#there's a new theorist in town

[mistfallengw2]

The Festival of Four Winds is coming soon and I've come to the realization that the Zephyrites are all potheads.

Why? In Italian, "venti" means both "winds" and "twenty", so the Festival of Four Winds is actually a cover up for the Festival of Four-Twenty.

Which, I mean, makes sense, as they do live a literally high life, up in their flying houses and with their kites...

[wife-of-the-crane]

goodbye matpat hello me

[alphajocklover]

The following story was a commission from a reader who would prefer to remain anonymous. They have given me permission to share this story. Quick thank you to them.

Made For This Town

Maxwell Ford was moving.

Specifically, Maxwell Ford was moving to a small town called Maxford.

Max Ford was moving… to Maxford.

It was almost funny, or at least it would have been funny if Maxwell wasn’t absolutely miserable about this entire thing.

Maxwell hated that they were moving again. His family moved quite a bit, his mothers job as a software engineer bringing them all around the country. Usually Maxwell was fine with moving. It was annoying but he was used to it. He was a fairly social guy and made friends easily. This time Maxwell doubted he’d make any friends at all, mainly because Maxwell was basically moving to the middle of nowhere.

When he had first heard they were moving to a town that shared his name he thought it was actually kind of cool. Even when he learned it wasn’t a city he had still been kind of excited. He had lived in cities his entire life, and had actually been curious about what it might be like to live in a small town. Then he had learned about what Maxford was actually like. There wasn’t a lot of information about it on the internet, which was a little strange since everything was on the internet these days, but what he had learned had soured him on the town completely. Maxford was… well it was weirdly normal. There was no other way to put it. The town was weirdly normal. Maxwell knew that a lot of small towns were conservative and focused on athletics, but Maxford seemed to take it to a whole new level. Everyone was conservative and athlete obsessed. Absolutely everyone! It didn’t sound possible, but try as he might Maxwell couldn’t find any semblance of any sort of counter culture. There were no nerds, no goths, no punks and no LGBTQ people of any kind. The only mention of LGBTQ people and Maxford were some quack conspiracy theorists online raving about some kind of reality changing forcefield. Maxwell was convinced that even if he found other nerdy or gay people like him in Maxford, they’d be absolutely crazy. It wasn’t like Maxwell could do anything about it though. He was just 18 and hadn’t finished highschool yet. He didn’t have the means to live on his own. So he resigned himself to spend his senior year surrounded by jocks. Though that didn’t stop him from pouting about it the whole ride there.

“God it’s like there's no cell service out here.” Maxwell groaned from the passenger seat of his family's subaru. Maxwell could hear his dad, Samuel Ford, sigh from the driver's seat, and could tell his dad was rolling his eyes without even looking. Maxwell knew it was all in good fun though. He and his dad actually got along great, which made sense considering they were both very similar. Both were skinny men who appeared younger than they were and had a love for sci-fi and video games. The only real difference was that Samuel was far more mature and less emotional then Maxwell. His emotional maturity and kindness was probably the only reason Samuel was able to get Maxwell’s mother, Rose, to go out with him. Rose was both attractive and ambitious, and Samuel absolutely adored her. She had driven ahead in the family's other car with a bit more of their stuff, so currently the car was just father and son.

“Son, I know you’re not really excited about this move…” Sam said sympathetically, a kind smile on his face “But I swear it won’t be as bad as you think. I know this town is different from the places we’ve lived before, but I know you’ll make friends.” Sam said. Maxwell doubted it, but said nothing and smiled slightly at his fathers attempts to cheer him up as they approached the city limits of Maxford. “You’ll see, son. As soon as we get in there…”

“You’ll be pulling pussy like fucking crazy.” Sam Ford said, a cocky grin on his manly face as he gave his son a knowing smile.

Max Ford puffed his chest slightly with pride as he smirked at his Dad. He wasn’t really worried about getting a new girl to go out with him, since chicks were basically putty in his hands. Why wouldn’t they be? He was a fucking stud. Over 6 feet tall with roaring, beefy muscles. He was so big he already had a place on the Maxford High football team without even having to try out. He had sent some pictures of himself to the football coach and got a starting place on the football team just like that. But Max liked it when his dad complimented him, since he had looked up to the man his entire life, so he pretended to be nervous about finding a girl for homecoming so his dad would try and cheer him up. His dad was fully aware his son was just playing, but studs like them had to build eachother up. As they drove through Maxford, Max thought about the upcoming school year with a cocky grin. He knew being the new kid in senior year might be a little weird, but a guy like him could make friends anywhere. Plus, a guy named Max Ford in a town called Maxford? It was like fate. Max was sure he’d be the king of his highschool in no time.

Sam pulled up at their new house, parking their SUV next to the family pickup. He got out of the car and sauntered over to his wife Rose, who was waiting for them. She had come earlier to get the house set up. Being a stay at home mom, Rose wanted to make sure everything was perfect for her man. Max rolled his eyes as his parents kissed sloppily, almost gagging as his dad groped his Moms ass. Turning away from them, Max saw a busty girl across the street, staring at him with unhidden interest. With a seductive smirk, Max stripped off his shirt, threw it to the floor, and flexed for the bimbo, who he couldn’t hear giggle and blush as he showed off.

Max laughed. A town full of hot girls and cool bros. It was like the town of Maxford was made for him. Or… maybe he was made for the town of Maxford.

**Hope you guys enjoyed another little trip to Maxford! I don’t know how the fact that the random town name I made up would also make a good jock name didn’t occur to me till now, but I’m grateful it did! If you like this, stay tuned for more or maybe even commission me. I already got another commission for a much longer Maxford themed story on the books! See you later!**

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Two

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 sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans 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… 

Tags: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut 

Link to Masterlist: Masterlist

Chapter Two - Breakfast

Content Warning: None (Let me know if I missed any!)

“Coffee anyone?” You call out to the foyer as your feet hit the carpet. 

It was early and you had a lot to do today, but there was always time for coffee. Besides, you spent half the night tossing and turning before finally winding down into a few hours of sleep. You were exhausted - not just from the night’s meeting, but the silence of the Hotel was deafening. You usually slept to music, but the record player in your old room didn’t belong to you and so you couldn’t take it when you left. 

Angel sat before the old television, Husk standing at his side, his arms crossed before him. Angel lay sprawling across the sofa, dark circles under his eyes. With the type of jobs these two had, you were surprised to see them up so early. 

“… isn’t that right Tom?” You recognized Katie Killjoy’s voice echo from the television. 

666 News this early in the morning? You joined the cat and spider in the alcove. 

“That’s right Katie! Another pile of ashes was discovered in the alley of the Pride Ring this morning as the Shadow has claimed yet another victim! The remains have been identified as Chazwick Thurman, a known member of the Crimson Mafia...” 

“Too bad they weren’t your ashes, aye Tom…” 

You drowned out the voices of the broadcasters as images of an alleyway in the Entertainment district flash across the screen. The only thing left behind was a bone-shaped belt buckle and a pile of grey. 

“Crimson was invited to comment.” 

You stiffen.

The screen cut to a cameraman chasing Crimson into a car. “Get that fucking camera out of my fucking face!” He slams the car door and the screen cuts back to the reporters. 

Goddamn that almost gave you a heart attack…

“How do yous think they identify ‘em?” Angel motioned to the screen, now turned back to Chaz’s ash’s blowing away in the breeze. “All I see is a bunch o’ dirt.” 

“Something Gluttony whipped up I heard,” Husk grumbles. He looks just as exhausted as Angel. 

“What would Beelzebub want to do with a bunch o’ murders?” Angel argued. 

“Don’t look at me, those are just the rumors!” 

“I heard it was a new Voxtek technology,” you chime in. “They have some sort of electronic scanner that can detect soul signatures.” 

You were right, of course, but they didn’t know that. 

“But he was a Hellborn Native? Do they even have souls? And what was he doing in the Pride Ring anyway?” Angel argued. 

You shrugged, “Like Husk said… Only rumors.” 

“Seems a little shady if you ask me.” Husk rubs the scruff forming on his chin. “That’s the first Hell Native to have been slain by the Shadow. So far he’s only gone after Sinners. Why change now?” 

You weren’t interested in playing conspiracy theorist today. Too much to do. Instead you decided to shift the conversation, “Coffee?” 

Angel and Husk look to you. 

“It’s the only reason we got up,” Angel answered. “Heard ya’ had a busy morning and didn’t wanna miss ya’.” 

The sentiment made your face turn pink. Day two and already you felt some sort of connection forming with the two of them. 

You followed them into the kitchen, but froze on the threshold as the sound of soft jazz hit your ears and a jolt of static ran down your spine. There, standing in a frilly apron tied at the waist, serving spoon in hand, was the red demon Alastor. He didn’t look up as he scooped the remaining eggs into the white dish set on the table. 

“Good morning fellow Sinners!” The demon sung. Husk and Angel grumbled in response. Not morning people. So, the maniacal demon has a domestic side? What a weird change of pace after literally beating the shit out of someone yesterday and then turning around and pissing off an Overlord. 

“Morning, Mr. Alastor,” you mumbled, trying to match his cheerfulness but frankly, you hadn’t had coffee yet and didn’t enjoy talking to anyone before your first steaming cup. 

Finally his eyes landed on you, the soft jazz music coming to a small and almost imperceptible skip you would have missed had you not been listening for it. This man gives away so much in his audio alone. 

Half-lidded, his eyes dragged over you, from the Mary Jane heels - short as can be, you couldn’t handle anything over an inch - to the red puffy dress that hugged your sides and expanded into layers of black landing just above your knees. The dress was long sleeved, with black lace running across your back, hiding your tattoo perfectly. It came with a matching metal red clip for your hair. 

Normally you hated wearing dresses, hated looking girly, but etiquette called for it this morning. You’d be far more comfortable in a pair of trousers and button up collared shirt. 

You waited as the invisible radio clicked through a few stations before returning to a soft jazz. “Well, well, look what the spider and cat dragged in. And where is our fine hotel guest off to today?” He returned the pan to the stove before untying the apron at his waist. 

Okay, he was acting cordial. So maybe that meant whatever happened yesterday on the cobblestone streets wasn’t him? Or maybe he hadn’t realized it was you who did it? Either way, there was a question mark next to whatever power slapped the shit out of you yesterday - “proceed with caution,” the sticky note next to it read. 

“I have a breakfast date…” You start but Angel’s whistling interrupts you. 

“Ow! Oooow!” He called, “And who is the lucky Sinner bestowed with the honor of taking your fine ass out today?” 

Your cheeks couldn’t get any redder. “My old land lady?” You curled into yourself, feeling eyes on your skin, resisting the urge to rub the back of your neck. 

“Oh, you like ‘em mature, don’t ya’?” Angel purred. It made you laugh, breaking some of the tension. 

“Now, now Angel Dust, one musn’t speak such profanities to a young lady before she’s had her breakfast.” Alastor settled into his chair. Snapping his fingers for a newspaper, he disappeared behind the black and white text. The air around you grew a little colder with his closeness, like the heat was being absorbed by the red demon himself.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Angel shrugged, spooning piles of egg onto his plate. “Hair clip knows I’m good for it.” 

“Same thing as yesterday, Husk?” You ask sheepishly, making your way to the Breville in the corner. The coldness wrapped around your legs, as if it was following you across the kitchen.

“That would be great, kiddo,” he rubbed his temples, his chin resting on the table top. Hangover? 

You felt the bubbles in your chest die down as you got to work, filling the portafilter with beans and finding a white espresso cup in the cupboard. 

“Angel?” You called over your shoulder. You feigned a small kick at the air around your ankles, wishing for whatever invisible coldness to leave you alone. It didn’t. 

“A vanilla soy latte if ya’ could be so kind, sweet cheeks,” he asked, mouthful of food. You heard the door swing open as Charlie, Vaggie, and Nifty’s voices filled the air. 

I thought the tiny maid normally cooked the meals? 

Rummaging through the cupboards you couldn’t find any syrups for his request - only a chai tea blend. You apologized but made a mental note to pick up some supplies today. 

Passing him his soy latte - complete with a spider on top - you got to work on everyone else’s orders before finally turning to Alastor. 

Your palms instantly started to sweat. What was it about this demon that made you so nervous? 

“Can I get you anything Mr. Alastor?” Was your voice shaky? Did you seem nervous?

The top part of the newspaper folded down to reveal his face. His smile was strained despite the sweet jazz playing over his radio. His radio? Was that correct? 

“Alastor’, darling, and a hot cup of joe would be wonderful,” his eyes lingered on you a little too long before you finally nodded. 

Swallowing, you turned back to the Breville and began grinding the beans. You debated making a second cup for yourself, you did still have thirty minutes before you needed to go, but didn’t necessarily wanna smudge your red lipstick before you left. It’ll give you something for your hands to do, to calm the nerves that is, and to warm your bones - the coldness eliciting goosebumps across your legs. 

Making two cups of coffee, one in Alastor’s “Oh, Deer!” mug - which made you chuckle - you paused, an idea forming in your mind. You didn’t have many ingredients to work with, but you did have one thing. Opening the chai you took a sniff - fresh. You had a feeling, and it was a risk, but you decided to jump off that cliff anyway. Using a strainer you let a few leaves steep in his cup, before swirling it around and straining it out. 

Dropping the mug before him, you finally noticed the extra chair that had been added to the table - right next to him. When did that get there? Nifty sat to your right with Angel right across from you. You tried to catch Angel’s attention, to thank him for adding the extra seat, but he didn’t notice you as he was too busy licking the foam from his lips while sending Husk a sexual retort. Meanwhile, Nifty was stabbing away at her plate, too busy to notice your sudden hesitation.

Was it because of Alastor? 

Your mind flits back to the radio broadcast last night and Alastor’s grand display?-battle?-sing a-long?-with the media demon Vox. Seems he had a chance to go big at one point but never really made it. You wondered what happened? 

“I don’t bite, darling,” Alastor snapped and his newspaper disappeared. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his knees before taking a sip of his mug. His eyes lit up, his smile curling at the edge. You held your breath as you waited for his reaction. 

“Please, take a seat,” the chair before you slid back without a touch, a puddle of shadow beneath it shifting ever so slightly. 

He took another sip, his shoulders dropping an inch. You took that as a sign that he enjoyed your coffee concoction and wasn’t going to rip your head off for changing his request. 

Rejoining the table, you swore the air around your legs warmed slightly. 

“Hey, Hair clip, I gotta know something,” Angel chimed across the table, his belly finally full. “What’s a sweet lil’ thing like you gotta do to get yourself down ‘ere?” 

“Angel!” Charlie protested. 

“Wha’? Come on we was all thinkin’ it.” He crossed his many arms. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Charlie’s eyes twinkled. 

“Uhm, no it’s okay,” your hands clench and unclench around the mug, letting the heat soothe your fingers, resisting the urge to rub your neck. “I had the unfortunate circumstances of finding myself at the center of a web of…” you searched for the right word, “disappearances.” Your lips curled into a smile you couldn’t help but form. You tried to hide it by siping your cup. 

Lying was all too easy these days. 

“Oh, shit.” Angel jumped in his seat. 

“Wait, are you telling us you killed people?” Husk breathes. 

“Stab, stab, stab,” Nifty drove her knife into her toast over and over. Vaggie reached over and carefully pulled the needle from her fingers. 

How much do you reveal about this backstory now? If you reveal too much it’ll appear as if you have nothing to hide, but chatty Sinners were suspicious Sinners. Give them just a nugget to chew on for now. 

“Technically, the cases were never solved. While I was alive anyway…” You mumbled into your cup, conscious of your lipstick on the rim. 

Not denial but not confirmation, either. 

“So, you didn’t kill people?” Husk clarifies. 

“I didn’t say that…” You mumble into the steam.

The beans aren’t bad, but the undercut of chocolate wasn’t your favorite. Add that to the shopping list for today. 

So much to do before tomorrow… 

“So, then you did?” Angel asks. 

You didn’t answer. This conversation was going in circles. 

“Might we have heard of you and your endeavors topside, Ms. Thestral?” Alastor’s forearms were suddenly on the table, his presence leaning into you. 

You felt something slip past your ankles, like a small breeze. You crossed your legs instinctively. 

There’s power in a name down here in Hell. Knowing who people were before gives others leverage, gives them blackmail to use against another. They could threaten your family still alive up top. They could use it to find others who have died but knew you from before for information. The possibilities are endless. 

Alastor knows this. It’s an unspoken rule. It’s why Angel goes by Angel or Husk goes by Husk. He knows you’d never give any exact details leading to who you were and what you did, so he’s decided to toy with you. Much like Sir Pentious from yesterday. 

Let him eat his own medicine then.

“Might we have heard of you and yours, Mr. Alastor?” You leaned into him, your gaze never wavering from his face. A fleeting flash of amusement so swift had you blinked you would have missed it. 

The air was sucked out of the room in one collective gasp as the Hotel Natives waited for his response. 

Geez, were they all afraid of this guy or…? You’d hate to see what they’d do in the presence of an Overlord. 

He tipped his head back and laughed. “I believe you and I are going to get along quite well, darling.” With a snap of his fingers the newspaper reappears, his face disappearing before you got a chance to study it.

The tension in the room drops as everyone lets out their breath. 

You were really going to have to figure out what you were going to do with this Alastor fellow. Perhaps your little outing today would shed light on the subject. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

Vaggie is up and out of her seat before you have a chance to register what’s going on. More bangs - coming from the front door. Someone was knocking? Next thing you know, everyone is up and out of their seats and in the foyer - except for Alastor, who decides to take his time. 

Throwing open the door, Vaggie comes face to face with Sir Pentious. “Hello, my dear… Ah!” 

Vaggie plants a facer right into his nose before pulling her spear from the Void. The snake demon collapses at her feet, begging for mercy. 

“Oh, hello again!” Charlie has inserted herself into the situation. This ought to be interesting. You had to admit, you’ve taken some pretty boring jobs before, but the people here were so fun to watch, it made the slow progress worth it. 

Sir Pentious mentions something about redemption, which is exactly the thing to say to the Princess Morningstar. The next thing you know she’s practically dragging him inside.

Angel jumps in to point out the obvious but Vaggie eventually crumbles under Charlie’s begging. 

The gears in your mind turn as they talk, the Princess showing him the foyer, noting how convenient this turn of events just so happened to be. 

Sir Pentious did not just come here on accident - especially after yesterday. Maybe another plan of attack on Alastor? He did catch the red demon off guard, perhaps he was trying again with the same “element of surprise” tactic. 

Regardless, Charlie was dotting on the poor demon like he was a small child in need of shepherding. Was she clueless to the situation or just a bleeding heart hopeful?   

Either way, the mosquito has returned. 

From the corner of your eye, you catch Angel’s mood change. From general intrigue to irritation and… was that guilt you were smelling as Charlie showed the snake about? No - self-loathing. They always smelled so similar, it was easy to get the two confused. 

Great now Nifty is fawning over the serpent. The tiny demon is a fucked up enigma that you had no intention of figuring out.

“This is Thestral. Our most recent guest!” Charlie escorts him before you. You shake the snake demon’s hand - gross, he’s slimy. 

Static fills your ears, making your hair stand on end as you shake the demon’s hand.

“And over here is… Oh! Uh, Alastor!” Charlie squeaks. “Our gracious facility manager! You’ve met our newest guest, Sir Pentious… Hehe…” 

You feel Alastor’s eyes on the back of your head before he turns to the snake demon. The serpent cowered before the well-dressed Joe, the room filling with the scent of oranges and mint: fear. 

“Ah, yes! You’re the one who ruined my coat!” The demon’s eyes begin to glow, their eerie red light impregnating the room with their aura. “I definitely remember you now.” 

Was that irritation you sensed? You watched his shoulders as the snake demon attempted to apologize, noting their stiffness despite his relaxed demeanor in the kitchen. 

This guy had a lot of pent up aggression. He carried himself like a clogged overflowing sink someone left the plug in too long. The interaction yesterday with the Vees did nothing to quell his attitude despite the flux he sent the media demon into. The entire grid shut down after you joined Husk at the bar - cellphones, televisions, electricity. It was a blackout for a few hours before his system finally reset. Guess Vox has more of a hold on Pentagram City than you knew. 

Sir Pentious hands Alastor the small piece of fabric he ripped from him yesterday. 

“Ah-Ho!” The Radio Demon sings. “Not many people have been able to take even this much off me, it must have meant quite a lot to you.” 

You snort into your hand, catching a side glance from the Radio Demon. 

The fabric spontaneously combusts into green flame. 

What!? He has access to Hellfire? You try to not let the shock show on your face but he catches it regardless. 

The clock chimes 8 on the wall.

Shit, you were going to be late! 

Shoving your hands into the pockets sewn into the dress, you double check that you did indeed grab your wallet before heading for the door. “I’m sorry Charlie, but I have to go now!” 

“Oh, yes! Don’t forget, one o’clock!” She waves after you. 

The cold sensation slips from your ankles, making you shutter as you head for the front, but before you have a chance to pull the door open, Husk steps into your path. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, looking over your shoulder at something. “Stop by the bar later, wouldya?” 

His tone was far more serious than one would expect for a casual hangout invitation. 

“Sure, Husk,” you nod, worried that something was wrong. 

“Stay safe out there,” he pats your shoulder before heading back to the bar, his eyes downcast as he passes the red demon and Princess now entranced in their own conversation. 

You swear you see Alastor’s shadow move, like it was waving goodbye…

Anyway… That was… weird, but good! Making progress with Husk and an opportunity to hear some gossip from the grumpy bartender. 

You headed out into the cobblestone streets with a new pep in your step and a smile on your face. 

____________________________________

“Thanks, Susan,” you smiled at the potted daisy in your hand. It was half dead but so was she. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” she pinched your cheeks as she screamed. She was deaf, everything she said was in a scream. 

“I’ll see you next week!” You smiled, slowly inching away. “With the lemon finger sandwiches this time!” 

She laughs as you parted ways, flipping her boa over her shoulder as she shuffled. 

You loved the lady, she gave you a room when you had nowhere else to go. After you moved out you thought it would be the end of breakfasts with the old crazy lady, but she begged for tea and snacks once a week in the park. She was lonely - even though she was to blame for her loneliness. She did eat her third husband and all… So, you bought her breakfast and tea once a week. It was the least you could do after everything she has done for you. 

You rounded the Plaza and headed for the doors of Rosie’s Emporium but your stride came to a crashing halt as static filled your ears. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Alastor!” Rosie’s voice carried to the front of the store. 

Fuck! 

Flattening against the other half of the double doors, and hiding your face against the wall, you prayed he would walk right past you and not notice your anxiety-riddled form in the doorway. But, alas, you were never that lucky.

“I wouldn’t dream of it… Oh!” The Radio Demon stopped half stride out the door, his eyes immediately finding yours. The edges of his lips curled far past what you thought possible for his face. His radio faltered just a moment before he addressed you. “Why, hello there.” 

Red bloomed across your cheeks as you came face to face with him. He tipped an eyebrow up, unleashing a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You searched for something to say but words seemed just out of reach. 

What was wrong with you! Why did this demon have so much sway over your emotions! Get yourself together. Why…

Rosie cleared her throat, causing you to jump. She was quiet when she was being sneaky. “And what do we have here?” Her charming New York accent was doing nothing to qualm the nerves in your belly. 

“Thestral, this is Rosie. The most darling, delightful, and dangerous Overlord this side of the Pentagram!” Trumpets echoed through his radio. 

You tried hard not to roll your eyes.

“Oh! Always a charmer,” Rosie smiled wide, her razor sharp teeth on display.

“And Rosie,” his arm wraps around your lower back, pushing you closer to the man-eating Overlord. That cold sensation wraps around your legs again, making you shiver. “It’s my pleasure to introduce you to…”

“Actually,” you interrupt, trying to keep the bite from your voice. Stepping out of Alastor’s grip, the cold follows you. What made him think he could just touch you like that!? “We’ve met.” 

A flash of irritation crosses Alastor’s eyes before being replaced with his mask.

“Oh! What a regal surprise!” Rosie drags you inside, taking the dead potted plant from you. “You’re early!” She goes for a tray of fingers. “Can I offer you something to eat?” 

“I just ate actually,” an uncomfortable laugh escapes your lips. 

You didn’t detest cannibalism - I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a good shoulder steak? - it was the way Alastor was looking at you that was setting those butterflies in a flurry. It was a look of… suspicion? You sniffed, but smelled nothing. Hmm, interesting.

“You two know each other?” Alastor twirled his cane, clutching it behind his back. His smile was strained. 

Shit.

“Oh, Thestral and I go way back!” She spun, placing the finger food aside before clamping both her hands atop your shoulders. You were trapped. “Practically fell on top of me when she died!” 

Alastor’s eyes light up with the addition of the new information. “Did she now?” 

You stop him from asking anymore questions with an awkward laugh. “Rosie, don’t you have to take my measurements?” 

“Oh, my stars! You’re here for a dress!” Her eyes sparkle. Cupping your cheeks, she pulls your face to hers. “Finally! This one was getting a little old,” she thumbs a hole in your sleeve you were desperately trying to hide. You frown. 

You didn’t have money to burn often, but when you did you let Rosie dress you up as she pleased. She never wanted money from you, in fact she hated that you offered, but it didn’t feel right to just take her creations without giving her something in return. 

“Oh, don’t fret, doll! You’re still a tomato! Don’t you think so, Alastor?” She pinched your cheeks, turning your face to the red demon in his newly fashioned pin-striped suit.

You met his eyes, he was clearly loving the embarrassment Rosie was showering you with. 

“As cute as a bug’s ear,” he smiled, his eyebrows relaxing in amusement. 

God, did this man do anything other than fucking smile? 

Your face reddened under his direct gaze, its burn bleeding into the cold of Rosie’s fingers. You didn’t like being dotted on and you sure as Hell didn’t like being showed off like this. 

Wait… what did he say? Did he call you cute? The Radio Demon called you cute. 

“Oh!” Rosie finally releases you. You rub your cheeks to lessen the sting from her pinches. “Ya-know, Alastor. I got a premo-connect on a guy with about eight blocks of territory and not enough goons to run it. Prime pickin’s for a deal to be made, my friend!” 

A deal? Rosie didn’t just throw people a bone out of pity. She didn’t freely offer up anything to anyone unless she respected them. Rosie - the Rosie - respected… him? The Radio Demon was turning out to be a bigger fish than expected. Still, he remained a mystery. God it was irritating. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I must be off. So much to do at the Hotel!” He sung, his radio clicking on a smooth jazz. He picked at invisible lint on his shoulder before his half-lidded eyes met yours. “I‘ll see you this afternoon, darling.” His voice purred, sending butterflies in a flurry within you. With a small bow he slipped out the front door and into Cannibal Plaza taking your breath with him.

You spun as the door shut, swearing you saw a… shadow follow him? 

Fuck, you needed to figure this guy out fast, but that was why you were here wasn’t it? Rosie knew all the best gossip in Pentagram City, she was the ideal source to go to for information on Alastor without raising suspicion at the Hotel. Couldn’t let any of the Natives think you too interested in the Radio Demon. 

“You’re late.”

You spun to face Rosie, a hand on her hip, one eyebrow sky high in suspicion. 

Shaking off the conflicting emotions stirring within you, you met her energy, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “It appears you were entertained in my absence.” 

“Don’t start with the attitude, young lady.” She waved a finger at you as she led you into the parlor. 

A set of tea was waiting, half drunk and already cold - tea which was supposed to be for you had you been on time. 

“Susan was extra talkative this morning,” you huffed, taking the chair across from her usual spot. “Seems she missed me.”

The Overlord began tidying up the tray, but as you watched her collect the cups, you couldn’t help but wonder something. “Was that planned?” You huffed.

She gave you a look as if you had asked a stupid question. 

“Why?” You grommeled, shrinking into the chair.

“Posture!” She waved her finger at you. You rolled your eyes but obeyed. “It appears Alastor is back from his sabbatical - which I was only made aware of yesterday when he came in here with a torn suit. I asked you here to create a pho-run-in with the Overlord so that you might be aware of his presence, considering the events of tomorrow.” She placed the tray on the side counter. 

“Wait…” Your ears perked up. Did you hear her correctly? You swallowed hard. 

“I didn’t get a chance to learn of his endeavors with the Hotel until this morning. He made quite a stir yesterday, and when Alastor is in a bad mood you tend to keep conversation short.” She snapped her fingers and a new tray appeared - tea steaming and ready to be served. 

Every nerve in your body was screaming at you. “Rosie, did you…” 

“Now, come to find my surprise when I learned that he had not just already met you, but already had suspicions of your power. He asked questions, Thestral, questions about you, and I…”

“Oh my God, Rosie!” You jumped to your feet, arms clenched at your sides. 

“What has gotten into you?” She stopped mid pour, a hand feigning surprise on her chest. 

“Did you just say that Alastor is an Overlord?” Your heart was beating at a million miles an hour now. 

Taking a breath, the woman who had become like a mother to you finished pouring your cup before she set the tea kettle back onto the tray. She took her cup and plate in hand before finally answering your question. “Yes.” 

You stopped breathing completely. “Fuck,” you mumbled before slowly melting back into the chair. 

Oh my God, how could you be so stupid! Of course the Radio Demon was more powerful than you could ever have imagined. Of course the Radio Demon was an Overlord. Of course an OVERLORD had to be the Hotel manager. Of course an OVERLORD had to sleep across the hall from you! All the planning you put together, all the research, all the preparation and now you had to deal with this! 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Rosie sipped her tea - jasmine, your favorite. 

Alastor had beef with the Vees. He pissed off Vox to the point that it overloaded his circuits and shut the entire grid down. No wonder you didn’t see him in the commercial. What Overlord would want one of his biggest enemies being able to capture him using his greatest asset of surveillance - a camera. 

Sir Pentious came to challenge Alastor your very first day at the Hotel because he had heard that Alastor was back! Which meant the Hotel was now a target! Which made you a target! Alastor’s mere presence was attracting attention - attention you didn’t want and would inevitably get in the way of your plans! 

You had always been a behind the scenes type of person. Operating behind a mask was your specialty. Merely shedding the cloak was filling you to the brim with anxiety and now you had to deal with this! 

No! No! No! No! 

“Thestral you’re burning my couch,” Rosie scolded. 

Looking down, blue flames licked the seat’s plush arm rest. Silently cursing, you pulled the power back in and suffocated it, leaving behind a bit of blackened fabric.

“This is going to be a problem,” you spat through gritted teeth.

Now you knew why everyone was so afraid of him. 

“Why are you so surprised? I thought you knew by the way you were acting when you ran into him in my parlour. Actually, now that I think about it, you looked more smitten than… Huh!” Rosie gasped, her teeth growing into a smile. “Are you sweet on him?” 

Your jaw dropped. “What? No!” 

That was completely illogical! You, sweet on an Overlord!? Preposterous! 

“My dear, you’re blushing!” She practically sang. 

Your hands flew to your cheeks so fast you almost slapped yourself. “Just… What… I… Are you going to take my measurements or not?” 

Rosie laughed before pulling out a measuring tape. “Oh, I am going to dress you to the nines, tomato!” She gave you a knowing smile as she shepherded you to the block before a set of mirrors. 

“Rosie, I do not like the Radio Demon. If anything he poses a problem. A really big problem.” You stepped onto the block as she circled you like a vulture. 

“I am pulling out all the stops for you! Two new dresses, maybe a couple pair of those trousers you adore so much, and definitely a few ideas for a night out on the town. Just in case.” She winks at you in the mirror. “And new shoes too! Those little heels are done for.” 

“Rosie… Just..” You sank your face in your hands. 

She stopped immediately. “What’s wrong, darling? Talk to Auntie Rosie.” 

Running your hands through your hair, you took a deep breath, releasing as much anxiety as you could with it. 

Things were a lot easier when you operated in the shadows. 

You faked a small smile before pulling the money clip from your pocket, trying to turn the conversation to something you could handle. “At least let me pay you this time.” 

Rosie’s face turned into one of determination and pride. “You got it back from Crim, didn’t ya’?” 

You pulled your other hand from your pocket to reveal the black calling card. “Indeed I did.” 

_______________________________________

You took your time heading to the Entertainment District, letting Rosie’s words simmer within your brain. 

The Radio Demon was an Overlord and a mysterious one at that. He disappeared seven years ago, only to magically reappear recently under the guise of Charlie’s Hotel Manager. 

Funny how Lilith also disappeared seven years ago. Funny how this Extermination just so happens to be a special one. 

But before Alastor took his paid time off, it seems he was quite the shit around here. That at least explains the radio broadcasts: the incessant screaming of souls Alastor plays at whim. You had to admire that part. The man had class, he had art, he had theatrics. You just killed and walked away, not wanting the media spotlight, but Alastor? He thrived off of it. He was a walking entertainment broadcast dependent upon the attention of others. 

God, and his ego? You didn’t even want to start down that road. No wonder he got so pissy when you didn’t cower before him like thousands of others do. Fuck, the only one not afraid of him is Princess Morningstar - not because she considers herself more powerful than him but because she is naive. Alastor would kill her in a heartbeat if it meant accomplishing his goals.

Speaking of, what were his goals? Surely he didn’t wish to climb the ladder of hotel management. Alastor wasn’t an assistant type of guy. He had to be the boss. So whatever plan he has, playing make believe with the Princess has put him in a superior position despite what it appears. 

Was that it then? Was taking down Charlie his endgame? But why? Charlie doesn’t rule, she doesn’t utilize her power, she doesn’t do anything. She just kind of hangs out with Vaggie and cleans up chemical spills and hugs trees and shit. She wasn’t someone all powerful to target and take down - not like Lilith. 

Wait. Fuck. Lilith.

That’s what this is about. He disappeared seven years ago with Lilith and he’s back now because of Lilith. 

So get to Charlie to get to Lilith, but what does Alastor want with Lilith?  

So entranced in thought you finally realized you were heading in the complete wrong direction and had stumbled into a part of town you had never been. 

A window of television screens suddenly shifts to a bright yellow light. “Voxtech Angelic Security coming soon!” The ad chimes along with the new Voxtech logo sprouting a pair of wings. 

That was going to prove a problem for your late night activities. Not that anyone has ever really been able to capture you on camera before. You're a mass of black smoke when you fly and a dark hooded figure with glowing yellow eyes when you weren’t. Hell, the entirety of Pentagram City thought you were a dude. A little sexist but whatever… 

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath before turning down an alley you were hoping was a short cut. 

“That fucking, fuck!” Vox comes flying out of a side door, trying desperately to tie his bow tie which has now become a knot around his neck. 

You would have hid, you would have turned around and ran the moment you saw him, had he not run right into you. 

Vox’s back slams into your shoulder, knocking you to the ground. The media demon turns on you, his one eye glowing red, a look of pure wrath flashing across his screen. 

“Watch it!” He bites.

You give him an exasperated look before climbing to your feet. Great, now this dress is truly ruined! Your right hip is covered in black dirt, and there’s a tear along the hem. Rosie is going to kill you. 

“You ran into me,” you brush your skirt. You didn’t snap at him, you simply stated the truth. 

The demon is taken aback. How dare you speak to him like that! Did you not know who he is? 

“You want to repeat that again you, little…” He stops mid sentence, his attention drawn to the hand you were extending him. “What are you doing?” 

You gesture to the bow tie, nonchalantly, “I had a lot of brothers growing up. I got good at tying ties and bow ties and you look like you could use some help.” You nod to his left thumb, thoroughly stuck in the knot. 

He raises an eyebrow in confusion, staring at you as if you had just sprouted a second head. When he doesn’t respond, you roll your eyes and begin unraveling the silk around his neck. The demon stiffens beneath your touch, freezing in place. You could feel his eyes boring into the top of your head as you worked. 

It was a simple red bow tie, the slipperiness of the fabric made it difficult to get the ends even, but a few twists and you had it back to normal. You even closed the distance, folding the band around his neck beneath the collar of his shirt. 

He doesn’t have that aura of static like Alastor does nor that sense of coldness which hangs about his shadow. Really you expected more similarities between the two, given that they were practically each other’s counterparts. But here, now, you didn’t get the same feelings being around Vox like you did the Radio Demon. Actually it was lack thereof. 

It was probably just Vox’s lack of power. Really and truthfully you meant it when you said Vox is only ⅓ of an Overlord. Without the other Vees, he isn’t a threat. Alastor? That man was full power in only one suit. 

Wait… why were you so focused on comparing him to Alastor right now? 

“There,” you slapped your hands against your thighs. “Ta-da!” You gave him a show of jazz hands before continuing down the alleyway. A shiver runs down your spine as you could feel his gaze still on your form. God, he’s such a creep.

“Hey! Wait!” The media demon calls after you. 

You roll your eyes before spinning, cursing under your breath. 

The look on Vox’s face made you pause. Was that…? You sniffed. Curiosity? No, that wasn’t quite right. You sniffed again, not able to place the emotion. You’ve never really smelled anything like it before. 

The demon clears his throat, suddenly self conscious. “Can I at least offer you a ride to wherever you’re going… as a thank you?” He crosses his arms in front of him, taking a few slow steps in your direction. 

Fuck that. The last thing you wanted was Vox to know anything about you. Anything at all. 

“No, thanks,” you spin again and…

“Can I at least know your name?” He tries again.

Ugh! 

“Why?” You bite, your hands finding your hips. 

The demon looks confused before his screen flashes back to a neutral face. He smiles and it’s far softer than you expected, “I just want to know the name of my savior.” He chuckles. “I got a little mixed up back there and am grateful for your services in fixing the situation.” 

Okay… You’ve never actually seen Vox be nice before. This was weird. 

Your eyes trail his form from his shoes to the broken antenna atop his head. You’ve never actually seen the media demon in person, but he cleans up well. The suit was nice but the hat was a little corny. No one wears top hats anymore. Also, his head is a flat television screen, how does that thing even stay up there? 

“Uh, no.”

He blinks. “No?”

“Yeah, no.” You repeat. Was he dumb? 

He scoffs, “do you know who I am?” 

You spin, not daring to stop this time, “yup!” You waved to him over your shoulder, not looking back. “Bye!” 

______________________________________

Vox sprints through the door, the wood vibrating off its hinges. 

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Velvette snaps from her place on the couch. 

“I don’t know…” The media demon slams his hands against his desk, a look of madness on his face as his one eye blinks red. “I didn’t get her name…” He whispers to himself. 

“Who?” Velvette smacks her lips against a lollipop, a loud ‘pop!’ with each suck. 

“The most beautiful creature in Hell…”

Link to Chapter Three!

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

[snippychicke]

Poppy Seeds -- Part One

As you may have guessed, I fell into a new hyper fixation. Poppy's Playtime of all things. >.<

Inspired by TooManyPsuedonyms work, which in turn was inspired by @semisolidmind fanart/cabin!Au for Playtime Poppy.

I know right now we have no idea who or what Ollie is, but I decided to go with the assumption he is just a kid and not the Prototype as some theorists are assuming. This will likely be debunked in chapter four, but I'm running with it until then.

Dogday/Player!reader (attempting keeping it gender neutral)

Warnings: will touch on the after effects of trauma, but nothing is super explicit. Maybe some unhealthy coping skills (Dogday holding Reader on a pedestal) But otherwise we're giving everyone a happy ending. (Everything is wonderful and nothing hurts)

One: Home

Your hands gripped the steering wheel tight as your old truck climbed up the steep incline. It hadn't liked the rough road on a good day, let alone with Kissy and Dogday in the back trying to drag it down. Now it whined and complained, the wheels occasionally skidding on the gravel. Ollie clutched to Poppy tightly next to you, his sunken eyes wide with fear. Poppy, to her credit, looked confident that everything would be okay.

By the time you reached the cabin nestled high above the valley, it was close to midnight. It was a sizable two story home, complete with a barn, garage, and even a chicken coop. Thick forest surrounded the homestead, assuring complete privacy. A year ago your grandparents had moved into an assisted living community in town, leaving the whole place to you. The rest of the family had not been happy but in your defense you would come out every school break growing up to help them out.

And then, after you left Playtime Co, you had moved in under the guise of getting your life sorted out. Your grandparents never asked why it was taking you a decade to figure it out. Which you were glad, because you didn't know how you would have answered them.

Ollie’s fear eased into wonder as he looked at the flock of sheep you had in the pens up front. You were just thankful they were still there, looking rather healthy despite the fact you had been unexpectedly gone for a week or so.

When you had received the letter and VHS about the old Playtime Co you had interned 10 years ago while in college, you thought you would be gone for a few days at most considering it was a few hours away. You prepped your home as best as you could for being gone that long-- giving extra water and feed to the animals, setting the sprinklers for your garden on a timer-- but had little hopes of your own survival let alone that of your animals after being dragged deep into hell.

You didn’t bother with the detached garage, but pulled up right next to the porch. You were exhausted, and you could only imagine everyone else was as well. The truck seemed all too happy to shut off with a rough sound. You looked over at Ollie, who was still looking at everything in wonder, though Poppy was carefully extracting herself from his grip. “You okay there kiddo?”

He looked back at you, “This is where you live?” he asked instead, voice full of awe. “It looks like it's from a fairytale book!”

It really wasn't, it's a typical farm for this part of the country. Hardly one of the fanciest or beautiful, just simple and sturdy.

“Let's get inside and get settled for the night,” you offer instead of remarking. “I should have the stuff for some sandwiches at least.”

“Sand…witches?” Ollie repeated, sounding confused.

“Meat and bread,” Poppy answered, unbuckling the boy. “Sometimes with ketchup, mustard, mayo, cheese.”

“So, food? I like food!”

Your heart ached. You knew the boy had been raised in the factory, hidden away and protected from the Prototype or hungry ‘toys’. The fact he had was a miracle enough--especially considering how small and thin he was. He had to be ten at the youngest, but barely looked as if he was half that age.

The passenger door opened, which considering how much trouble Kissy had with her hands, was surprising. Yet the pink creature reached in and pulled both Ollie and Poppy out of the truck.

Dogday waited for you as you exited the truck, your legs shaky from the long ride. However, his attention wasn't on you but the dark sky above. It was a new moon, meaning the Milky Way arched overhead with dozens of stars. A glance over to Kissy and the others showed they too were amazed by the stars--you could hear Poppy trying to explain all of it to Ollie quietly.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” You said as you stepped closer to Dogday.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I-I’ve never seen the night sky like this.”

“Well, now you can see it every night,” you said, shouldering his arm lightly. “Best place for meteor showers too.”

Dogday tore his gaze away and looked down at you. “Are you sure we can stay here, angel?”

“Of course. As long as you want, even if it's forever.” Granted, you didn't know where else they would go, especially Dogday and Kissy. But you didn't want to assume anything either, or make them feel trapped.

His hand found yours, so giant compared to yours but soft and warm. “Forever it is then.”

You felt your cheeks warm against the chilly night air as you laughed self-consciously. “Right, you might wanna sleep on that kind of decision, ‘Day.”

Two: Sleep

You woke slowly, feeling warm and cozy. Something soft was surrounding you, with the faintest hint of vanilla. At first you thought maybe you were wrapped up in a thick blanket, but when you opened your eyes to matted brown fur you realized it was Dogday instead, his arms wrapped around you and holding you close as if you were the toy. You could feel him breathe softly, each inhale and exhale caressing your skin softly.

(You didn't want to think about the amalgamation of organic and inorganic parts inside of him. You saw enough when you helped attach his legs to leave you with nightmares.)

For once, Dogday looked relaxed. Dark eyes closed and his smile softened. You couldn’t resist running your fingers along his face. He had been one of the few you had instantly trusted in that hell. One of the few that never even seemed to think about harming you.

Poppy had used you for her own means, not giving you a real choice ever since you released her. Kissy Missy had always been kind but you had soon realized that her partnership with Poppy may have played a part in it. And of course there was Ollie, though it took a while for you to trust the faceless voice on the phone, especially after you learned that the Prototype could mimic voices and Ollie had a very… peculiar way of phrasing things.

Yet Dogday… he had raised his head, and saw you as someone special as soon as his gaze met yours. Begged you to leave him behind and to run when the miniature Critters started to swarm. Actively fought to defend and protect you despite missing the lower half of his body at first.

And ever since, had refused to leave your side. While everyone else did their part, he determinedly stuck with you. Even last night after everyone finished eating and all anyone could think about was sleep. Kissy happily cuddled Poppy and Ollie in her arms as she climbed up the stairs to claim a bedroom. You expected Dogday to follow suit…

“Hey, uh, angel?” Dogday said softly, sounding rather shy. He had stuck around to help you clean up, though all that consisted of was a few plates, cups, and butter knives. Though the number of sandwiches consumed had emptied out all the bread, lunchmeat, cheese, as well as peanut butter and jelly in your pantry.

“Yeah?” You were getting used to the nickname, though you still felt as if it was undeserved the way he said it. As if you truly were an angel from heaven, sent to save.

“... Could I sleep with you?”

His question surprised you, and you almost dropped the cup you had been washing. Thankfully he quickly grabbed it before it could fall very far. “Sleep…with me?”

Granted those last two… days? You weren't sure, but you and him had found safe spots to watch out for each other while the other slept. It was the only time during the whole ‘adventure’ you managed to sleep. Wrapped up in his arms, feeling him breathe, listening to his heartbeat. It reminded you weren't alone anymore.

“I… don't want to be alone,” he continued, drying off the cup and placing it on the shelf. “Even if I know you and the others are nearby, I…”

Your surprise shifted into sympathy and understanding. Kissy, Poppy, and Ollie were together… and now that you thought about it, being alone right now did not fill you with any sort of ease.

“Yeah. I mean, if you don't mind cuddling close. My bed is barely big enough for two normal-sized people, let alone one me and one… well, Dogday.”

His smile widened. “With you? Never.”

Dogday shifted in his sleep, turning his head to nuzzle into your hand before his eyes slowly opened. His smile widened slightly, and you heard more than saw his tail thump against the bed which in turn made you smile wider as well. “Morning,” you greeted softly.

“Good morning, angel,” he said just as softly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Best sleep in a long time,” you admitted with a slight laugh. Trying to sleep in the factory had been a scary experience. Finding small places to hide long enough to close your eyes. Waking and jumping at every little sound. Plagued by endless nightmares.

And you had been there for just a few days, a week at most.

“What about you?” you asked. Him and the others had lived in that hell for a decade. You didn't startle awake from him lashing out at nightmares. Which you had seen him do a few times before at the factory. You had held him in your laps as best you could, reassuring him he was okay as he broke down.

He leaned closer, nuzzling your cheek slightly. “Next to you, how could I not?”

You laughed between his flirty words and his fur tickling your skin. “You're such a flirt!”

Three: Morning After

“It's so bright outside!” Ollie gasped as he looked out the window while you worked on breakfast. Thankfully none of the eggs had spoiled, nor had any milk, meaning you were whipping up a full course of scrambled eggs and pancakes-- as well as cooking the few boxes of frozen sausages you had found in the freezer.

Dogday was currently watching them like a hawk, occasionally licking his lips as he moved them around in the skillet.

“Actually. That's cloudy. See how the sky is gray. Not blue?” Poppy pointed out, also gazing out the window. “On sunny days, it's a bright vibrant blue, and even brighter.”

“Really?” The boy looked up to you to confirm the doll's words, and you nodded your head. To think he had never seen the sky before. To be unable to tell a sunny day from a cloudy one.

“It actually looks like it could rain,” you pointed out. “Maybe we should hold off on a bath until after you have fun in the mud.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought if you get caught in the rain, you'll get sick?”

“Psh, no. At least, not as long as you can dry off and warm up afterwards. It'll also give me time to look through stuff down in the basement. I think there should be some old hand me downs that should fit you.”

“A good bath can do wonders.” Poppy hopped down from the windowsill and into Kissy's hand before the giant monster also gently corralled Ollie to the table where the food was waiting. “It's been such a long time.”

“Er, excuse me for being intrusive…” you set down a towering plate of pancakes before sitting yourself. “But can you guys get wet?”

“We may not be flesh and bone anymore, but we can still enjoy a good shower,” Dogday answered as he set the plate of sausage links in front of you. “Or even a swim.”

“Why is the water white?” Ollie interrupted, looking oddly at the glass of milk Kissy poured in front of him. “I've never seen it that color before.”

“It’s milk,” Poppy answered. “You used to love it when you were a baby and we had access to some.”

Ollie sniffed suspiciously before taking a drink… and then nearly gulping the entire glass in one go. You took the opportunity of everyone chuckling at the boy to split the sausage between the others. Kissy noticed first and clapped excitedly, her mit-like hands muffling the sound.

“Angel,” Dogday sighed, though you weren't sure he was touched or exasperated. Or maybe both.

“Shh, I saw the way you were eyeing them. I can always buy more when I go to town.”

He was silent for a while before taking a bite of the sausage, savoring it unlike Kissy who had all but inhaled hers. Ollie was following Kissy’s example with the banquet of food, while Poppy was benign as dainty as could be, cutting everything into tiny bites, even for her smaller size.

You couldn’t help but savor your own food, feeling rather happy and optimistic about the future.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

A Spark To Ignite (Bodyguard!141 x Famous!Reader Preferences) Mild NSFW

Summary: You see each other every day. He works to keep you protected - a perk of your job and his. Occasionally feeling moments of passion and promises of something more between you two are only normal, right?

AN: I've got another bodyguard!AU for the 141 that's more angst based. I'll post that later. I've also got a Price x Escort!Reader in the works plus the end of "Star-crossed in the Crosshairs". Let me know if you have any requests/anything you'd rather see first <3

Content warning: Minors DNI, 18+ only, allusions to sexual tension/arousal, second person, no use of Y/N

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another notification of being tagged in the same paparazzi image hit your notification inbox, yet you still opened it and shared a giddy grin at the Instagram feed.

You hadn’t been fussed about going running; it was the company rather than the activity that attracted you. But one thing you were certain about the sport was that no one ever looked flattering whilst doing it.

Yet there he was, your Kyle, looking like a model for Sports Direct. He was snapped midstride, his biceps practically rippling in the glow of the morning sun. There was even a hint of his lean washboard torso with the flap of his t-shirt’s raised coyly.

However, his dimpled smile aimed was the main focus of the headline – mainly because it was aimed at you and your equally elated expression. You blamed the euphoria of exercised endorphins but the way the photo was framed (plus the gaudy text declaring it so) made it seem as if you and Kyle were a true couple in love. It looked incredibly staged. Kyle was an “unknown” though so most budding theorists did not support any claims of it being a publicity stunt. Just two lovers out on a jaunty little run together.

You saved then added the photo to the folder of photos that captured you out with your bodyguard and the headlines that (sadly) misidentified him as your new boyfriend.

“Hey Kyle!”

Blending some fruits. His duties did not include head chef but you had long since allowed him access to your kitchen, even storing some of his favourites around the cupboards and fridge in case he fancied a snack.

Your phone was thrust up into his eyeline, you beaming behind it, “Another Pulitzer.”

Abandoning his smoothie temporarily, Kyle cupped his hand around yours to steady your swaying phone.

“They need to up their standards. Taking you for a jog is hardly a date you deserve,” He commented.

“Ooo, do tell: what do I deserve?”

“Well,” Kyle began pouring the smoothie into a glass, “I could go classic, take you to out on the town to a special place only I know about.”

You leaned onto your    elbows, chin resting in your palms, cheeks creased in a cheeky smile. “Mm-hmm.”

“Wine you, dine you, treat you like a deity,” Kyle said as if he was listing off menial tasks on his day to day whilst collecting another glass for the remaining smoothie. “Take you back to mine if you fancied it, another drink whilst we talk the night away and time passing without us noticing.” Graciously, he slid the other one across the countertop, and your fingers locked against his warm ones wrapped against the cool glass. “Then work up a sweat in a whole other way.”

Blinking away the glaze that had coated your eyes, you restrained the urge to gulp back your desire. A fresh breath in your lungs recovered you quickly and you managed to conjure a teasing quip amidst the fog that had settled over your thoughts.

“Think you could keep up with me?” You said before sipping the smoothie.

The sweetness of it countered Kyle’s smirking reply: “You and I both know I can more than handle you.”

“Better train harder then,” You said, proud of yourself for not stumbling over your playful banter, “I’m a catch, so you better be fast enough.”

“Jog, same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” And, not missing in the reflection of the oven door how Kyle – for a split second – looked you up and down, you did your best not to collapse or squeal during your return to the sitting room.

-----------

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You leant against the ropes of the new boxing ring with a panting chest and aching legs. Jellied bones dared to let you collapse to the ground but at least, since your self-defence training had begun, you were lasting the full session rather than just after the warm-up.

“I think we’re done for today! Did good, held your own.” Johnny gave you a hearty slap on your back that almost ricocheted you off the ropes. “I’ve still got a few reps to get in.” He leapt out the ring and swigged from his water bottle, tossing you your own.

“Show-off!” You called out after him, though all in good fun, as you caught your bottle and your breath.

Technically, since you didn’t have anything else to do, you could get a head-start on getting cleaned up. You were in the privacy of your own gym, added at your request so that Johnny could train you better and you could do so without being ogled or papped.

Quite hypocritical it was then, that you lingered in the ring to watch Johnny stack up his weights on either side of the bar (the ones you purchased as part of his perks of working for you).

Your day-job came in handy with pretending to do some cooldown stretches, sipping from and pouring your water bottle over yourself. Well, you were actually doing those things but acting as if they were the only things that occupied your thoughts was the main role you were playing. From the corner of your eye, you observed Johnny squatted with a stack of weights lining each shoulder. God, those arms were practically popping, his thighs bulging with the effort of remaining planted on the floor and folding up and down beneath the hefty set. Mesmerising, you forgot to keep up your pretence by the second load of reps.

It left your lips before you could reconsider for the tenth time: “Bet you couldn’t lift me.”

Soap paused in a deep squat and looked up through his lashes at you. Meeting his steely blue gaze was easier than anticipated but maintaining it as he righted himself and rested the weights back on the rack with a restrained grunt was the difficult part.

At first, you thought maybe his silence was his answer. Then Johnny knelt down and assumed the plank position.

“Get on,” He said, loud and clear.

You still doubted him, “Seriously?”

“You made the bet. Now lie in it.”

As elegantly as possible, you dismounted the ring before making your way over to his side. He showed no signs of tiredness during your journey, nor did he when you balanced yourself across his broad back.

“Ok, ready,” You said, your voice close to wobbling.

And so it began. Up and down, you could feel how his body sustained you through both your and his workout gear. His back muscles rippled beneath you and his elbows kissed yours each time he lowered you both to the floor. Out of nowhere, you began giggling and you couldn’t figure out how to put a stop to it. Giddiness flooded your entire system until you were beyond drunk.

Suddenly, your world tilted and you rolled off onto the mat but Johnny refused you any respite, flipping you over onto your back again, like a pancake.

“I win,” He panted, “What’s my prize?”

Still giggling, you felt your cheeks burning at the sight of him hovering over you, his skin glowing, his chest panting. His unrelenting stare had you locked beneath him, barred between his trunk-like arms. If this was your prison, you’d commit any offence to stay in there. God you were so close you could kiss him-

Nope.

“You finish your workout early so you can have a nice hot shower sooner?” You said, covering your mouth to cough and clear your airways of whatever shit you breathed in to make you even consider making out with your bodyguard. You must’ve looked so daft; you blamed the endorphins. Then you blamed Johnny completely as he started to laugh down at you, sending your thighs quaking as he crawled off you and ordered you to get cleaned up – that he’d be in shortly after as a hint to not use all the hot water. As you drifted back to the bathroom, you tried not to think about him in the shower or how you wanted to offer to scrub him down.

-----------

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Say the word and I’ll have him removed.”

For a man so stoic and intimidating, Simon sure made you smile a lot. You needed it after that… “interesting” conversation with one of the party’s guests – someone who you knew to be a detractor behind your back.

“It’s fine, really,” You insisted with a winning smile.

Casting a glance over your shoulder where your shadow dutifully remained was a reward you would never be exhausted of. Simon looked so good in his tux. Plus he’d humoured you and worn the silk black mask rather than his usual. You were brimming with privilege at seeing his hair styled beyond the flattened fuzz it would take on after being beneath the balaclava for twenty hours at a time. Even more so, you got to see his tattoos pairing nicely with them like a good bottle of wine.

You could hear the smirk hiding beneath his mask. His veined hands clasped firmly in front of him as he leant close, just his mask separating his lips and your ear.

“We could make a break for it. Ditch these twats. Get a drive-thru.”

He knew you never would agree to it; this gala meant a lot to you. Such a tempting offer though, in such a tempting voice too. His rough tone did nothing but delight you when you heard it. Turning to look at him, you took note of the two mere inches between your face and his.

He continued, “You’ve shown your face long enough.”

“Getting jealous of them stealing my attention?” You asked provocatively.

Simon let out a low laugh, shaking his head fondly with just a hint of patronising, “That’s funny, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people who are dying to still talk to me.” You gestured with the glass he’d gotten (and checked for any malicious interference) for you around at the room, those who would never have the privilege of being a part of your and Simon’s bubble.

“Just as long as you and everyone else knows that I’m the one who takes you home.”

The implications of that statement swelled in your chest, nestling into your heart like a cat in a warm patch of sunlight. Intently, he looked at your face for your reaction. That was the thing with Simon: always observing, recording every flicker, every possibility in that incredible mind of his. You were certain he could see into your soul with those all-seeing eyes. He kept you safe, kept you on your toes, kept you happy.

But the bubble burst before you could hit back and you abruptly checked yourself back into work mode. The person who’d spoken loud enough to bring you back down to Earth didn’t seem to notice your slip up. You, however, were more than acutely aware of Simon’s lingering presence at your side. So close the hairs on your arm extended on goosebumps, coaxing and begging to touch him.

As you were once again left alone, you found yourself stifled by your need to be nearer to Simon and quickly decided the alcohol was to blame. “I need the bathroom.”

“This way.” His hand grazing the small of your back had an impact tripled, but you managed to submit it to travelling through your nose, rather than gasping out your mouth. But you were certain that Simon had caught you. He never missed a thing.

-----------

John "Bravo Six" Price

After shaking hands again with the presenter and declaring a few thanks to the crew, you were guided straight to the dressing room by Price. You took off your own microphone and handed it to him, which he immediately passed to a nervous stagehand. Your name in Arial font on an A4 sheet of paper greeted you from the dressing room door.

Sometimes you needed that extra time to decompress and he knew before you did more often than not. Today was not one of those days, though you did request to stop and pick up the bouquet that had been there to welcome you in when you first arrived. It was so large, your favourites blooming in the dew-dropped cellophane, that you had trouble waving to the folks who’d stuck around at the barrier, Price’s arms keeping you walking and guiding you towards the car.

For your safety, you had to go in the back where the tinted windows offered you a hint of privacy. It was a thorn in your side though. You longed to sit beside Price as he fought playfully with you over the music, grumbled with the directions his phone offered, collected your drive-in order. Then maybe your daydream of being his partner could have a little more to stand on.

A true gentleman as well as your protector, Price walked you up to the house and let you set up your evening meal while he made final checks to secure your house again. Normality for you was hearing him walk around and jiggle door handles and returning only when he was certain none had been tampered with and your cameras were fully functioning.

“Anything else you need from me before I leave for the night?” He asked, standing at ease in front of you.

You gestured to the bouquet you were cradling like a baby, “Thank you for the flowers.”

His brows furrowed for a split second then a sheepish smile smoothed out the lines in his forehead, highlighting his eyes instead.

“You caught me,” He said quietly, sparing a look at the flowers he asked the host to order for you, then back at you.

Squinting mischievously, you asked, “Were you really hiding it?”

“I suppose not.” He let his smile soften and dull. Back to business. Yet you could’ve sworn he glanced at your mouth before he asked, “Anything else you need?”

Your heart yearned to beg him to stay and tell you what else he did behind the scenes without a hint of expecting more, so that you could show him how much you cared in an appropriately equal response. His favourite whiskey perhaps for when he was off duty, or one day doing something together that he wanted to do so it wasn’t just looking after you. It was more than that, the job. He’d told you so. But you didn’t want to just be a job to him.

Quietly, you maintained your decorum, “No, thank you.”

John nodded his head, “Of course.”

It was as he was about to cross the threshold when you started to ask, “Do you-”

Not even three words made it out before Price whipped around, already returning to where he’d stood before. You could feel your lungs struggling under the strain of maintaining steady breathing at the gesture, suspending all the blood in your face (and maybe your groin). It stopped your question in its path, as if it was waiting until Price was listening attentively (he always was for you).

“Yes?” He prompted, his voice soft as if to coax you out of your hideout.

Fidgeting with the bouquet still, you cleared your throat and began again, “Do you want to join me, for dinner?”

Price’s hands, now at his sides, tapped on his thighs thrice before he said, “Two conditions.”

“Name them.”

Perhaps you said that a little too quickly because it made him laugh, which only made things worse for you. You had a real weakness for that laugh.

“You teach me whatever you’re planning on making, and you let me help you make it.”

Your heart accelerated and you dismissed his with a smile and a slight self-deprecating remark to soften the weight of this decision you were both making: “It’s nothing special.”

“Those are my terms,” Price insisted. His eyes creased as a smile grew on his face, more beautiful than the flowers forgotten the second you placed them into the vase. But at least it gave you to excuse to look away and gather your expression into something more collected as you ordered him to go and wash his hands.

[anonymous-dentist]

From the Doctor Who au I keep meaning to write:

-

Roier’s husband disappeared into the midst of the Time War just over 350 years ago.

Today, Cellbit wants to meet Jack the Ripper, so he and Roier are pushing their ways through the foggy, smelly London streets, and it’s fine. It’s just Jack the Ripper, it’s fine. It’s the British, it’s fine.

Roier can take care of himself. He’s a veteran! He’s one of the few Time Lords to actually have made it out of the war with more than one regeneration cycle to spare.

But Cellbit? He might have a very solid build and some very nice biceps, but he’s also kind of a nerd. He claims to be able to take care of himself in a fight, but Roier’s been the one saving him from all the aliens (and humans) he’s been pissing off, sooooo…

“We could have gone to the beach,” Roier grumbles.

“The beach is boring,” Cellbit huffs. “Jack the Ripper isn’t at the beach.”

“You don’t know that. Nobody knows who that guy is.”

“Not yet.”

Because that’s what they’re here: Cellbit- strange, beautiful Cellbit- has decided that he’s going to solve the mystery of who Jack the Ripper is even though, really, it doesn’t even matter.

(But what else is new?)

Roier rolls his eyes.

Once upon a time, his husband went by the title of ‘the Captain’. He was a police captain in one of Gallifrey’s smaller towns, and his sister worked by his side as the Detective.

Cellbit is a conspiracy theorist who throws bricks at police cars and criticizes serial killers not because they’re evil but because their “knife techniques” are “wrong”.

The irony is not lost on Roier, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Cellbit, despite having an entire time machine at his disposal now, wants to find Jack the Ripper, and he wants to kick him in the balls and throw him into the Thames and watch him drown.

Roier agrees. Fuck that guy.

“Fuck that guy,” Roier declares.

Cellbit nods in agreement. “Fuck him. He had so much potential.”

Roier blinks. “What?”

“Uh, I mean. He had so much potential… to get arrested and die in jail?”

Uh-huh, sure.

Roier rolls his eyes. “I think they still do public executions here, actually.”

“What, don’t you know? Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of alien super genius?”

Cellbit’s smile is sharp as a knife. (He’s soooo proud of himself. Dumbass.)

He elbows Roier in the side.

Roier elbows him back. “Not everybody can be an ‘alien super genius’. Some of us are just guys who slept through Earth Class in school.”

Cellbit shoots him a look, his smile and eyes softening disgustingly.

“Don’t sell yourself short, man,” he says. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

He goes quiet for a second before quickly adding on: “Especially compared to us humans!”

He coughs into his fist and looks to the side, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

Oh, Cellbit…

Roier elbows Cellbit again. “Hey, be nice to humans! They can be smart as hell sometimes!”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Cellbit says, still turned away. “We can be really dumb sometimes, though. Like, with cars. And TikTok.”

“Fuck you, I love TikTok!”

“You would.”

Mildly outraged and somewhat offended, Roier gasps, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just that you look like a TikTok guy.”

“What happened to calling me a genius?”

Cellbit bites back a laugh, not answering. Asshole.

Pouting only a little, Roier crosses his arms and kicks a pebble and tries not to step in a river of alcohol and mud going down the side of the street. Ewwwww….

Once upon a time, Roier used to go on trips with his Captain all the time. They’d hop into the Captain’s TARDIS and set the destination to random and go on at least a dozen dates a week. They’d hold hands walking down the streets, and they would kiss quite literally whenever possible.

Cellbit doesn’t hold Roier’s hand. Their fingers brush, but that’s it.

(Roier misses him so bad…)

Roier’s wedding ring feels so cold. He can only imagine how freezing the chain necklace around Cellbit’s neck is.

But they keep walking, and they keep talking, and Roier can almost pretend it’s the same as it was before the war. He wasn’t on the last of his set of 12 lives, his husband wasn’t… a fucking idiot.

Cellbit trips over a loose paving stone and almost falls, but Roier catches him by the arm and pulls him back upright- their first real physical contact since Roier picked Cellbit up for that first trip away from Earth.

Just for a second, Cellbit looks like he’s going to break. His eyes water, and his mouth thins, and his lip threatens to start wobbling pathetically.

But he pulls himself together, and he pulls his arm away.

“Thank you,” he quietly says.

He holds his body close to himself and looks anywhere but at Roier.

Roier sighs, but he smiles, anyway. Of course he does. He’s Cellbit, how could Roier not smile at him?

(This, at least, has stayed the same.)

___

If you liked this little excerpt, please reblog and comment/ask/Whatever! It really does mean a lot to me, and it lets me know that people want to read more!!

[whereserpentswalk]

There's a door somewhere that's been closed forever. As long as people can remember, the first records of its existence, it's been closed. And even in the first records of its existence, people were watching it, waiting for it to be opened.

It's a massive door, in an underground chamber, the room its in is the largest room on earth. It's beautiful and ornate, and so strangely alien. After the initial hallway the room with the door is the only room in the chamber, like it's the entrance to a massive complex that humanity will never see. It's architecture is like no known culture, there are carvings on the walls of animals that don't exist, and writing in a language nobody knows. Some think that it's the work of aliens, some think it's the work of an advanced ancient culture, others that it's the work of beings from another dimension. Scientists and historians find all of those possibilities disturbingly possible.

There are tons of theories as to what's beyond the door. Every single religion that has come in contact with the door has managed to tie it into its mythology, especially ideas about the end of the world. And secular conspiracy theorists love it just as much. There are theories that the door will lead to hell, and that the rapture will start when it opens, theories that the door is where the messiah waits, or where God's body on earth is. There are theories that behind the door lies the secret of eternal life. Theories that aliens will open the door when they're ready to contact humanity. Theories that behind the door are the secrets to the universe, that it'll usher in a new age of humanity when opened. Theories that there's treasure behind the door, or technology that will change the way humanity lives. But there is one throughline amoung almost all theories, at least those belived by those invested in it, which is that they believe the door will open soon, and that those who see it opened will benefit the most. And there's been theories like this for thousands of years.

People of all religions will save up to make holy pilgrimages to the door, skipping meals, depriving their children of toys, so they can sit in front of the door for a few days, hoping to be the ones to see it open, returning home disappointed. There are conmen who'll sell the smallest things from the door, from water thats touched it, to pebbles that have fallen off of it, and people will believe it'll heal the sick, or work miracles. In ancient times conquerors would go to the door, making such a big deal out of it being in their lands. In modern times a small republic of a few thousand people, as old as the first world war, controls the territory of the door, they do their best to let people of all walks of life come to it, and try to stop any single group from dominating the space.

And of course there are people who live near the door. The entrance to the chamber is now surrounded by a modern city, and the room the door is in, and the hallway before it, are so large that they basically contain an entire town/neighborhood. The people who live in the room of the door are all those who are waiting for it to open (and a small population of people making good money off of them). They all have their own sections within the giant room, from evangelicals waiting to see Jesus behind the door, to alien theorists waiting to see the secrets of the stars, to new agers waiting for the opening of the doors to enter earth into a new era. The underground town is one of the most crowded places on earth, and as long as you're outside you can see the doors. Basically everyone who lives there thinks it's the only place they can ever be, as dark as it is down there they need to live where the doors will soon open. Some even go so far as to never leave the room even temporarily, many people living and dying in this one underground room, never being anywhere else, never seeing the sun. When those who where born in the room grow up to move somewhere else, abandoning their hopes of seeing the door open, their parents grieve as if they've lost their chance at salvation, and mourn them as if they were dead oftentimes.

Trying to get very close to the door is nearly impossible. It gets more and more crowded the closer you get to the door. And the space where it's close enough to actually touch the door is constantly covered with people, you have to sift through the thickest crowds on earth to get close enough to touch it, and people, thinking it has mystical properties, will. People have been trampled to death trying to touch that door. The entire underground town is unreasonable crowded, but nothing comes close to that small sliver of space where the door can be touched.

Science has had a rough relationship with the door. In older times people have tried to open it. The last time it was tried was when it was under British rule in the 19th century. It didn't go well. They might be able to do more now, but most of the people the door is important to don't want them to. There was a scientist who was beaten to death by an angry mob in the 1970s for suggesting there might he nothing more then an empty room behind the door, not even that it was likely, juet that it was possible. Science has spoken little on the door since then. And the government that has the territory of the door now does not allow any door based science to occur.

The reason why I bring all of this up, is that a few days ago the doors opened just the slightest amount. Not enough for anyone to step through, but enough to be noticeable. It's so hard to see through, but reports are starting to come in. They say that behind the door is a short hallway, and at the end of the hallway is another set of doors, of similar size and shape, waiting just as patiently to open.

[bat-besties]

People often say Cass’ reason for identifying as nonbinary is “not understanding gender” and while it’s often a joke, I do think it’s the complete opposite to Cass’ knowledge. (I’m using she/her for canon, this applies however and whichever way you headcanon Cass’ gender identity)

I feel it’s often coming from a place of her not understanding language, but gender is so much more than language. A lot of sociologists and gender theorists would kill for the ability to perfectly understand body language and then travel across (at least) China, Vietnam, and the US observing people in urban and rural environments, in both peaceful and violent situations. 

 In many ways, her lack of preconceptions about gender or need for language to shape her observances would make her more able to see the reality of gender performance rather than ideals. The idea that women are weak or men are unemotional would be foreign to her. 

As a child she’s isolated, but she still trains with the League of Assassins briefly. Unfortunately, the first time she is heavily gendered is as a disguise and a weapon in the most traumatic event in her lift, which undeniably shapes her attitude to femininity as this post covers. 

But as she runs, her world suddenly expands to, well, the entire world. 

Her gender identity may have come to words and self-expression in America, but the first place she would be able to really observe people is in south China, likely passing through Guangdong and Guangxi over the course of a year or two. That’s a really formative period, and as I personally think Lady Shiva is from south China (specifically Yunnan), is also unintentionally Cass connecting with her heritage. 

She’s a homeless and very traumatised nine year old, so obviously her experience would have been overall awful. However, a teenage Cass still strongly believes in the sanctity of life and the capacity for goodness in people, and I have to think that while she’s seen a lot of darkness, she’s seen a lot of goodness too. Cass isn’t always curious about things she doesn’t understand (as with her reading), but she has to have been observant to keep travelling and keep escaping from Cain. 

She will have seen the wealthy gamblers of Macau, the street vendors of small-town Vietnam, the pickpockets of Gotham. She will have seen different gender norms across cultures, even if she doesn’t know how each language reflects those norms. She would have to adjust to each new place, and refine her body language reading more generally (like how Americans smile way too much), including gendered readings. 

Cass will have seen a million couples, straight and gay. Pairs of women afraid to hold hands but projecting their nervousness on the first date like a signal. Unhappy marriages hidden by false smiles for the neighbours. Elderly couples where the man still walks on the road side of the pavement.

Considering herself an orphan, she will have seen mothers nursing their babies, fathers pushing their daughters on swingsets, sisters yelling at each other one moment and laughing the next. 

Watching unobserved, she would see all kinds of women in the city. Groups of women going from club to club in high heels, schoolgirls copying each other’s homework on the train, business women in neat makeup and a purposeful walk.  

She will have met other homeless girls like herself. Despite being unable to speak with them she might recognise the guarded set to their eyes, the way they are always poised to run - but they might have a smile for her, and a willingness to share a sheltered spot. They might have cut her hair spiky and short, or taught her to play cat’s cradle.  

Unfortunately, she will have seen predatory behaviour, men who leer or talk with deceptively friendly tones to a little girl alone. (I know she’s meant to “discover” men being attracted to her in the comics as a teen but that’s optimistic). When those men approach other girls, she doesn’t hesitate to protect them. 

But she would have seen so much joy too - boys playing football and grown men joining in, old men sitting on plastic chairs and observing the street together, gangly teen boys play-fighting.

On the streets, clustered and sometimes hidden, she would have seen people whose clothing and body language doesn’t match their bodies. Before Cass knows the words transgender and drag and gender nonconforming, she knows that these people are at risk for being different - at risk like she might be, if she couldn’t convince herself she only needs her fighting skills to protect herself. She wouldn’t need words to take each person as they look to her, to have an amorphous and wordless idea of performativity. 

And then of course, she has Barbara, and Batgirl, and finally language. 

So, I think Cass’ gender identity is something she discovers with the background of this huge tapestry of humanity she’s observed over the years. And if she goes “fuck that it makes no sense”, that’s a deeply informed, nuanced Fuck That. 

[little-forest-goblin]

Adventures at Max’s Delicessant!

1.

This town aint big enough for the both of us

It was a pretty normal day at the diner. All the fives were doing their usual daily activities, conversation was in the air, and food and drinks were being served in and out of the kitchen. Booth five was obviously in one of the booths, waiter five taking orders and serving, brisket five was well…brisketing you could call it, chef five was testing a new soup he was making, Drunk five was being well…drunk, Newspaper five was in one of the booths reading the newspaper and info dumping to loose neck tie five, Anxious five was off being anxious in one of the tables in the back staring off into space and fidgeting with his hands and trying not to listen to the theories theorist five was giving. Journalist five was at one of the tables in the front by the glass windows to get a better view of the whole diner so he could write in his journal.

Newspaper five: Hey loose neck tie five,did you know that scorpions have a mating dance? Isn’t interesting? They lock claws together and do this weird kinda like a ballroom dance i guess you could say. *Newspaper five smiled from behind the newspaper at loose neck tie five kind of waiting for a response to his interesting fact he told*

Loose neck tie five: *He looked at newspaper five with a look of disbelief as to why and where does he get this information* …

Newspaper five: what? *Newspaper five looked at his shirt* Do i got something on my shirt?

Just then the bell to the diner rung. Now usually the fives don’t really look up anymore at any of new fives that walk in. The only fives that usually look up and at the door is journalist five and booth five both for different reasons. Booth five looks up at the door and what he see’s is infact a version of himself but it’s a…cowboy version of himself? Thats really strange cause that means there’s a completely different universe with a completely different time period. They get different fives here all the time but not all of them are drastically different like this one. Most times its just something small like maybe an accent or a personality change quite like brisket five who is one of the kinder fives.

Booth five: Shit. *Booth five slowly rose from his booth in amazement at the odd spaghetti western version of himself*

This caught the attention of the other five’s within the diner. there eyes all holding different emotions whether it be ranging from shock, amazement or curiosity. On the other side cowboy five was wide eyed and freaked right the hell out. he looked around at the multi versions of himself panic rising and his hand on his gun in his holster Cowboy five: Now i reckon.... Waiter five: If he says what i think he will say im gonna quit on the spot. Loose neck tie five: Thats not possible idiot Waiter five: *looks at cowboy five* Please dont say it... Cowboy five: This here diner aint big enough for all of us. Multiple of the fives collectively groan and some even put there heads on the table in annoyance at the cliche they just heard and witnessed Booth five: Now lets all be nice he is one of us afterall. *booth five looks to cowboy five* Now im pretty sure it must be very confusing right now bu- Booth five didnt even get to finish as a gunshot was shot past him obvousily having been shot by cowboy five. Booth five goes into a panic and dives behind a booth. multiple of the fives dive under tables and behind counters as Cowboy five continues firing shots at them. Anxious five: *anxious five was under table curled in on himself with his knee's to his chest and his hands over his head* i-i just wanted a normal day! Brisket five see's anxious five under a table. he peeks at cowboy five from behind the counter and when cowboy five is distracted he quickly squats and runs to anxious five and taking him by the arms Brisket five: come on! you cant stay right here! Anxious five: n-no he will kill me i will get shot i- Brikset five: look at me anxious five! look at me! i wont let you get hit with any bullets. come on buddy lets go anxious five thinks a minute until he nods and follows brisket five out from under the table and to a safer spot behind the counter. meanwhile booth five is hidden behind a booth while waiter five is next to him trying to avoid the bullets whizzing by this crazy gunslinger Waiter five: what the hell is this guys problem?! Why is he basically trying to shoot himself?! Booth five: He is probably extremely confused! We all were when we first came here the only difference is this version has guns! Waiter five: So what do we do then?! A lot of us are getting hurt!!! Booth five: Im working on it! Waiter five: WORK FASTER!!! Booth five would like to smack the back of waiter fives head but right now was not great so for now he will tolerate it cause right now there was a much bigger issue shooting at them. Meanwhile journaling five was hidden in the corner behind a corner booth. he looked up at the choas with a mix of obvious worry for his fellow five's but also curisotiy. he took the journal in his hand opening it up and opening the pen cap with his teeth and writing in his journal about this new cowboy five with shaky hands from the adrenaline coursing through his body at the current situation. In various parts of he diner five's hid. some where shot and wounded but nothing to serious mostly arm or shoulder shots. back to booth and waiter. Waiter five: i have an idea what if i hit him with my metal servin tray?! Booth waiter: NO you will get shot at such a close range! Waiter five: what?! no i wont are you accusing me of being a shitty fighter?! Booth waiter: maybe i am! Waiter five: why you little- Booth and waiter ended up getting into a arguement over there fighting skills and what plan would work best. Suddenly gunshots stopped and only a click sound could be heard. booth's eyebrows furrowed and he peeked over the side of the booth at the cowboy five. cowboy five had lost all his bullets. booth and waiter looked at eachother and a silent converstaion happened between the two and they rushed cowboy five trying to pin him down Booth five: Get him down! get him down! Waiter five: Brisket come help us man! after reassuring anxious five that he will be back he came running on over to them and helped pin cowboy five down with much protest and kicking ~Timeskip~

After having wrestled a very annoyed cowboy five down they had put him a broom closet that wasnt used and locked it so he can cool down. The fives all helped patch eachpther up if they go shot in some sorta way. Brisket five had been dilligently helping by giving waters and chicken soup for them. Newspaper five came on over to booth five Newspaper five: So what exactly are we gonna do with the angry cowboy? Booth five: Well until he cools down we cant do shit but im working on it Newspaper five: yeah i guess your right but intil then im gonna ask theorist five if he ahs any ideas which more then likely he does but doesnt. newspaper five headed to theorist five and sat down at his table and started his chat. booth five sighed and looked to the door of the broom closet. he picked up his cup of shitty coffee Booth five: God what a shit show *He sipped his coffee*

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for a lot of things?

I (16M) once stole a magic hourglass, put a magic shard into a mascot costume which started trying to kill people, forgot a magic statue that resulted in an entire sea spire falling apart, got a new friend stuck in the bottom of the ocean, got one of my friends/mentors stabbed, burnt the mouth of another friend with magic fire donuts, told the weird conspiracy theorist guy in my town that everything he thought was made up, almost getting several of my friends killed many times, and more— that's just the early stuff.

I would like to say I also saved the earth from being hollowed out. And I saved the entire universe. So I hope that negates everything.

[wilwheaton]

David Zaslav, the CEO of Warner Bros. Discovery, defended the town hall on CNBC last week and said that “all voices should be heard on CNN.” This apparently includes the voices of white nationalists, antisemites, conspiracy theorists, and misogynists. He added, “This is a new CNN.”

CNN Failed America With Its Trainwreck of a Trump Town Hall

David Zaslav is a fucking psycho.

[tewwor-moving]

sea creature affairs starter call — i won't lie.. got a hankering to rev up some new content with these goons. everyone resides / at least calls harborview their home. just a small coastal town that's 10000% normal and not inhabited by strange things from the nearby sea. creatures of which that were made or in the very least influenced by some lone god found beneath sea foam and abyssal depths.

More sea creature lore here!

like and/or specify who you'd like from habrorview's very own! if you previously liked for a starter ( and/or i already made you one ) and you want another with a different character — please comment and let me know!!! i'm more than happy to have multiple threads with these silly strange creatures

adal — werewolf / sea creature hybrid . carpenter that's just trying his best, so soft and guilt ridden he'll help thieves clear out his own home, designated scout for any trouble brewing on the horizon as he sails most often

altan — basilisk . angry hermit trying desperately to live in solitude, keeper of a barely functioning lighthouse, usually the first point of contact for oram when he waddles his sea monster ass back to land, immediately beams super mean things into orams head to help him remember how to speak the human language before kicking him out.

amant taylor boudreaux — human . just a guy that's been obsessed with harborview's happenings, he's dedicated his life to accurately detail not only it's citizens but also the mysterious people that return from the sea, would 1000% try to get nasty with someone just to lowkey research them, brainrot on god ( oram, even if he doesn't know that weird soggy man is the sea god responsible for all sea creatures )

dane — sea creature . marine biology professor & totally not the son of the alleged sea god, oram, is known to throw the occasional hissy fit if a traveler starts to get too nosy, ignorance is the only thing keeping his father immortal

danny — sea creature . pirate smoted humbled by another god's wrath, runs a pub and very uncanny valley if you look close enough, thinks sitting by him while he soaks in the tub counts as a romantic date, probably eats people

hugh — sea creature . unofficial babysitter of newly turned sea creatures, just wants to run his restaurant in peace but is usually in pieces instead, don’t ask questions if you see him throwing things off the pier

joel — human ( for now ) . ooooo the sea creatures want him so bad, retired saturation diver, plagued with trauma / #1 harborview conspiracy theorist, main character syndrome & literally at his wits end

lior — siren / sea creature hybrid . prior criminal ties, current fashionista, embodiment of 'i told you so', weirdly misses needing souls as sustenance

oram — hunters want him, joel fears him, he barely knows wtf is going on at any time of his unfortunately long life, often found as a wet and soggy man wandering the beach, eldritch vibes all around and does little to hide it

tatsuro watanabe — figurehead come alive . the newest of harborview’s bestiary, still trying to grasp how humans act and why, will try anything once, underestimates his strength often, lowkey something intimidating about him

vincent — imugi . founder & #1 fan of the oram hate club, town-locked against his will, would love nothing more than to never talk to anyone but they love to bug the hell out of him, only cares about joel because he's.. struggling pathetic

[thatsuccessfulpokemontrainer]

We stay silly :3

Hello! My name is Phyto, you may know me from my main account (@a-photo-of-a-cryptid), or my many pokemon ones ^^

I run several rotomblr blogs and wanted a space to rant about my sillies, answer questions and comments ooc, as well as catalogue my favourite posts and bits of art.

I will also be posting art of the characters and possibly fanart of other rotomblr blogs here.

A summary of all of my blogs will be below the cut!

Hope you enjoy :33

@thatfailedpokemontrainer - My first account and my most active one. A 17 yr old pokemon trainer from Johto who has been put through the horrors. Will interact with higher stake plots and deal with darker topics. He is also quite morally grey and will make fun of you. He's my scrunko and I am always willing to talk about him!

@joltik-guy - MY SPIDERSONA!! Basically if spiderman was nonbinary and existed in the pokemon universe. Expect spiderman typical violence and angst, but nothing too crazy. They're a happy go lucky college student who sometimes eats batteries (we don't talk about it)

@pokemoncryptids - An account born from my love for cryptids. Run by a depressed 20 year old and a hello skitty obsessed 16 year old expect some whiplash. Not very high stakes, but will talk about darker topics, and Delta has some existential issues going on. ALSO- there are secret motivations and lore here that is yet to be uncovered, if that interests you, shoot them an ask.

@maris-mons - Sprites EX-best friend turned bad guy turned good guy! Mari's blog is extremely low stakes, just a gal and her pokemon, she is trying really hard to make friends, but it hasn't worked out so far. If you like rants about plants, check her out ^^

@bones-poison-and-pokemon - Sprites brother, an asshole and an idiot /pos. A newly fledged gym leader of New Bark town, Casey loves poison types and their partner Noct. This blog will be low stakes also, but there are darker themes at play due to his upbringing and subsquent mental health issues. The absolutely boyfailure of all time.

@a-nickits-den Sprites roomate beedrill- who is uh- morally grey at the best of times. Beedrill was raised in a cult and is trying to unlearn what he knew while being a major conspiricy theorist and chaos ensues. If you like drama and a guy suffering- take a look

Also the idea of this came from the @twodragons-blooper-reel blog, (hope you don't mind the ping), their blogs and art are amazing, so if you like what this blog id doing definitely go check them out ^^

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Billboard project

* * * *

Harris stays "on message" while Trump spirals out of control

September 14, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

There is a great line in the movie Broadcast News: The protagonist Holly Hunter is complaining to her friend Albert Brooks about the state of her love life. She says, “I am beginning to repel people I'm trying to seduce.”

Although Trump hasn’t entered “Holly Hunter territory” just yet, he is doing his best to get there. You know things are going badly when Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lindsey Graham, and Thom Tillis are begging you to hang out with a better class of friends. All three urged Trump on Friday to ditch well-known bigot and conspiracy theorist Laura Loomer. Loomer did not take the intervention gracefully, responding that Marjorie Taylor Greene is “Like a hooker [who] sells herself to the highest bidder.”

Trump's sudden fixation and joint travel with Laura Loomer caused the always-staid Matt Drudge to run a series of headlines proclaiming:

LOOMER MAGA LOVE!

HAS HE FOUND HIS SOULMATE?

WHERE'S MELANIA?

MTG CALLS DON IN RAGE

CIVIL WAR ESCALATES

CAMPAIGN IN CRISIS

I am not a campaign expert, but none of those headlines seem like the type of coverage that is helpful with 52 days remaining until the election.

As bad as Matt Drudge’s innuendo about Trump's relationship with Loomer is, the worst part of the day came as Trump vowed to send the influx of immigrants in Springfield “back to Venezuela.” [Trump appears to believe Haiti is a city in Venezuela.] Trump also claimed that the Haitian immigrants in Springfield were “destroying the way of life” in the Ohio town, to which JD Vance added that Haitians in Springfield had allegedly increased the level of communicable diseases in the city. If violence is directed at the Haitian community in Springfield, the vilification by Trump and Vance will be the proximate cause.

Florida has between 100,000 to 300,000 Haitian immigrants eligible to vote. See Los Angeles Times, Trump's Haitian immigrant comments stir outrage in Florida. Insulting the Haitian community is hardly a way to motivate turnout for Trump.

It is difficult to imagine a more “off-message” day for Trump and Vance—after an off-message week in an off-message month.

We can’t count on Republicans to beat themselves, but it is helpful to recognize that the GOP campaign is reflecting Trump's personal chaos and disordered personality at a time when Kamala Harris is running a disciplined but energetic campaign.

V.P. Harris held a standing-room-only rally in Pennsylvania on Friday. The video is here: Rally in Pennsylvania with Vice President Kamala Harris. It is worth watching the first few minutes of Harris’s speech. The enthusiasm level of the crowds seems to be increasing over time. (So much for the media’s “honeymoon” theory that claimed the enthusiastic support for Harris was a temporary phenomenon.)

Although Harris varies her speeches to reflect local issues and races, she is sticking to her stump speech—a traditional campaign strategy to ensure that candidates stay “on message.” She is expanding her speech only to add attacks on Trump's latest missteps and most recent outrageous statements—additions frequently delivered with a pointed sense of humor designed to deflate Trump's overblown ego.

[Robert B. Hubbell newsletter]

[crunchycrystals]

so impressed how the new very important people ep created a story that seems so strange when you get to the end until you put everything back together. like the pigs' dad destroyed a bunch of houses for insurance and skipped town and by coincidence at the same time a dog walked by and killed his wife leading one of his children to become a conspiracy theorist and blaming all of these events on a dachshund who somehow trampled an entire pig