Attitude Otter Raised Homeland Security Breach • The Triangle of Pussy and Clipping Smoothies Burping Smootch • Typical Asian Food Poured into the Purse of an European Hooker Prostitute Igloo • Under Water Farting Wiz Nick Y Minaj Naked Twerking Shower Saloon Barf Thong • Updating My Profile Picture While Pooping Macaroni with Japanese Subtitles • Using Mother´s Panther Underwear Because of Broken Shopping Bag to the Store • Washing Hamburgers with Dirty Sauce in Leather Pants While Howling • What Ugly Shit on Your Finger! Oh, It’s Your Wedding Ring? It’s Very Nice! • Whistling and Farting a Heavenly Polyphonic Song for Dying Virgins • Violin Licking Sounds by a Hard Baritone Dick Song Licker • Young Girls Selling Old Men´s Boxers in Thongs with Soulful Tutti-Frutti • Your Butthole Swallowed My Telephone, Will It Come out from the Mouth Then? • Your Mom´s Butt Massage Seems Innocent at First, Before Handing out Religious Leaflets

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#hyltta-polls #polls #artist: pooping poop poopers and shouting girls crying man #language: english #decade: 2010s #Novelty #tw gross #tw unsanitary #tw feces #ask to tag bc i feel like this needs more but dont know what

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slavghoul · 1 year

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Interview from Upset Magazine 6/2023

Words: Steven Loftin

Like an apparition manifesting within a dense fog, it was through radio static that Swedish rockers Ghost were formed. In the kindergarten he attended as a young boy, Tobias Forge found himself enamoured with the music crackling through the little toy speakers. From this point forward, he began picking apart the notes and melodies - his journey toward the lore and canon coming into focus as he sat, trying to figure out how this black magic could be summoned.

While it would be many years before he would don his garb as Papa Emeritus, the essence of what his future would sound like was being set through his exposure to a wide variety of music. If any proof were needed, just look to the impressive list of covers Ghost have put their ghastly mark upon, including 2016's 'Popestar' EP, which included the band's takes on Echo & The Bunnymen ('Nocturnal Me') and Simian Mobile Disco ('I Believe').

Ghost's latest EP is another covers bonanza. A five-piece offering of Tobias's backstory, 'Phantomime' plays out like a Greatest Hits radio playlist - a fitting throwback to Tobias' first dalliances with music. Of course, when a group more aligned to the metal/hard rock community bust out covers, including Genesis and Tina Turner, eyebrows are raised. To this reaction, Tobias scoffs. "In 1991, Genesis was one of the biggest bands on the planet! That was a huge hit. In the mid-80s, when I had an older teenage brother who rented every VHS movie that came out, of course, we saw the fucking Thunderdome, and that was a huge hit, and it's still being played on Swedish radio. It's an evergreen; it's not an eclectic choice at all," he declares. "I grew up listening to Stranglers because my brother liked them. What else do we have, Iron Maiden - I mean, are you kidding? I'm a metalhead!"

Originally conceived during the sessions for their fifth album, last year's 'Impera', there were two folders on his computer's desktop: one named 'Impera', the other simply 'Covers'. As the ideas for 'Impera' grew, Tobias would enter his usual routine of working on a cover or two. "At any point, when you lose a little wind in writing your own things, it's quite nice to say, 'Today let's go in and work on the covers'; you can choose anything you want, you can work on absolutely anything you want. And you don't have to finish it, you don't have to release it, you don't have to do anything, but just continue working."

He likens it to the freedom of being a theatre owner who, instead of trying to pen the next greatest Broadway phenomenon, opts to have a go at something already timeless and perfected.

"Maybe you're like, 'Okay, so this fall we're just going to do a reinterpretation of Hamlet instead, that's going to be fine, and that keeps everyone working, and that keeps a project moving along! And I find a similar thing with working on covers. So as I was writing "Impera', the covers folder was also growing exponentially and at a point. I had this idea that was going to be a full-length album."

With COVID restrictions meaning the original producer for 'Impera' was stuck in the US, Tobias had to source a replacement. It would be Klas Åhlund who stepped up to the plate. But, on one condition. "He was pretty upfront. He was like. Yeah, I only want to make the record; I don't want to work on covers," Tobias remembers "Fine, fine, fine, that's fine." he shrugs. "So, after the 'Impera' recording was done, I felt as if making a completely different, whole record again: I didn't have time for that. I didn't have the energy for that. But once I trimmed down the number of songs to only these five to make a very rocky record, it loosened up the screws a little bit for me in terms of like, "Okay, so now I know what the EP is going to be - it's going to be a full, full-throttle rock one."

Ditching some rumoured softer covers, including U2, Misfits, and Motörhead. 'Phantomime is instead a delectable slice of Ghost doing what Ghost do best: creating theatrically big rock. It's Tobias's mark upon some bonafide classics, including Iron Maiden's 'Phantom of the Opera' which feels as befitting to Ghost as it does seeing Papa Emeritus kick the bucket ready for his next iteration. While the focus was on creating this small dose of Tobias's musical DNA, it also served another purpose; to simply be "not very complicated." The project began with the mindset of "we can make this recording loosely - quick but stress-free - as opposed to making a record which is your hard fifth record that needs to live up to certain standards. So it was just a very inspired, very simple recording, actually."

After the complexities of 'Impera' which wound up requiring two studios simultaneously running in parallel "to be able to work efficiently" - Ghost was morphing into a taxing experience for the band leader, "It was just a bigger thing [and] way more stressful."

Deciding to strip that covers folder down to the five tracks, by all accounts, 'Phantomime was a measured and reserved effort. "It ended up being me, an engineer, and an occasional musician coming in and doing something. It was so much looser, so much more mentally Feng Shui," he smiles, relief glowing in his voice. "And I think that that reflected a little bit on the two different records. They're meant to be related - they are definitely related - they were made roughly in the same time, but they're completely different things."

'Phantomime' plays out like a ghoulish social commentary. Starting with a searing rendition of Televison's 'See No Evil, the journey traverses the scourge of Televangelism (Genesis' Jesus He Knows Me') with a delightfully-fitting NSFW video, the instant gratification humans require to feel (The Stranglers' Hanging Around"); the pull back into cruel reality (Phantom Of The Opera"), and the resulting undying hope from a degraded society (Tina Turner's 'We Don't Need Another Hero"). Each offering is bolstered with Ghost's dramatic, theatric rock licks and Tobias's powerhouse vocals.

With 'Phantomime' in the bag and the European leg of the 'Impera' tour imminent (Tobias is currently holed up in preparation), the idea of reflecting on how he came to go from a young boy listening to the static sounds of pop hits on the radio to orchestrating not only a feverishly adored band and its lore but finding the capacity to embrace his inner music nerd, couldn't be more timely. Tobias's relationship with music has always been one of intrigue. He's a pop songwriter with the ambition and ideas of a stadium rock band, which, in essence, explains perfectly why Ghost can sit in a unique, exponentially growing and expanding space.

"My earliest inclination of wanting to transform into something else was definitely Twisted Sister," he recalls. "You know, "I Want To Rock' and 'We're Not Going To Take It' - that was a huge record in 1984, and in 1984, I was three years old," he says. "My brother was 16, so everything that was going on pop-culturally amongst teenagers was happening in my home."

It was thanks to his brother that much of Tobias's relationship with music was formed. He's introduced him to various giants of the time, like tectonic plates being pushed around, impacting and shaping his musical landscape. Translating for young Tobias the attitude of punk at the time, as well as everything else that was 'in', he remembers, "When I was a kid, and he was supposed to babysit me, as a pacifier he would put me in front of [Sex Pistols mockumentary film] 'The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle"," he laughs. "And then when that was over, he would just switch to [X-rated cartoon] Fritz the Cat. And I loved that stuff, of course. That was as much [about] the expression and the attitude. Of course, I loved the songs, but it was also filtered or combined with big songs for me." Those big songs ("Men At Work 'Down Under'," he initially cites, "those sort of songs still have a unique place in my in my writing") would eventually entwine with his darker side that he'd explore as he grew older. "Whilst my whole adolescence was completely in the name of extreme metal, I always had a very soft spot for Top 40 rock and pop radio always," Tobias explains. "And I've listened to that all my life. So it's almost equal portions of Venom as it is anything. that was on the radio."

Also, witnessing shock and glam-rock bands explode intrigued Tobias. He became swept away in the idea that not only could you push a boundary to its absolute limits with convictions and over-the-top grandiosity, but you could do so with songs that quantifiably bop. But, as time has gone onto prove, it wasn't pop music that enamoured Tobias enough that he wanted to become a pop star. It's the mythology and mystery that has become his calling card.

Tobias remained an enigma under the disguise of an evolving form of the iconic Papa Emeritus (now in his fourth incarnation) until 2017, after a lawsuit from a previous iteration of his backing band's rotating cast, the Nameless Ghouls. Visual and video components to releases are often hoovered up by the fandom, stripped apart for meaning and potential. Instagram posts are referred to as a '[Message From The Clergy]" (a phrase later claimed for 2022's Best Of playlist), and lest it is forgotten, the Ghost 'Grucifix' - the prominent crucifix deconstructed into Tobias's gothic 'G' logo - which ties together the vision, religious imagery and satire that would become a core part of the Ghost experience.

His musical ambition and education colliding in the middle of his Venn diagram between dark metal and pop magic is thanks to the likes of the aforementioned Twisted Sister and W.A.S.P., as well as his teen years in the black metal community. "Their first record was also a huge impact in Swedish media," Tobias remembers. "There was this big sort of Satanic panic thing going on at the time in the fall of 1984. Where you had essentially all those things happening. You had Mötley Crüe 'Shout At The Devil', which came out a year earlier, and they were there because they toured with Iron Maiden in 1984, so there was a lot of focus on these shock-rock bands. I saw that as a kid, and I was immediately blown away - it was the coolest thing I've ever seen. And I think that that was the trigger that made me identify as that is how I want to express myself."

Decoding the songs he'd hear also became an integral part of that expression. "That was the only thing I did for years before I started writing my own songs." Recalling his time in kindergarten, they had a piano and guitar, which Tobias became infatuated with. Instead of playing with the other children, he would find himself enraptured, listening to the radio or flipping over whichever cassette happened to be loaded at the time. He would then imitate the sounds he was soaking up. "A lot of those early beginnings of how to learn and how I've learned how to understand music filters through everything I do now," he explains.

The early records he'd find himself trying to unpack included KISS 'Alive' and Pink Floyd's 'Piper At The Gates Of Dawn' - disparate matches, but undoubtedly Ghost fuel with hard rock melodies and psychedelic tendencies. "I had the first and the second Pink Floyd on a double LP that was called 'A Nice Pair'. And that's the shit that I sat and listened to and played guitar to," he says proudly. "That's weird music, that's really weird chord sequences and melodies that sort of went nowhere. And, that coloured me a lot in my vision of this is how you write a pop song. Of course, I knew more conventional writing as well. But I figured that this resonates with me, and I want to write more like that."

Tobias is the first to admit that the influence his musical exposure has had on him isn't the most straightforward. "For all the years that I was in bands, up until Ghost, basically when I was in bands not doing well, I got a lot of, I wouldn't say stick, but it was always like, 'You write weird songs, there's something weird about them, and it will never really become anything because it has that sort of weirdness to it".

As he grew, the songs he'd heard reflected this inherent strangeness he'd constructed. Before the days of mass formulaic pop factories, the music emanating from the radio abided by the strictest rule of needing to at least be approachable, but within these confines, artists of the 70s and 80s would push the envelope as far as they could. Citing Nik Kershaw's 'The Riddle' as one example, "Holy shit, if you would have taken that song and taken it to a chord structure masterclass amongst pop writers now who want to write songs for Miley Cyrus or The Weeknd or any of that sort of level they would say, no, no, no, no, that this will never work. It's too strange. It's too weird. You can't do that; it doesn't have the normal chord progression.

"There are a lot of songs from the 80s that are like that," he reckons, "compared to the now, more informative way of writing, the 80s was braver actually, and it worked well. And those songs are evergreens in a way that a lot of the top radio shit from seven years ago is forgotten, and that's the stuff that I grew up with when I started playing the guitar."

Having made that inner sanctum, he would enter kindergarten a reality, one where he can explore those recesses of his mind shaken by the musical earthquakes he experienced; now, he's matured and deeply entrenched in the reality. "Throughout the modern day of pop writing, I know a few professional pop songwriters, and we continue having these conversations because in pop," he says, "where some of them work prolifically on really high releases, they're like, it's strange how the business wants everything to be so informative. Everybody wants a weird song, but still, all the big songs are usually very, very formatted [and] very, very simple."

While unpacking the songs he'd heard back in the 80s offered Tobias a chance to comprehend what makes a good song, it, more importantly, helped him to set out doing it on his own. When digging into crafting a new Ghost number, Tobias explains that "each new song is a little bit like virgin territory with its own riddle to be solved, and is always a combination of the horror of maybe not solving the puzzle, with the thrill when you do. And it's never easy because each new song needs something new. And so you constantly need to feed your ability with knowledge about how other things are."

Breaking it down into a figurative example, he likens it to being like a detective. "I'm assuming that part of being a great detective is to constantly have an open mind, but also constantly learning about human behaviour and wha people do. If you just had 100 forensic classes, but you know nothing about people and how they live their lives, it's gonna be hard to solve crimes." The same rings true for writers who have to read to improve and further understand language, while comedians pull from real-life experiences - music is no different. Tobias's early days of stripping down songs to their basic parts and then rebuilding them have remained a constant endeavour. "But that's how you write songs as well; you go and absorb new things."

The covers process, as mentioned, is a release for Tobias. When things are stuck when trying to piece together a new chapter for the Ghost bible, a cover offers up a chance for something lighter. "Working on covers can be equally euphoric," he confirms, "because it's fun to understand a song whereas, on the other hand, it can be almost demoralising because you're like, I can't believe that this song is so much better than anything that I've written! And it's so much easier. It's so simple."

"I find myself overcomplicating things often, but you might not hear the complicated detour that I took to end up at the more understandable, straighter version that ended up being the actual recording," he continues. "That's a never-ending struggle because that's how it's supposed to be. It's not like you write the one song. I don't think I know anyone or know of anyone who's content with the idea of having written one huge song. And then you know, okay, that's nirvana for you. You don't write the one song the same way that if you're a comedian, it's not like, 'Oh, I just told the funniest joke. So now I'm done".

While Tobias is one for wanting to keep the ball rolling and on a constant endeavour to continue his musical evolution, he knows there's a limit. Every release of Ghost must have a purpose. Nodding to the 60s method of firing singles out on all fronts, eventually compiling them for a full-length release, Tobias acknowledges his relationship with his fans is based on a more long-term understanding. "That's not how we do things; we make an album, and off of that album, there are singles - it's a 70s/80s thinking. And I don't want to refrain from that - I don't want too many singles to be these autonomous little creatures."

But the world is different now. It's a Wild West where being in the masses' consciousness is key, so things may have to change for him. Admitting that right now, he knows he's post-release of Ghost's last canon entry, 'Impera', which arrived back in 2022, and while 'Phantomime' is a reasonable enough bridge, sooner or later, he's going to have to play the game of ensuring Ghost ramp up. Earlier this year, Ghost collaborated with Def Leppard's Joe Elliott on a re-release of 'Impera' cut 'Spillways' which, while a fantastic addition to their arsenal, adds to the same notion Tobias is fearful of. "I'm slowly preparing for making a new record that's going to come out in 2024, which is way too long for the current contemporary music climate; you need to be ever-present," the last phrase hanging in the air ominously.

That doesn't mean he has to lower his standards, however. No Ghost release will exist just for content's sake. Everything must have its place. He even reckons a 14-track album is "a lot of music", and he still sees an album as being "22 minutes of music per side" - true to form, currently, no standard issue of any Ghost album breaches 12 tracks. He's even ready to aim for the likes of The Rolling Stones and The Beatles by swiftly lobbing a couple of spicy takes out. "Look, man, I don't even think that 'Exile on Main Street' is that good. Not even the fucking White album is that great - break it up! Both of those records would have been better if they were trimmed down to singular records."

That pop mind breaking through; Tobias is someone who knows that music is entertainment. Certainly, a medium which often leads to more bulky connotations, but it must entertain. It's why he doesn't pay any mind to those naysayers that yearn for Ghost to be more metal or to follow a different path. This is Tobias's game; we're just privy to the sermon. These days the floodgates are open and, when compared to previous decades, as Tobias remembers it, "you had to buy your own records. Whatever additional music you got, that wasn't maybe heard on the TV or the radio, when you took something from someone else, was usually a choice, so music styles could in some way be a little bit more insular back then just because you weren't subjected to as much." He mentions his beloved death metal as being a signifier of the changes happening. "Back in the day, when I was starting listening to extreme metal, that was completely embraced by a certain little subculture or group of mostly teenagers and 20-somethings. Whereas in the 2000s, when Vice started doing black metal reporting, all of a sudden you have indie personalities who were fans of Darkthrone, and so, obviously, what ended up that turned into this fusion, which was a positive and very natural thing."

This cultural shift is another reason Ghost's space is widening and its success growing. "Nowadays, people are a little bit more open," he admits. But, with this comes issues. "As time has progressed, metal and hard rock, as well as most genres that have been around for a while, [they've] gone from this youth culture to a conservative institution because so many of the fans are now aged." The passage of time waits for no one. But, more presciently for culture, it also means our understanding of what is 'good' and what should be where is moulded differently to when we were younger. "Unfortunately, that happens to most people regardless of who you were when you were 20," Tobias reckons, "or your ideals when you're like 40/50/60 years old. Your brain starts morphing into a slightly more conservative, slightly more nostalgic... You don't want things to change."

Tobias is the first to hold his hands up and admit the same has happened to him. He yearns for 1984 and even 1990-94. He would even be happy with 1987, back to those days with the crackling radio and a childlike spirit. "That would be so much cooler. I loved that way more than in this day and age. But I can't sit around and mope about that because it's not a problem that it's not 1987."

'Phantomime' is proof nostalgia can be a useful tool. It fuels with passion, and Ghost is Tobias's Neverland. "There's such a debate about what we are and why that is." Ghost are a band that, thanks to Tobias's musical education, transcend time. They exist on their own plain and with the evergreen, timeless sounds of yesteryear echoing around Tobias's head, long may Papa reign with his gloved melodic iron fist.

#the band ghost #tobias forge #interview #really good one 👍

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intimacyequalsdeath · 8 months

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Will you be my Valentine? Sugar day 3 Charles Lee Ray

Welcome everyone to day 3! This if you can't tell was a very last minute event decision for me to make but none the less I hope you all are enjoying it! As usual a master list for easy access will be posted when the even is over.

Notes: Minors DNI, SFW, No specific descriptions of reader or pronouns are used, Y/N isn't used either. If pronouns do have to be used then the reader will go by they/them. This fic doesn't really follow canon with the timeline of when Chucky became the doll to make it work so just keep that in mind.

"So like, Do you need to eat still?"

"What?"

"I mean you're like a doll and all now, do you still need to eat?"

"Look babe, I've only been at this whole doll thing for like a week now don't ask me stupid shit"

"Have you tried to eat?"

Chucky sighs, a long, hard, overexaggerated sigh and pressing his small doll fingers to the bridge of the rubber nose on his new found face. He's propped up on a few phone books in your living room that help him to see the tv better from the couch.

"No. I haven't. Just cause I'm a doll now doesn't mean shit. I'm still The Lakeshore Strangler"

"Well maybe you should then. Valentine's day is coming up and I swear Chuck if you don't eat the dinner I make you for the THIRD year in a row."

"Hey I've only missed it the last two years cause I had to lay low from the cops."

"And who's fault is that? Maybe you should've been more careful"

"Well if you could actually know how to fuckin' drive. I would've been able to have you as the getaway driver"

You gasped in faux shock and placed a hand on your chest as you stared at him. A sly grin overtook the doll's face and he stared right back at you, ripping his eyes away from the television.

"I can drive!"

"Yeah, drive us off the fuckin road. Look babe not everyone is meant to drive"

"Charles Lee Ray! How dare you insinuate that I can't drive. Don't make me remind you of that time you almost ran us into a tree while you were running from the cops"

"Oh please that was ONE time. Plus we didn't actually hit the damn thing did we?"

"We almost did though, and that's enough for me"

"Yeah yeah, whatever"

He turned back to old school movie that was playing on his tv, it was a murder mystery go figure and you were almost 100 percent certain it was one of his favorites from when he was alive, well as a human that is.

"Can I dress you up for Valentine's day?" you asked after a few beats of silence.

"Can you do fuckin what?"

"Dress you up, ya know like in those costumes they have the teddy bears wear"

He shot you a deadpanned look, clearly unimpressed.

"No, stay the fuck away from me with any teddy bear dress up bullshit"

"But if you can't wear an actual suit for dinner why not wear a teddy bear one?"

"Who said I'm going to dress up at all?"

"It's Valentine's day! You have to dress up!"

"No the fuck I don't"

"Sure Chuck"

You remarked, standing up from the couch and heading towards the hallway to go to bed. You heard shuffling behind you as Chucky got down off his phonebooks to follow you.

"Your not puttin me in a fucking costume" He muttered from behind you.

"Mmhmm"

You opened the bedroom door and made your way to the attached bathroom to do your usual nighttime routine. Once you were done you made your way over to the bed that Chucky had already made himself comfortable in and laid down next to him.

"What color do you want your costume to be?"

Chucky sighed and swore under his breath.

"Do. Not. Get. Me. A. Costume."

"No Chucky, of course not Chucky"

Soon the two of you were lulled into sleep, or at least whatever semblance of sleep a possessed doll could achieve. When Chucky woke up the next day there were two things he noticed.

One you were obviously not in bed next to him and two was in your place on your pillow there was a dress suit. A suit that just happened to be about the size of a teddy bear.

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #valentines day #charles lee ray x reader #childs play #seed of chucky #curse of chucky #chucky x reader

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raina-at · 1 year

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Date

There’s a few things in life theoretical knowledge can’t prepare you for. On top of the list, or very near it, is the actual experience of raising a child. The daily, hourly experience of living with a child isn’t comparable to anything else, and it can’t be properly described in words.

Sherlock loves Rosie to distraction. But, it has to be said, if there was a world championship of accidental cockblocking, she would medal without breaking a sweat.

That adorable, wonderful, funny, smart little girl can ruin the mood so quickly Sherlock would honestly be impressed if he wasn’t simultaneously so frustrated he can barely see straight.

John lovingly calls her the world’s most effective chastity belt, and Sherlock agrees wholeheartedly.

Sherlock thinks this might be the reason most couples wait a few years before having children.

Unfortunately, he and John never did anything in the right order. They fell in love pretty much on sight, then spent ten years being stupid. In between Sherlock pretend died, then (almost) died for real, John got married, had a kid, the wife died, John moved back in, Sherlock became a second father, and then, finally, they started shagging.

Only they never had a sex holiday, because they have a Gremlin they can’t inflict on anyone for a week to just bugger off and shag each other’s brains out. Not yet, anyway. Molly’s offered, but their schedules have not aligned yet. Sherlock hopes it will happen soon.

The last few weeks were especially harrowing. Sherlock was in Cardiff for a week for a boring case, and when he came back, he was busily snogging John against the refrigerator when Rosie came down from her room and vomited all over the sitting room carpet.

If there’s anything that kills the mood faster than a vomiting four-year-old, Sherlock never wants to encounter it.

Of course they both got sick as well, and for the better part of a week, even the thought of anyone touching any part of Sherlock that wasn’t his forehead or his hand was frankly revolting.

Then Rosie dislocated her shoulder and had to stay home from daycare for a solid week. They were both so exhausted every evening that whoever had bedtime duty that night routinely fell asleep in Rosie’s bed before Rosie did.

But now.

Now Rosie’s at Molly’s. They had a lovely date night, with dinner at Angelo’s and a walk through Regent’s Park in the moonshine, and Sherlock is a tiny bit tipsy from the wine and from banked arousal. He’s got John backed against the sitting room door, and they’re snogging leisurely. John’s hands have found their way into his clothes, one hand is caressing his arse, the other trailing up his spine.

“The things I want to do to you,” John mutters, grinning at Sherlock, wicked and full of promise.

“Oh, I have a list as well,” Sherlock replies, biting at John’s throat.

John moans, letting his head fall back against the door, exposing more of his skin to Sherlock’s hungry mouth. “I hope getting me out of my clothes before I go completely crazy is on that list,” he breathes, the hand on Sherlock’s arse pulling their hips together. He’s got a leg slung around Sherlock’s and is dreamily rubbing his erection against Sherlock’s thigh.

“In a minute,” Sherlock mutters, going back to biting at John’s neck. John smells delicious there, like fresh air and a bit of sweat and his cologne.

The door to 221 opens, closes and someone ascends the stairs.

Sherlock sighs. “Fuck off, Lestrade,” he yells through the closed door.

John giggles a bit, hiding his face in Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock smiles. That’s his favourite thing in the world, a happy, aroused, giggly John Watson, all his to do with as he pleases. He kisses the laugh from John’s lips.

There’s a knock at the door. Right behind John’s shoulder blades.

“He said fuck off, Lestrade,” John says, freeing his lips briefly from Sherlock’s before diving right back again for another deep, dirty, single-minded kiss.

“Listen, chaps, I get it, but the Lambeth strangler’s resurfaced. We need to move on this now.”

Sherlock draws back from the kiss. “How do you know it’s him?” he asks, holding John in place as he makes a move to withdraw his hands from their various places on Sherlock’s person.

“Red string, candles, the works. It’s the same man, Sherlock. It’s not a copycat, we’re sure.”

Sherlock sighs. They’ve been after the strangler for years. Sherlock has never had the opportunity to see a fresh crime scene.

“It’s okay,” John says, quietly, so Lestrade won’t hear through the door. “I understand. This is important.”

Sherlock meets John’s eyes. John looks disappointed, but he knows ending a date with chasing a serial killer is as traditional for them as sex is for other couples.

The case is alluring. Surely at least an eight. It’s important.

But so is John.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock says, leaning in and nosing along John’s neck while speaking, “walk away now, no questions asked, and give us one hour, no questions asked, and I’ll take the next five cases you’re offering, no questions asked.”

There’s a noticeable pause, then Lestrade says, quietly, “One hour.”

They hear him walk down the stairs and the door to 221 closes behind him.

“Delaying a serial killer crime scene for a whole hour, for me?” John mutters, grinning at Sherlock, bright and happy. “Now I know you love me.”

“Some people need a lot of convincing,” Sherlock mutters, sinking his teeth into John’s neck.

“Take me to bed,” John says, winding his hands into Sherlock’s hair. “And convince me some more.”

Here. Fluff and sexytimes like I promised!

Thank you so much @calaisreno for the tag and the prompt.

Tagging a few people: @jrow @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @meetinginsamarra @lisbeth-kk @khorazir @discordantwords @thetimemoves @the-reading-lemon @7-percent and anyone else who wants to play.

Also, I'm collecting all my ficlets on AO3 here.

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fic #my fic #may 2023 prompts #Date #parentlock #Established relationship #sexytimes

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metalmonki · 3 months

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Objection!

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Next Chapter

The day had finally come. I had successfully graduated Harvard Law. My Mum, Dad, brother Sonny and sisters Bella, Teresa and Gina had made the trip out of Staten Island to witness the graduation. The youngest of the Carisi clan, I choose to follow Sonny into the criminal prosecution career track. Sonny had recently transferred to the Elite Manhattan Special Victims Unit and was also studying at Fordham Law ‘to make myself a better detective’ he had said. Sonny and I, despite our 11-year age gap, were completely inseparable. He had been the one who got the rest of our family together to be here today. Sonny is the whole reason I was graduating today. He had encouraged me even after Mum and Dad had voiced their disappointment at my choice.

I had barely made it off the stage when Sonny had scooped me up in his arms and began spinning us around. He had the worlds biggest smile on his face and repeated over and over again how proud he was of me. Our parents and sisters soon joined us.

“I’m going to cook a big feast tonight just for you” Mom smiled.

“You always cook a big feast, that’s every meal for you” Dad scoffed.

“Oh shush you cranky old man” Mum swatted at him with open hands.

We all laughed at the pair and walked off to the cars. We had a long drive ahead of us back to Staten Island. After dinner I would then have to drive back into Manhattan with Sonny. I had come here with Sonny yesterday from his apartment in Manhattan and had no choice but to go back there with him tonight. Now I had graduated I had no clue what I was suppose to do. I had been applying for positions in almost every law firm in New York with no luck. I’d even applied for the DA’s office with no success. I knew Sonny would let me live with him for however long it took for me to find my feet. He had insisted on it in fact when I’d moved back to New York last month. This had been Mum and Dads complaint. I would waste my time on a piece of paper that would lead me nowhere. I’d even put in an extra two years on a masters degree just to increase my chances.

“Hay kiddo is everything okay?” Sonny spoke up “You’ve been silent for the last 45 minutes and you look worried”

“Maybe Mum and Dad were right” Was all I could get out.

“About what? Don’t tell me your doubting yourself now” Sonny smiled over at me.

“I spent the whole month applying for positions with no luck, all I’ve managed is a minimum wage bodega job. I can’t rely on you forever Sonny, you have your own life, the woman at work you said you fancy, while I just wasted six years to get a piece of paper that’s turning out to be useless. I wanted to be up there with the greats like Alexander Cabot and Rafael Barba” I sighed picking at my nails.

“Y/N Carisi always worrying” Sonny chuckled “Give it time you’ll get something soon; you don’t need to rush”

“I’m not trying to rush I just don’t like not knowing” I threw my hands up.

But wait I did. For 9 months I applied for any law jobs that came up. I worked my ass off at the bodega, saving every penny I could to get out of Sonny’s flat. Then one day it happened. I had been busy cooking dinner, a simple chicken alfredo, when Sonny basically smashed his way through the door. I hadn’t expected him home until much later. I knew they were having trouble catching the Central Park Strangler as the papers had dubbed him. A horrid man who would stalk lone women in central park, strangle and rape them. Sonny had said he was escalating an attack every night, he hadn’t killed anyone yet but Sonny was sure he would soon. He had made me promise not to leave the flat alone at night until they got the guy. He had left DNA at every scene so as soon as they got him he was going away for life. No chance of a plea bargain, no way to weasel out of it. Sonny had a huge smile on his face as he walked into the kitchen.

“I’m guessing by the smile on your face you caught your guy? That or you finally grew a pair and asked Amanda out and she said yes” I chuckled.

“Yes, well no, but yes” Sonny stumbled over his words while he hung his coat up and took his shoes off.

“Well which is it?” I laughed.

“We caught the guy, Barba had him shipped to rikers an hour ago” Sonny put his brief case on the bench and dug through it producing a manila envelope. “I also got this for you” he handed the envelope to me.

I wiped my hands off on my apron and took the envelope. I turned it over in my hands taking note of the District Attorneys office logo in the corner. I disregarded it as just being an envelope Sonny had handy. I turned the envelope over once more and unwound the string keeping it closed. Inside was a stack of paperwork maybe 30 pages thick. Written on top of the first sheet in bold letters were the words OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT. I looked up shocked at Sonny before looking back at the papers. We are pleased to offer you a position as an assistant to ADA Rafael Barba at the New York District Attorney Office.

“Oh Sonny this is amazing thank you” I pulled him into a hug.

“It was nothing I just called in a favour when I heard Barba needed some extra help” Sonny chuckled “All you need to do is fill in the forms and drop them off to Barba tomorrow. He says he’ll in his office from 3 onward”.

“I’ll fill them in first thing but for now lets eat!”.

“Oh you mean the food that’s burning on the stove?” Sonny chuckled.

“Shit!” I spun back to the stove but it was pointless the chicken had already started turning black and the pasta was almost boiled dry.

“I’ll order out and you can trying to salvage my pot and pan” Sonny laughed walking off phone in hand.

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #law and order svu #sonny carisi

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barcodeboyz · 1 year

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I must reiterate how hot he is

#the strangler #last year game #last year the nightmare #last year #the strangler last year

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deusluxuria · 10 months

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Things they love that make people go "WHAT" when they say they love the thing:

Abdul: The band TOOL. Particularly the "Lateralus" album. He's not as interested in the lyrics as much as the bizarre, startling time signatures and other unusual creative things... and some of their songs are angry as hell and very trauma-affirming.

Dio: Sewing, cooking, gardening, and other fairly mundane domestic activities.

Doppio: Opera and musical theater. He has quite the set of pipes. "Gretchen am Spinnrade" is his favorite song, and he can just sit at a piano and play/sing through the whole thing without breaking a sweat.

Giorno: Nine-Inch Nails. The meaner and angrier the song, the better, since he never talks about difficult things in his life but certainly needs an outlet. "Broken" is his favorite album, particularly the track "Pinion" as it expresses a lot of agony without any words. Also, Korn's self-titled album from 1994 (which, if you're interested in it... seriously look up trigger warnings first for the last trick).

Gyro: Johnny. Before he met him, he didn't think he could ever love anyone (besides his mother and siblings).

Johnny: Singing and playing piano. It was just about all he did for two years after his injury.

Jolyne: Really really really weird media (she inherited this from Jotaro). Ren & Stimpy, The Greasy Strangler, Sorry to Bother You, anything by Harmony Korine or John Waters, etc etc

Jotaro: Disco and funk music. He's been going to disco dance competitions with Holly since he was little, and they've won first place a number of times. Some might say the photos from these competitions are some of the only times he looks genuinely happy.

Pucci: Madonna's most controversial songs, performances, and statements. Also Tori Amos, Sinéad O'Connor, and anyone else who has bold criticisms towards the institution of Christianity.

Risotto: Anything cute and fluffy, especially animals. His teammates in the assassination squad sometimes have to hold his ass back if he sees a dog on the street.

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marivoid · 5 months

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Entry 34

Day 228

Since the Angel won't be in for a few days, I decided that I would find a "Nook in the Wall" so to speak. Small shops that are hidden to the normal eye and one has to go out of their way to find it. Something that the people back in my G.U.I.D.E. used to speak so much about.

I was hoping to find one of these mysterious hidden shops.

And find it I did. Well. Actually, my growling stomach did.

As I sit here writing this update from a very comfy seat in a small bakery, I have a few things to update. One, apparently there are people that are not mortal. Two... Brian is a surprisingly good lookout.

When I first got here, I was greeted by a cozy little bakery. I hadn't seen a bakery since... Well, not important to today. As I made my way along, just enjoying myself and the sight of the bakery, a woman shouted at me over a tiny, head sized square in the wooden wall.

"Be right out there, Love! My pin's being downright awful at the moment!"

And by pin... She meant a rolling pin with one of its handles broken clean off.

But I will not lie. When I saw this woman... Something about her threw me off. At a brief glance, this woman looks kind! Like an absolute sweetheart of a woman, working her bum off every day for her bakery. But... Goodness, it's something I can't explain. Her eyes seem to be too perfect, her face too symmetrical when staring at her head on, her ears are so long and pointy... And the massive wings on her back.

Apparently people can have REAL wings. The Crashlands get even more interesting every day. And of course, she wasn't complete without an odd mechanical crow clinging to her shoulder.

"What can I get for you? Got some scones, a few donuts if you got an itchen for something sweet! Or something salty? I got scavengers in a tarp if you want some of those!" Her voice was heavily accented with a dialect from a VERY old ago. (I think Australian? I can't remember, those text books were aged ago. And I think scavengers in a tarp are like pigs in a blanket, but... I didn't ask to find out.)

"I guess just a scone would do? Something small and... I think..." I kept getting distracted by that haunting blue eye. "Your crow seems... Friendly." (I did not think he was friendly. At all.)

"What do you mean?" Her head had whipped around to glare at the robotic Crow, shooting him a look of some kind. (I think I was still dealing with the fact that this woman's whole head could turn on a DIME!) "Ohhh! Brian! He ain't nothing but all beak, no talons." She had assured me her head flipped right back around to look at him. "Now, back to what you were ordering?"

"A scone would be nice and if you have it, coffee? I haven't had a cup in forever." (It had been nearly a year at the time of me writing this. Coffee is not easy to come by!)

"Alright, love. Go ahead and take a seat, I'll call for you when you're ready. Could I get your name for the order?"

I nearly gave it to her. It seemed so simple. Just to give a little name. But there was that odd feeling again. Something just didn't feel right. Like there was a second meaning behind those brown eyes of hers.

"Just 67 works. You know how names are in the Crashlands! Never give em if you don't ever see em again!"

Her eyes lingered on me a bit too long but she did eventually nod and get to work gathering the items. I ducked away to a table after a few customers stumbled on through and waited for a bit. It was just nice to sit down for once and enjoy the smell of baked goods and not need to worry about acid rain or Stranglers trying to get me.

However... That peace did not last long.

That mechanical crow came straight over to me. Piercing blue eyes constantly staring at me.

"... Hello, Brian. Um... Pretty bird wants a cookie? No, crows can't eat cookies can they? Uhm... Don't know about scones. Maybe? You are a robot."

A robotic caw. Small, scratchy, definitely not right. Like a broken voice box.

"Well... That is no good. Voice box going a little haywire? Hold on a minute." I'm still ever so grateful I'm a collector of most things that are considered "junk." Because what did I happen to find in my bag?

Three different voice boxes, ranging in sizes. And one just so happened to be very small.

"Aha. I knew I had something." I am not lying when I write this, I swear I'm not. But he just hopped over to the voice box and SWALLOWED IT. No undoing the metal plates, no double checking to make sure it fits. Just gulped it down like a tasty summer treat.

"Brian, you can choke on that I will have you know-"

Another caw. Much louder. Much clearer. And Brian himself seemed to be a lot happier if those happy jumps were anything to judge by.

"Glad you're happy, Brian." By that time my order of scones had been called out by the odd women. Just as I was about to make a move for my order, Brian jumped up and (I swear) perched on my shoulder. Just made himself right at home.

"I do hope you know I'm not sharing my scones. Or coffee. If they have some dirty oil we'll get it for you."

Another caw and a tiny peck to the temple.

"Alright, alright! Clean oil. Hot?"

Another peck.

"Cold it is." And from there I managed to get my food and my first cup of coffee in a LONG time. I actually was able to enjoy my little moment for about an hour (Yes, I did give in and let Brian steal a couple of crumbs of scones) before that odd woman came to sit in front of me.

"You know Brian doesn't like anyone, yeah? Doesn't even like me, love! Never perched on anyone but that old stick behind the counter. All he does is go up to people, caw, and fly straight back."

"And nobody helped him before? All the little fella needed was a voice box change." And that got a whole coo from Brian. A happy one.

"Is that really it? A voice box?" Her eyes met Brian's. "Oh you little turd, here I was thinking you were sick! Been taking care of you for a while now! You've been living in birdy retirement this whole time!"

"Birdy retirement? He's been retired?" Who would possibly retire a mechanical crow?

The woman rested her chin on hand. "A couple years ago, a man walked in with Brian. Said that he didn't want the poor bird to hurt anyone. Haven't seen him since. He's had that scratchy voice this entire time, so I thought it was untreatable! It didn't help that Brian is a sassy little thing that hates mechanics!"

An angry caw this time. "I... Don't think you were supposed to take him to a mechanic. Isn't there maybe a vet around? Or maybe somebody who specializes in bots?"

"Unfortunately not, no. None that I know of." The woman and I spoke for a few more minutes, asking one another questions. But the bell eventually went off and more customers poured in.

"Welp, love, I best take care of them. How about you take Brian around, yeah? Old bird has been cooped up in here for a while and should get to see more of the Crashlands!"

I had choked on my coffee at that point. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Bring him around." She waved her hand easily. "Show him the Crashlands. I can't, I got a store to run! And my ring only goes so far! But you can go in and out as you wish. I think that's only fair, hmm?"

"Your... Ring? What exactly is a ring?"

"Nothin' you should worry yourself over. Take all the time you need, Hun. But bring Brian along. He's a good companion to have. And you won't be lonely once you leave the city!" And with that, she had turned right around and walked off to tend to her customers.

As of writing in this now, it's about two in the afternoon. Brian is still on my shoulder and has refused to leave this entire time. He's coming with me whether I like it or not!

I guess he's not all that bad. And he's good for getting a higher look at the sky!

When I left the bakery, I only then noticed the sign.

"Stress' Sweets and Salties."

Guess that woman did have a name.

I still have time to kill. Still two more days. IF that poster is accurate.

I just really need to find the Angel.

I need to find the Doctor.

-MLW and Brian

-The Crashlands.

#hermitblr #hermitcraft #the crash #void art #hermitaday #original art #mcyt fanart #stressmonster101 #stressmonster fanart #martyn itlw #martyn inthelittlewood #brian the crow

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lawnchairthethird · 2 months

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Oversharing on the internet again

I just discovered some insane ass shit. I'm usually not one to overshare to strangers on the internet but my life has been a wild ride the past few months and it's a bit theraputic.

So I know a lot of you saw my whole family drama post when I went to visit my parents. So yeah, family stuff is messy.

A while, I paid to upgrade my 23 and me DNA test because I've been having health problems (nothing super serious, but stuff I need to figure out) and I wound up really looking into it. It's really important because I don't know my father and have no medical family history.

Out of curiosity, I was looking at the family tree feature. My great grandparents on my mothers side were immigrants from Finland through Ellis Island and I love finding information out about it. It's super interesting and cool.

I called my mom and was asking her if she knew any of the names that popped up as relatives so I could put them on the correct side of the family tree. She went ballistic. Told me to stop digging, asking me why I wanted to know. So I ended the conversation and called my grandma. My grandma is a ROCK. She's the only one who has it together in my family and she is an integral part of why I turned out okay. She even told me to stop, that there were things my mother was ashamed of and it was best to leave it. That was probably about a year ago that this all went down.

I had a doctors appointment yesterday, and my doctor and I were looking through the weird drug intolerances that are in my genetic expression so we could find a better medication for me. Of course, it got me curious again because that's human nature.

Last night, I googled my birth father's name. I've done it before, nothing ever comes up. I had always assumed he was dead because my mom told me he was a heroin addict. Well, A LOT came up this time because he's involved in high profile parole case for murder charges from 1992. At first, I wasn't sure if it was him, but the article was from the town I was born in. The timeline REALLY lined up- he would have committed murder when my mom was about six months pregnant.

I told my husband and we started digging. I found a bad picture of a newspaper article from 1994 when he was convicted. My mom was listed as testifying and as his girlfriend. He brutally strangled a woman in a school parking lot with her own pants. His fucking colloquially known as the 'stretchy-pants strangler'. He had previous charges for domestic violence and had been in jail for robbery. The quotes from him in the articles are creepy and manipulative and make my skin crawl.

And ya'll I'M FINE. Like I didn't know the guy and I assumed he was a bad person, but it's just....unreal. He's alive and I know what prison he is in. I saw a picture of him after spending 31 years not knowing what he looked like. I can't talk to my mom about it because she's so mentally fragile and I think me knowing would push her over the edge.

Do I like...write a book? This isn't how real life works. I always liked true crime, but I'm not sure if I like being one degree away from it.

So yeah. Now I decide how deep I dig- part of me wants to foia court records and arrest records. Part of me is like leave it alone.

TL;DR: my bio dad is a convicted murderer and i just found out

#personal #and insane

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toasttt11 · 9 hours

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extreme aggressor

season one, episode one

Nicolette and Spencer Reid sat next to each other on their couch in their apartment with a blanket over them that Spencer has knitted them as they both read different books about physics, they had just swapped books.

Nicolette ran her eyes over the last line of the book and shut it close. She gently tossed her book onto the coffee table leaning her head on Spencer's shoulder as he continued to read his book.

Nicolette and Spencer may both complete hate physical touch with anyone else but with each other they have always liked it and it didn't make them uncomfortable.

Spencer's hand naturally went up to the tips of hair as he gently fiddled with it as he finished up his book, Nicolette slowly closed her eyes and began following asleep on his shoulder, just as one of their phones went off.

Nicolette opened her eyes and reached for the phone on the coffee table answering it, as Spencer looked up from his book.

"Reid.” She coldly spoke into the phone, listening to the other side of the phone before she nodded and hung up.

"Time for work." Nicolette sarcastically commented with a joking smile to her twin, Spencer chuckled at his sister and took her hand to stand up.

—

A door was heard opening in Gideon's classroom, the room turned to the door and saw Nicolette and Spencer walking in.

Nicolette wearing black pants, black blouse, tan leather jacket and black combat boots.

Spencer was holding a file held it up to Gideon.

"Excuse me." Gideon told his class and walked to the twins following them out of his class.

Nicolette, Spencer and Gideon walked down the hall in the Bau.

"They're are calling him the Seattle Strangler. 4 victims in 4 months." Spencer explained looking at the file showing their new case to Gideon.

"He keeps them alive 7 days. The Handle serves as a Crank." Nicolette finished explaining, as the trio continued to walk down the hallway.

"Allowing him to control the rate of suffocation." Gideon told the two.

The twins looked at him in unison guessing, " To prolong it?"

"To enjoy it." Gideon replied back, correcting the twins slighty. "Seattle’s hit a wall?" Gideon asked as they contained their walk through the halls.

"Physical evidence is nonexistent. There are no tangible leads." Spencer told him as they stopped walking in the hallway.

"And another girl is missing." Gideon said as he grabbed the picture and began walking into his office.

"I look the case file over. I'll get some thought to you ASAP." Gideon told the twins he has mentored for years as he began to read the through the file.

"You're gonna be with us in Seattle ASAP." Hotch interrupted Gideon as Derek and Hotch walked into the Office.

Derek looked over at Nicolette and sent her a small smile hoping for some attention but barley getting a nod of acknowledgment from her back before she immediately turned her attention away from him.

Gideon looked up from the file and stared at Hotch for a long while before taking off his reading glasses walking closer towards him.

Derek held up a photo of the a victim handing it to Gideon, "22-year old Heather Woodland."

"Before she left for lunch. She downloaded an email with a time delayed virus attached. The killers Virus wiped her hard drive and left this on the screen." Hotch filled Gideon in completely as he handed him a photo that had words on it.

"For heavens sake catch before i kill more i cannot control myself For heavens sake catch before i kill more i cannot control myself For heavens sake catch before i kill more i cannot control myself For heavens sake catch before i kill more i cannot control myself"

Gideon looked up at Hotch after he read the photo, he then turned and walked towards his wall that had a photo hanging on it with the same words at the photo from the case.

"He never keeps them more than 7 days,which means we have fewer than 36 hours to find her." Hotch informs him looking at Gideon piercingly.

"They want you back in the saddle. You ready?" Morgan asked looking at Gideon with a raised eyebrow.

"Looks like medical leave's over, Boss." Spencer spoke up looking hopeful Gideon would finally be back.

Nicolette raised an eyebrow at Gideon.

"They sure they want me?" Gideon questions not believing they want him back after the incident that happened on the last case he was apart of.

Hotch nodded in a reassuring manner, "The order came from the director."

"Well, we'd better get started." Gideon stated rather determined.

"His first victim was 26-year old Melissa Kirsh. Stabbed wounds. Strangulation." Spencer read off the case file to the team as they all sat on the jet.

Derek spoke up looking confused, "Wait, Wait. Back up. Back up. He stabbed her... and then strangled her to finish her off?"

"Other way around. Why do you think her started using the belt with the second murder." Gideon disagreed with Derek before looking towards the Twins specifically in question.

Spencer hesitated for a second which caught Nicolette attention who spoke up from across the table sensing her brother did not want to say it, " Strangulation with your bare hands is not at easy as one would believe. He tried probably found it took too long." Nicolette blunty informed them.

"So he stabbed her instead." Derek realized, Nicolette nodded towards Derek in agreement.

"And he realized it would he hours cleaning up the blood." Hotch explained agreeing with them.

"Next time, Our boy's got a method— the belt." Derek added onto the others statements.

"He's learning, perfecting his scenario. Becoming a better Killer." Gideon told them.

The team all were doing their own things on the plane. Gideon is looking out the window in the plane deep in thought, Hotch is working on different case files and Spencer is reading some books. Nicolette is sketching in her notebook when Derek sat down next to her, though she doesn't look up at him when he does.

Derek pulled out a case file but Nicolette felt his many glances at her, "Yes Morgan?" Nicolette coldly muttered, still finding him just as insufferable as the day she met him.

"Nothing Nico." Derek just shrugged acting innocent, even though he is still puzzled why she still seems to barely tolerate him, he only flirts with her a few times, a day.

Nicolette looked up at him and glared, "Don't call me that." Nicolette has always despised the nickname Nico. Derek is always trying to call her Nico and she hates it.

"Alright." Derek backed off knowing she has a few knifes on her that he does not want to be on the wrong end of, but that doesn't mean he will stop calling her that.

Spencer looked up from his book sensing Nicolette's annoyance towards Derek, He slowly shook his head before looking back at his book.

A dog barked straight at the Spencer Reid who quickly flinched back, Nicolette had a small smirk of amusement at seeing another dog not like her brother.

"Sandy, no, no, no. I'm so sorry sorry." The brother of the victim quickly apologized to the three of them.

"No it's ok. It's what we call the Reid Effect." Hotch told them man, "Happens with children too."

Nicolette smirked slighty looking at her brother and he fondly rolled his eyes.

"I'm Agent Hotchner, They are special Agents Reid." Hotch informs the man.

The man looks at the twins incredulously, "You look to young to go to have gone to medical school."

The twins both let out a laugh, Spencer's was awkard and Nicolette's was a fake chuckle, both having heard the sentence already hundreds of times.

"They're Ph.D.s. 3 of them." Spencer casually informs the man who looks shocked.

"Are you guys genius's or something?" The man questioned them both.

"I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified— but we do have an I.Q. of 187 and an eidetic memory and we can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer rambled stumbling over his words.

"Yes we're genius's." Nicolette coldly spoke up very gently cutting her twin brother off only because she knew he was awkwardly rambling because he uncomfortable not because he wanted to share a stat. Spencer gave her a thankful look.

Nicolette and Spencer both start walking around the house looking at different things.

Hotch quickly smiles at the man before talking towards the dog as he pets her, "Sandy, you get a-lot of attention, don't you?"

"Yeah Heather loves the dog," The man told Hotch. "I feed her when heathers away. Usually, She's fine, but... lately, she won't eat. It's almost like she can sense something's wrong."

"Not sense. Smell. Our apocrine sweat gland releases secretions in response to emotional stress." Reid pipped in before causally walking towards his sister who was looking at the car magazines deep in thought.

"Sandy's worried because she knows you are." Hotch reassured the man.

Nicolette kept looking at the magazines drop in though before she asked a question deep in thought, "David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?"

"No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?" David questions Nicolette in who return held up the magazine.

"There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller. A level of trust. If i want to coax a young women into my car..." Nicolette spoke looking at the other two as she trailed off.

Hotch nodded coming to a realization, "Offer her a test drive."

—

"I'm going up." Hotch told Gideon while quickly walking on the stairs of the house up to where Nicolette was already.

Gideon walks into the house meeting Spencer, who quickly informs him, "There's no sign of the girl here. We can arrest him with probable cause, but we won't be able to hold him. Slessman's been at the top of the suspect list."

"Is that the mother?" Gideon asked Spencer, looking over at the woman.

"Grandmother. The mother died in a fire when he was 13." Elle Greenaway said as she walked over to the two of them, sending a soft smile to Spencer.

"Probably not the only fire in his childhood." Gideon muttered.

"Before his son of damn murders, David Berkowitz set a multitude of fires." Spencer tells them as they walk into another room, He smiled back at Elle having not seen her in a few months.

"Exactly how much is a multitude?" Derek questions back.

"According to his diary, 1,400 and-" Spencer began telling before Elle pipped in.

"88."

"Luring him our was your idea right? Greenaway?" Gideon stated looking over at her with curios eyes.

"Elle. I don't send a swat team into a house with children." She sternly corrected.

"Hotch says your background is in sex offender cases. What can you tell us?" Gideon questioned Elle.

"The last four murder show he's and anger-excitation rapist. He'll keep a victim for a couple of days. He probably records or videotapes them so that he can keep reveling the fantasy." Elle professionally answered back.

"You ok with Hotch being in on the interview?" Gideon inquired.

"I'd like him to lead, actually." Elle replied back nodding.

"Fine. But hold off." Gideon agreed. "Slessman's done time, and he knows the process, and all you will get now is a demand for a lawyer."

"Hotch lets check the garage." Gideon called up the stairs as he walked away.

Elle squeezed Spencer's shoulder giving him a smile knowing they would catch up more after the case but it was really good to see one of her best friends.

Derek narrowed his eyes at the touch knowing Spencer doesn't prefer touch unless it's Nicolette's but couldn't question it as Elle turned to him, and he teasingly told her, "Next time, show a little leg." Derek turned around and started heading up the stairs with Elle following.

"Morgan, the only time you're gonna see a little leg from me is when i'm about to kick your ass." Elle replied back to his comment while pointing a finger at him.

"I still teach hand to hand over at quantico. If you need a little brush-up training." Derek jokingly flirting with her.

"Seriously. I want the opening at the Bau. You got any advice." Elle asked completely serious, She wants to be on BAU because her best friends and family are part of this team and it would give her a chance to see them more.

"Just trust your instincts." Derek told her back, knowing they will help her the most in the job.

They heard the sound of a door opening at the end of the hallway, Derek and Elle turned there heads to see Nicolette walking out with a file in her hand reading not noticing the two of them in the hallway.

"Nico." Derek called out, Nicolette's head snapped up looking annoyed at the nickname before the annoyed look disappeared seeing the girl who was standing next to him, "Nico this is-"

"Elle." Nicolette interrupted him smiling slighty at her best friend, not knowing she was working this case too.

Elle grinned happily seeing her other best friend and pulled her into a quick hug. Nicolette squeezed her back before stepping back.

"You know her." Derek stated watching the two and now realized why Spencer let Elle touch him.

Nicolette just hummed, "There looking for you in the bedroom."

Derek simply nodded knowing she would not talk about it, "Thanks Nico.”

Nicolette rolled her eyes before responding back, "What did i say about calling me Nico."

"Not to." Derek spoke with a cheeky smile.

"And you still do. Shocker." Nicolette sarcastically replied back. Elle looked between the two and her lips pursed in a knowing smile, she had heard all about the "annoying" Morgan from Nicolette.

—

Derek walks into Richards bedroom looking around at everything in the room.

"Somethings not right about this." Derek muttered to himself as he continued to look around. "This is a boys room not a man's."

"Exactly what i was thinking." Nicolette told him as she leaned against the doorframe watching him.

Derek turned around surprised to see her standing there "How long have you been there?" Derek swears Nicolette is always silent like a Ninja.

Nicolette nonchalantly shrugged crossing her arms over her chest finding it amusing how easy it is to sneak up on him, "Awhile. You know for an FBI agent you are terrible at knowing there's someone behind you.”

"Your quiet." Derek weakly defended. Nicolette just raised an eyebrow and hummed, before turning around and walking out the door as Derek watched her leave.

—

Nicolette and Giedon listened to the conversation Hotch was having with e grandmother.

"Well, there was... there was this one young man. I think his name was Charlie." The grandmother hesitatingly told Hotch.

"Cross-Reference Charlie for the second unsub." Gideon told Nicolette.

Nicolette was already typing before he asked, "Already on it boss. Charlie is most likely Charles Linder. He was Slessman's cellmate and received a dishonorable discharge from the military."

"He's bigger. tougher. He could of protected Richard in prison. Where were they incarcerated." Gideon questioned her always asking the Twins questions trying to get them to be even better..

Nicolette quickly replied back, "Cascadia. Less than a mile from here."

"Let's go." Gideon told her as he started to walk to the door, Nicolette followed right behind him grabbing her leather jacket off the chair on the way out.

—

"Anyone can tell us more about slessman." Gideon asks as Nicolette walked with him into the prison on her phone.

"Tim Vogel was the security guard covering Slessman's block. That's him over there. I'll get him for you." The Warden told Gideon pointing towards a man.

Nicolette hung up her phone before walking over to Gideon, "That was Hotch. Linder's name came up on a police report."

Gideon raised an eyebrow, "And?"

"He's dead," Nicolette bluntly told him, "Car accident, 2 months ago."

—

"To bad you guys came here for nothing. I mean talk about scum. I can't remember how many times i put Linder in solitary for causing trouble with us," Tim Vogel spat as he used his keys to open a door while Gideon and Nicolette followed him, "You think the inmates woukd try to stay on our hood side, right? Especially since half our job is protecting them from each other."

Nicolette eyed Vogel suspiciously when he specifically said "protect them."

"You protect them?" Gideon asks just as suspicious of Vogel, sharing a very quick glance with his mentee.

"If your a little white guy? Especially in a prison like this." Vogel whispered out.

"Lindera's 6'4" You talking about Slessman?" Gideon inquired.

Vogel nodded back, "Oh, Yeah."

"Thanks for your help." Gideon spoke as he and Nicolette looked at Vogel’s keys.

—

"He befriend Richard, Protected him, made him feel like he owed him." Gideon told Nicolette as they walked outside the Prison towards the car.

"He fits the Profile. And did you see them?" Nicolette easily replied back.

"The Keys." Gideon answered her question, she hummed in agreement as they got into their car.

A bright orange Volvo P1300 pulls out of the prison parking loot and onto the the road.

"Hotch i just found your leverage. His name is Timothy Vogel." Gideon said into the phone as he sat in the passenger, While Nicolette quickly pulled out and followed the car.

—

"Boss, there's something off, we're gonna need to pull him over." Nicolette told Gideon as she continued to tail the orange car.

Gideon knew Nicolette was right but he wanted to test her as he always does, "You wanna stop him, you give me a reason."

"His behavior. When we left him, he was nervous, unsettled. But now he's stopping at every stop sign. He's using his blinker at every turn. He's slowing at yellow lights. This is not someone who is rushing to kill and dump a body." Nicolette nonchalantly listed, Gideon felt a sense of pride at her intelligence.

"Ok. Do it." Gideon replied back. Nicolette quickly put on the sirens pulling over the Orange car.

The two of them quickly got out of the car with there guns drawn towards the car.

"FBI. Put your hands up where we can see them!" Nicolette coldly called out, "Put your hands through the window now!"

The man slowly put his hands out.

"With your left hand i want your to open the car door from the outside." Nicolette coldly told the man. The man slowly open the door getting out, Nicolette quickly grabbed him putting him on the ground with her gun facing his back.

"It's not him." Nicolette said annoyed as she stood back up.

"Where is he? Where is he?" Gideon sternly questioned.

"I don't know!" The man desperately said.

Gideon asked still pointing his gun at the man, "What are you doing driving his car?"

"He came up to me in the garage after our shift ended. He asked if he could borrow my truck." The man quickly explained to the other two.

"He dumping the body." Nicolette quickly realized.

"What's the make? What's the make?" Gideon angrily questioned.

The man anwsered back, "Dodge Dakota!"

—

Nicolette and Gideon pulled up to the shipyard, slipping there jackets on as they got out of the car, both pulling out there guns.

They soundlessly walk across a bridge.

Gideon and Nicolette continued soundlessly walking on the shipyard with guns still drawn, Nicolette was a bit behind Gideon covering him from behind him.

"Listen to me. You need to wait for backup." Derek sternly told Nicolette, once she answered the phone.

"If we wait, the girl is dead." Nicolette stubbornly told him back through the phone as she continued walking.

"And if we had waited in Boston— " Derek quickly began saying.

"I can't. I trust my instincts." Nicolette cut him off before hanging up on him. Derek rubs a hand down his face in frustration at her stubbornness.

Heather screams as Vogel grabs from behind pointing a gun at her.

"Stop. Stop." Gideon yelled holding his gun at Vogel.

"Get back! I'll shoot her." Vogel yelled back holding a gun at a crying Heather.

"I wouldn't. If u were you, if sun the gun at me. You shoot the girl, you got nothing." Gideon calmly spoke.

Vogel snapped, " Get... back!"

Vogel didn't see Nicolette sneaking up on him with her gun aimed at straight at him.

"Shoot me instead. Come on. What, are you a lousy shot?" Gideon insisted putting his hands up his gun not aiming at Vogel anymore, knowing Nicolette has got his back, "50 feet away. You got a perfect shot. Shoot me."

"You think i'm stupid." Vogel questioned him still holding a struggling, crying Heather.

"I think you're an absolute moron," Gideon causally told him, "I know all about ya, Tim. You're at the gun 5 times a week. You drive a flashy car. You stink of Cologne, and you cant get it up. Not even viagra's working for ya. You know what that tells me? That tells me that you are hopelessly compensating, and it's not just in your head. It is physical. What did the girls call you in high school? What'd they come up with when you fumbled your way into some girls pants, and she started laughing when she got a good look at just how little you had to offer?"

"Shut up!" Vogel screamed in anger, Gideon's words going to his head.

Gideon throughly ignored him, "Short stack? Very little Vogel? I got it. Tiny Tim." Gideon smiled mockingly.

Vogel pushed Heather away aiming his gun towards Gideon, Nicolette quickly saw this and didn't hesitate to shoot him right into the forhead, Vogel's bullet hit Gideon on the top of the shoulder making him fall back from the force.

"Gideon!" Nicolette called out worriedly, she quickly ran up to him, "Are you ok?

"I'm fine, Go look after the girl." Gideon reassured her, Nicolette nodded not before casting one more worried look at Gideon before jogging towards Heather.

—

Nicolette helped the paramedics get Heather onto to the gurney, before hearing her name being called by her favorite voice.

"Cole!" Spencer Reid called out worriedly quickly rushing towards his sister once he saw the back of her head and her long curls.

Nicolette turned around to see Spencer rushing towards her, "Hey Spence—"

She was quickly cut off by Spencer hugging her tightly, Nicolette although confused hugged her brother back.

"What's wrong Spence?" Nicolette softly asked her twin brother once they pulled away.

Spencer shook his head, "Nothing i was worrying over you." He heard an FBI agent had gotten shot over the radio and was worried.

Nicolette softly smiled before giving his hand a small reassuring squeeze understanding where he is coming from.

—

Derek sat on a crate with Hotch standing next to him at the shipyard watching Gideon walk by them.

"So what kind of report do they want on him?" Derek curiously asked, he knew Hotch was overseeing Gideon for the board.

"I suppose whether he's fit to be a field agent," Hotch replied back, "You know, Hayley and I were looking at a baby names book. Guess what Gideon means in Hebrew."

"Mighty warrior." Spencer and Nicolette casually pipped in, in unison as they walk toward them.

"Appropriate." Spencer said as they walked by Derek and Morgan.

Derek just chuckled sharing a look with Hotch.

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