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[bluebellwriting]

Oneshots and Headcanon Request Info

Hello! I’m an aspiring writer and I just thought this would be a great and fun way to flex my writing muscles!

Here’s my master list!

I write headcanons and oneshots, although be warned I write headcanons WAY faster than oneshots. I’m also not currently doing NSFW oneshots but headcanons are welcome

I write for plus size and neutral size readers, female, male, and gender nonconforming readers. FYI, my default is female, chubby readers so please specify if you want something else

Fandoms I write for at the moment (but I’m always adding cause I’m a fandom fiend)

- Star Trek (all the series and films)

- Hazbin Hotel

- Marvel

- X-Men

- Star Wars

- Hellboy

- Sherlock

- Stranger Things

- The Umbrella Academy (note: I will write for Five but I will only write him as +18)

- Avatar the Last Airbender

- Disney

- Mythological creatures + cryptids

If you don’t see a fandom here, just write to me and ask!

[radiolightning]

In case anyone is having a bad night:

Here is the fudgiest brownie in a mug recipe I’ve found

Here are some fun sites

Here is a master post of Adventure Time episodes and comics

Here is a master post of movies including Disney and Studio Ghibli

Here is a master post of other master posts to TV shows and movies

*tucks you in with fuzzy blanket* *pats your head*

You’ll be okay, friend <3

[meanwolfs-remade-deactivated201]

i will reblog this everytime it shows up because any of my followers could have a bad night right now

[sweetest-honeybee]

@virgil-has-a-houseplant

[darwindrawz]

@compactdiscdraws @heckinsnekboi @saschagemruler

dunno if you guys need this but here it is just in case :)

love you guys!

[mothmans-sexy-lamp-deactivated2]

thank you, I did need this rn

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 6

Hey folks! I know it’s been a minute, I’ve been super busy with work and school, but I’m by no means done with this piece and you know I had to post something for Valentine’s Day (to make up for the fact that single and lonely 😆😭)

Despite popular belief, Hell does in fact freeze over. It’s Hell, after all, and in the world of pain and torture, everything is fair game. And it’s February, historically one of the coldest months for you back when you were living and certainly the most miserable in Hell too. The roads are slick with sheets of ice, you can’t walk a block without a three-foot icicle nearly spearing itself through you, and everyone’s car is perpetually trapped in a snowbank thanks to Lucifer’s “generous snow plow program.” Each winter day reminds you of the worst snow cyclones from when you were growing up in Brooklyn, cold yes, but in a way it’s all very sentimental. They remind you of the winter nights cuddled up with your siblings, hot chocolate in hand, listening to the winds blustering against your windows. It’s all rather lovely, in a strange way.

Your boyfriend of four months does not seem to agree, if the way he’s gripping you and nuzzling into your neck is anything to go by. You’ve been trying to extricate yourself from your practically shared bed for the last ten minutes, but each attempt only causes Alastor to pull you closer. He’s basically on top of you now, those boney forearms are stronger than you’d think.

“Sweetheart,” you whisper. “It’s time to get up.”

Alastor groans but otherwise your voice falls on deaf ears.

“Come on, we have to make breakfast and then--”

“But darling, it’s freezing,” he sighs. “And why would I go anywhere when I have my own personal heater right here.”

It’s really hard to stay mad at him, especially when he places sweet little kisses from your cheek to your shoulder and back again.

“Well your personal heater has some errands to run and needs to get her day started.”

“Ugh,” Alastor whines and inch by inch, begins to roll off of you. “How can you even stand to be out in that unbearable cold? Don’t you want to stay right here with me, your loving and adoring boyfriend?”

“You know I would,” you boop his nose. “But then I wouldn’t be able to get your present.” 

His ears perk up immediately.

“Present?” He coos. “A present for lil’ ol’ me? Dearest, you shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, but I can’t pick it up until I get out of this bed.”

“Oh fine. I suppose I have some things to do for tonight as well,” he teases and kisses you on the nose before finally allowing you to shift out of bed.

“Although before you leave me,” he whines. “I have a little something to kick off the festivities.”

With a snap of his fingers, a red garment manifests in your arms.

“Oh, Alastor.” You run your hands over the thick velvet of the dress. “It’s lovely.”

“This is just the beginning, love. Now go try it on,” he shoos you off to the bathroom, then immediately curls back up into the comforter to protect himself from the draft leaking in from your window. 

The dress is beautiful and warm. As soon as you change into it and assess yourself in the bathroom mirror it hits you that this has to be a customized dress. It fits you far too perfectly and the fabric is so soft, it’s like a blanket heating you up and snuggling you in. It’s either custom or enchanted with Alastor’s magic. Or maybe both, you wouldn’t put it past him to make this the perfect dress.

The last four months together have been a dream. A blissful and rapturous dream that you never want to wake up from. If you thought he was sweet before you began dating, then this is an entirely new level. You two are practically glued to the hip, and he finds a way to make every possible moment so enthralling and exciting that it doesn’t even matter. 

Everything about him is just enthralling, and the best part is that he can’t seem to get enough of you either. It makes your face warm and your mouth split into a grin just thinking about it.

You poke your head out of the bathroom door and giggle at the sight of Alastor in his own personal blanket cocoon. 

“Comfortable?” You ask.

“I’d be more comfortable if you were here with me.”

“While that sounds tempting, I wouldn’t want to ruin my fabulous new dress.”

He shoots up, blanket still around his shoulders, eyes wide and alert and trained on the way the bodice clings to your curves. It’s even more perfect than he could have expected.

“Do you like it?” He scoots to the edge of the bed and holds his arms out for you to step into.

“I love it.” You smile and step between his legs to fall into his embrace. “It’s perfect. Thank you, my love.”

“That’s just the beginning, dear,” he cheers.

“Alastor, you didn’t--”

“Nonsense! It’s our first Valentine’s together and it must be the best of all time!” Ever one for theatrics, with a flourish of his arm the room is filled with red roses.

“Oh my goodness,” you giggle and cup his face in your hands. “You darling man.”

Alastor melts into your hands, letting the softness of your palms warm his cheeks.

“Only for you, love.” He leans forward and nuzzles your nose. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”

If you weren’t worried about getting to the store and back in time, you would have stayed here, exactly like this, for hours more. 

“Let’s begin the day, shall we, love?” You whisper.

“But it’s cold!” He whines. “And you’re so warm!”

“Ugh, you’re such a southern boy,” you tease and pull away from him, if only to draw him out of his blanket nest and into the world. 

“You love this southern boy,” he laughs and finally rises. With a quick snap, he’s dressed in a redder-than-average suit with one of the red roses on your floor now pinned to his lapel.

He hands you your coat, gloves, hat, scarf, and tries to force another sweater upon you but you stop him before you’re a complete bundle of wool and layers.

---

Charlie must have gotten up early because the entire lobby is littered with hearts and confetti. Chocolates are on every available surface and your fearless leader is currently snuggling with Vaggie in matching heart sweaters. You watch Angel hand Husk a box of chocolates wrapped in a lovely bow. Hesitantly, Husk opens the box and spits out whatever he was drinking all over your brother before stomping away with a red face.

“What did you do to that poor man?” You call over.

“Just gave him an innocent token of my affections,” Angel chimes and shows you the contents of the box: three rows of chocolates with letters printed on each piece, spelling out “Best Dick Ever.”

“Angel, that is so vulgar,” you exclaim.

“It’s the day of love, sis.” Angel pops one of the pieces into his mouth.

“That is not love, my fellow,” Alastor chastises.

 “Aww, that’s cute coming from you, strawberry pimp.”

“I’ll have you know that I am plenty romantic,” Alastor says incredulously. “Aren’t I, (Y/N)?”

“You are, love. The most romantic,” you coo. “Now I have to get going. Please be nice, boys.”

“And you,” Alastor leans down to pull your scarf tighter around you, “promise me that you will be careful. You’re sure I can’t come with you?”

“I’m sure, love. I’ll be fine. Angel,” you turn to him. “Be nice.”

“’K, mom,” he calls back to you, waving as you begin your journey into the chilly winds.

“So,” Angel drawls, sidling up to Alastor. “What are you doing for my sister on this ever most sacred day of love and affection?”

“Something special and perfect and I will not have you distracting me,” Alastor sighs and snaps his fingers, transporting himself to his cottage deep in the woods of the Pentagram. Because only a crazy person would want to walk out in that cold. Good thing Alastor loves your kind of crazy.

---

It’s been a while since Alastor has been to his home, his actual home, one that is reminiscent of the large, Queen Anne-style homes of New Orleans. Dust is collecting on the counters and window sills, but that’s nothing that some quick magic can’t fix. The real task at hand is the redecorating and the meal he has to prepare for tonight to be as perfect as can be. This is certainly not the first time that you’ve been to his home but he’s hoping that it will be the last time that he calls it “his home.”

If he had it his way, tonight would be the night that Alastor asked you to marry him, to spend the rest of eternity -- or as long as you’d have him at least -- together in Hell as husband and wife, as partners in crime until the very fabric of the universe began to fray at the seams. He’s known for so long, long before you began your courtship, that he wanted to marry you and it took everything within him not to propose to you on your first date. But he had to be patient, suave, a perfect gentleman, because the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off with a hasty courtship and engagement. The last man who had attempted that with you, well, Alastor was still in the process of hunting him down so he could offer you his head on a spit. That was supposed to be the second part of your Valentine’s gift but alas, the wretched soul was more slippery than he had anticipated.

Hopefully you’d be impressed enough by the way he had decorated the house with some of your favorite colors and furniture from the 1940s, things to make it look more like a home you could share and grow into. 

---

The beauty about Hell in the wintertime is that there are so few people out on the streets to bother you. The sidewalks and roads are eerily quiet, the snow swallowing up distant sounds so the only ones left is the crunch of your boots. Your trip to Rosie’s had been quick, as the poor woman was overrun with sinners trying to buy up last-minute Valentine’s gifts. As she said to you in passing while gift wrapping some tacky jewelry for a panicked demoness, “good for business, bad for relationships.”

You clutched your gift bag close to your chest, guarding it from any muggers who would even dare steal the most perfect gift for your Alastor. This was weeks in the making and you were not about to let someone ruin your first good Valentine’s Day. 

You approached the door to the hotel, already anticipating a warm fire to warm your cheeks and nose, when suddenly an arm is around you and you’re no longer in front of the hotel. No, after blinking your eyes to readjust, you’re now staring at Alastor’s home, which means the arm and body hugging you close belongs to your sweet, adoring, and sometimes startling beau.

“Alastor!” You squeal. “What have I told you about surprising me like that?”

“I’m sorry, love,” he chuckles. “But I just couldn’t have you out in the cold any longer.”

“If this wasn’t a day dedicated to love you’d be buried in snow right now,” you grumble.

“I don’t doubt that, sweetest. Now come on, the fire is waiting for you.”

When Alastor first brought you into his home it was your one-month anniversary. You were actually relieved when it wasn’t a massive mansion like most Overlords pick for themselves, and you couldn’t help but be charmed by the perfectly retro, 1920s decor.

But it’s different now. The living room has new, floral wallpaper and some of the furniture reminds you of... your old home back in New York.

“You redecorated,” you shiver as you allow the warmth of the home heat up your body. Alastor rubs his hands up and down your shoulders to warm you up as soon as your coat and layers have been shed.

“Do you like it?” He asks, a glimmer of hope igniting in his eyes.

“Oh it’s lovely,” you breathe and inhale, smelling the hot meal he’s probably slaved over. “Just surprising. What brought this on?”

“Oh, just, wanted to try something new. Are you ready for dinner?”

“I’ve been salivating since I first stepped into the door.”

Dinner is delicious, mouth wateringly incredible and cajun. But all throughout dinner you couldn’t help but notice the way Alastor’s knee bounced or the way his hand shook whenever he held his fork to his mouth. Not to mention the eery quiet between you two. You can’t seem to get more than a one-word response out of him. It makes your heart drop, and the way his eyes shift away from your gaze makes a pit form in your stomach.

“Alastor, love. Is everything alright?”

His eyes dart up to meet yours. His teeth worry his bottom lip and you can hear his fingers tapping excessively on his seat.

“Of course, darling. Everything is right as rain. Are you enjoying your food?”

“It’s amazing, Al. It’s always amazing.” You beam at him and reach across the table to hold on to his hand.

“If you don’t have any more delightful surprises for me, love, could I give you my gift now?”

“(Y/N) you didn’t--”

“I won’t even dignify that with a response.”

Reaching down beside your chair, you pull out the perfectly wrapped present and slide it across the table to him.

“It’s not much,” you explain. “But I hope you like it.”

It’s perfect. So perfect, the wrapping, the bow, the very idea that his darling has given him a gift at all, that he doesn’t even want to open it. As much as he wants to tear it open, there’s the urge to keep this moment preserved in his mind forever and ever, just in case his present to you goes south tonight.

But from the way you’re looking at him, eyes wide and hopeful, he knows he has to open it right now.

Inside is a little plastic... view finder? He’s really never seen anything like this. They look like binoculars but there’s a little white disk inside with small film negatives along the circumference.

“It’s a reel viewer,” you explain. “Put it up to your eyes and click the lever.”

So he does. And with each click he’s met with little candids of you and him, some from before your relationship began, some from after, all of them more perfect than the last and preserved forever just for him. His heart swells and warms an overwhelming amount. His joy leaks from his mouth and eyes, until it feels like the sun itself is pouring through his teeth and tears.

“Oh, (Y/N), darling...” he sniffles.

“I know it’s not much but--”

“It’s everything, dearest.” It really is. And more importantly it’s enough for him to get his act together. He feels like he can breathe again, like the fog of doubt has finally been lifted. What was he so worried about? You love him, of course, you love him.

“It’s perfect.” He rises and comes to kneel before you. “More lovely and wonderful than you will ever know. So much better than my gift to you but I hope you will love it all the same. I love it, (Y/N). I love you. So, so very much, dearest.”

“Alastor, I’m going to love anything you give me because I love you, sweetheart.” You peck his nose.

“Yes, well, that’s the thing. Because really, this feels more like just another gift from you to me.”

“Is it now?” You tease.

“It is...” he sighs. “I love you. I hope you never have to doubt that for an instant in your life. And I know this might be too soon, and you can say no for now, or forever, but I have never doubted for a minute that you are the one for me. My gift to you, love, sweetheart, darling dearest, is this.” 

He motions to the dining room.

“The... dining room?”

“No, love,” he chuckles. “The house. My house... Our house. If you’ll have it. If you’ll have me.”

You gasp and tears flood your eyes so quickly that you have to blink them away to see Alastor’s hopeful eyes properly.

“You’re asking me to move in with you?”

“I am. I’m asking you to make this house, our home.”

“Oh, Alastor.” You launch forward and wrap your arms around his neck. You press your lips to his in a bruising kiss, letting him bundle you up in his own arms and grip your waist.

You pull way for a brief moment, short enough to mumble out a fervent series of ‘yeses.’ 

“Of course,” you say between kisses to his face. “Of course, I’ll move in with you.”

[kalgalen]

I think a lot about gaining weight as a form of healing

[kalgalen]

Character: gets a lil bit fat after a life of hardships

Me: groundbreaking incredible life changing

[asimovsideburns]

Character: *gets fatter as a visual indicator that they have let their life collapse / they have let their skills erode and are less powerful than they were before / they have become lazy and complacent*

Me: no! bad!

Character: *gets fatter as a visual indicator that they are allowing themself to enjoy things / they are no longer experiencing previous hardships and dangers / they are generally happier*

Me: YEAH!!!!!

[partfae]

a quick meme from the heart

[omghotmemes]

Welcome to the parallel world

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 5

Walking down the street is harder without your own personal Radio Demon parting the crowd for you, but you make do as you near your sister’s boutique. At first you wanted to be alone, but that’s kind of hard in the most crowded place in the universe, and as you continued on your mindless walk through the Pentagram you realized that being alone might not be the best thing. What you needed right now was a hug and someone to tell you that you deserved far more than whatever Alastor could give you. You couldn’t be alone with your thoughts right now.

The neon from Molly’s sign hurts your eyes from a block away, and like moths to a flame shoppers flock towards the pink light. Molly’s Miracles is the place for those in Hell with an eclectic style and a preference for the sexy. It’s very rare that you find yourself actually stopping by for a reason other than checking in on your sister, but that excuse will have to do for now.

Just like the sign, the amount of glossy white furniture and sequined clothing forces you to blink and adjust your eyes. There aren’t too many people inside, thankfully, just a moth demon posing for her friend in a red dress with the deepest v you’ve ever seen. Not your thing, but the friends cheer and squeal at the sight of it, so Molly must know her clientele quite well. 

“(Y/N)?” Molly emerges from the back, her arms full of some green, glittery fabric. She all but drops them on the checkout counter so that she can properly engulf you in a hug. It’s scary how fast she can traverse a room with all those legs, but your desperation for a proper hug is too great to be startled right now. 

“I didn’t know you were coming by today!”

“I just,” you sniff, “wanted to check up on my baby sister.”

“Aww that’s so sweet!” She squeals. “But I thought you were out with a certain you-know-who? Is he here?”

You shuffle out of her arms and embrace yourself with your own.

“Who told you that?”

“Angie did. Text me this morning that you too had a little date,” she coos.

Of course Angel would find a way to blindly inform your sister about your love life. Except that it wasn’t your love life. Just life. Normal, regular, loveless life. 

“He just happened to have some business to attend to at Rosie’s at the same time as me.”

“But he walked you there.” 

“Molly--”

“And he didn’t have to! But he did! That is so cute!”

“It’s really not, Molly,” you grumble and move deeper into the store. You trail your fingers through the silks and tulle, pretending to be interested in something from the wracks when you and Molly know there’s only ever one article in the store at a time that you would actually wear.

“You okay, hun?” She trails you through the store.

“I’m fine, Mol. Just fine. I made a great deal today, dad will be really happy. Things are going well at the hotel.” You turn to her with a sigh, hoping with expulsion of breath you will also rid you of the sobs bubbling up in your throat.

It works for a minute.

“I’m fine. I’m doing fine.” Your voice cracks at the end and Molly rushes you again, except this time you’re also being surrounded by the moth demon and her friends who apparently can’t mind their own business.

“Oh sweetie, did he hurt you?” The moth asks.

“Men are fucking pigs!” One of her friends -- a wolf -- cries.

As these complete strangers surround you with man-hating indignation, Molly rubs your back and strokes your hair.

“I-It’s okay. It’s just a guy,” you gasp.

“That’s right, it is just a guy. You don’t need him and his nasty ass.” Another friend -- a blowfish -- says as the rest of the friends and your sister release you from their grasp but remain in a circle around you like some Sisterhood Against the Radio Demon.

Oh, if only they knew that was the man they were bad mouthing right now. Actually, you kind of wish Alastor was here right now. You’d pay money to see his reaction to the Sisterhood calling his ass “nasty.” Probably confusion, mostly.

"You know what you need,” Molly chimes in. “A new outfit!”

The friends cheer and you really wish you could just melt into the clothing racks. They’re all sweet, impossibly so, for helping out a complete stranger just because of the universal experience known as “guy problems.” But the last thing you want is to be surrounded by eyes scrutinizing your body in new clothing. Your heart feels like it’s about to implode in on itself and if one person says anything about your love handles or your back fat you are definitely going to ignite this entire city block on fire.

“Molly, that really isn’t necessary--”

“I know the perfect thing! You just head back into the changing room,” she says, making her way to a shelf of silk blouses. Your eyes dart to the door, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Molly.

“Don’t. You Dare.” Her eyes flash a brief red, so you shuffle over to the changing rooms.

---

Alastor sits in Rosie’s office, well, it’s more like he’s lying down on her chez, moaning towards the ceiling, and clutching his gift to you tightly as if it were the last piece of you he had left.

Rosie watches him from her desk, looking wholy unimpressed by this display from the all-powerful Radio Demon.

“Why did I even--”

“I don’t know, Alastor.”

“I never should have--”

“No, you shouldn’t have. As intelligent as you are, dear Alastor, you can be exceptionally dumb.”

Letting out another long whine, he grips the gift box harder and rolls over onto his side. He’s an Overlord. He should not be debasing himself like this in polite company. Or anyone’s company for that matter. But this is Rosie, who was for so long the only person in the history of human existence who he could trust with his truest emotions. But even this exhibitionary indulgence is a new milestone in their relationship, one he wasn’t even ready to take right now. He can’t help it though. Not when his heart feels like it’s being gripped and twisted between two fists. Not when his stomach has taken on this horrible, aching feeling, as if he’s being repeatedly kicked there. 

The worst part is the empty feeling that has been growing deeper and wider since you left him at Rosie’s. For so long now it’s been just this nagging little spot that formed when you first met, situated in the center of his chest, reminding him that he no longer owns the piece of himself that once filled it. You do. And as long as you were with him, close to him, that hole stayed the same, was comforted by its close proximity to its missing piece. But now you were gone, and the hole has become so gaping and so hollow without you, with the thought of truly losing you forever.

“You could always go find her,” Rosie implores, shoving away the paperwork she’s fruitlessly been trying to complete.

“She said she wanted to be alone,” he moans. 

“And since when were you one to respect others’ personal space?” She doesn’t get a response. He just rubs his face deeper into her chez, ruining the fabric with his blubbering. Part of her wants to relish the sight of her egotistical, maniacal, normally heartless friend reduced to a weepling in front of her. But the bigger part of her just really wants to get back to her work and Alastor’s need for validation is in direct conflict of that. 

“Alastor,” she sighs, “I know she wanted to be alone, but honestly, this might be an appropriate time for you to tell her how you feel. Or at least to try and remedy the situation a tad.”

Alastor sits up, shoulders hunched.

“Really?”

“Yes, you emotionally obtuse oaf. Go! Be romantic! Be spontaneous!” Get the Hell out of my office, she wants to add. 

Rosie goes over to him and all but yanks him off the chez. She places a jovial arm around his shoulders but is shoving him quickly through her store, past her girls, and outside.

“Good luck, darling!” She calls as she pushes him onto the street. He whips around, eyes briefly flashing her his radio dials but her motherly wave quickly reminds him of the task at hand. 

The dials disappear but he shoots her an uncharacteristic glare before he puts on his smile. He summons a shadow to traverse the Pentagram in search of you. As his shadow wiggles off, he begins his stroll through the streets roughly in the direction you were heading.

---

Molly brings you a red silk blouse and a red and black plaid pencil skirt. They seem modest enough but you dread the way the skirt will make your curves look, the lumps and thickness it will accentuate. The blouse is nice though, if not a bit tight around the stomach, but it makes your chest look amazing. You try looking for the flared skirt you came in with, but not so mysteriously, your clothes seem to be missing. Thanks, Molly. 

You have two options now. Go out into the store in front of strangers and in front of the giant windows Molly has in the front, or squeeze into the skirt, suffer through it for five minutes, and then demand your clothes back.

Once you actually have the skirt on it’s not... that bad. It digs into your waist just a tad, making your back straighten to make breathing easier. The fabric is thick, wool-like, but soft to the touch. It comes to your knees, probably the only skirt in the store that does so, and much to your surprise, it smooths out every piece of pudge even without tights. You look at yourself in the mirror and you look... lovely. Elegant, with a hint of sexy that looks good on you for once. 

Peaking your head out of the room, you see Molly and the group of friends -- Ramona, Hugh, Paul, and Chandler, you’ve since learned -- eagerly eyeing the dressing rooms. They’re all sitting on the pink, crushed velvet couch Molly has set up for shoppers, their knees bouncing with anticipation. 

You move your body out inch by inch, as if to step out of the room too quickly would cause your body to burst into flames. The closer you get to the main room, the hotter your body burns with embarrassment, the harsher the feeling of invisible eyes feel on you. You know that Molly won’t tease you, that she is a constant purveyor of how naturally gorgeous you are. But somewhere in the back of your head, the harsh words of your mother hammer away. You can just imagine that Ramona and Hugh and Paul and Chandler and whoever peaks through Molly’s windows will have some awful things to say. It wouldn’t be anything new, you’ve heard it all. Doesn’t mean you want to keep hearing it.

Molly spots your hair poking out of the doorway and squeals. Your “new friends” squeal in response and then it’s just a chain reaction of everyone squealing and cheering at you. You creep further into the room and Molly pushes you the rest of the way onto the fitting pedestal. 

“Do a twirl!” Molly yells and the rest of them start chanting until you do, in fact, twirl on the pedestal. More squealing. Their joy and support become infectious, and slowly you pull your arms away from their place shielding your stomach. 

You look head on at the three full length mirrors set up opposite the couch, you don’t shy away. You’re loving how you look in this moment, you find it impossible to fixate on the lumps and bumps anymore. It feels as though you made to look like this, still so completely you and yet as beautiful as you always wished you felt. It’s perfect now.

“Go off, girl!” Chandler yells.

“Your man is going to wish he had you back,” Hugh cheers.

“If he bothers you again you call us and we’ll all beat his ass,” Ramona says and her friends whoop in agreement.

Behind you, you can hear the jingle of the bell hanging from the door. Raising your head to stare at the door through the mirror, (e/c) eyes meet glowing red ones, wide with shock. He has a sheepish smile, not all teeth like his “going out” smile, but just as wide. He has that damn box in his hands, his claws tapping the sides. 

Everything goes quiet and you might as well have been the only two people in the room. Molly ushers Ramona and her friends into the back room before the terror can fully set in and you’re grateful. You don’t really want anyone nearby for whatever is about to happen. 

Once everyone is out of the line of fire, you sigh and turn to face him, willing the confidence from your little fashion show to sustain you for just a little longer. 

“Alastor.”

He doesn’t say anything back, eyes still trained on you, because what is he supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry for taking you to a cesspool of women thirsting after me?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m such a tainted, wretched soul who is so undeserving of you?’ ‘I’m sorry I’m too much of a coward to tell you I love you?’ He pulls the box closer to his chest. 

“You look stunning,” is all he can muster. Not horrible, probably not the best thing either, though.

“I know,” you say back, keeping your face stern.

His smile grows wider but remains sheepish, maybe even bashful, which is impossible because when has Alastor ever been bashful? 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmurs.

“I’m really fine, Alastor,” you lie. “You don’t have as much of an effect on people as you think.” Another lie.

“There are millions of dead souls who would beg to differ but--”

You send him the most seething glare you can muster and he pulls back. He looks back down to the gift, eyeing it as if it has all the answers, the map to getting back what’s been lost between you.

“I apologize if you were uncomfortable. That was not my intention.” 

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you seethe. “I wasn’t anything except tired and overcome with a desire to see my sister.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” he says as he starts to roam around the store while remaining a safe distance from you. In the mirror, you catch the red glint in your eyes and blink to force it away.

Words start to pour from your mouth, recklessly and unhinged, “And you don’t owe me anything. I don’t need you following me around town after I explicitly told you not to follow me. I don’t need you to “escort” me to meetings just so you can see your girl toys. I’m not an excuse, I’m not a guise. I can take care of myself, lord knows I’ve done so for decades without you.”

“I know.” You were expecting the room to burst into flames and for the sound of radio static to overwhelm you, not for him to remain smiling down at the floor, albeit with a hint of melancholy.

“You know?”

“I know.” He starts to take small steps towards you. “I know you don’t need me, you proved that today. You are more than brilliant and poised and powerful in your own right. I know that. But I’m afraid that what has happened is rather the opposite.”

He makes it to the pedestal and even with the extra inches you are barely as tall as him. But he has never seemed so small to you in this moment.

He is not a man who cowers, he does not beg, that shows weakness and he learned from a young age that you cannot afford weakness. Don’t show your neck, don’t bow your head, stand as tall as you can and bare your teeth. He can’t do that, though, not with you. What you need is openness and vulnerability from him, signs that you bring out something that no one else can.

“My dear, you do not need me,” he whispers and holds out the box to you. Somehow you tear your eyes away to focus on unraveling the bow and peel back the packing paper. There, glittering on a small slice of foam, are two necklaces: one a heart with a keyhole cut out, the other, the matching key.

Alastor dips two claws into the package and takes with him the heart-shaped lock, and to your surprise, he clasps it to his own neck.

“But I, dearly and desperately, need you.” He plucks the key from the box and holds it out to you in the palm of his hand. 

“Alastor...”

“You can say no. You can throw this in my face and I won’t stop you,” he smiles sadly. “But you will always, in a way, have it. You will always have me.”

You’re not an impulsive person, not really, and not compared to your siblings and friends. Now that you think about it, you’ve never actually had an urge like that. Until now. Until the feeling of something glowing and bright moving up from the pit of your stomach, through your throat and your vessels until they reached your chest.

You surge forward, pull him down by his lapels, and kiss him. He tenses initially, and you hear the familiar pop of a radio cutting in and out, before he melts against you. One arm encircles your waist and the other goes into your hair, keeping you securely against him. The kiss itself is a little sloppy on his part, inexperienced and cautious, which makes sense considering his aversion to intimate activities. But there’s a relief in the inexperience, in knowing that you’re one of, if not the, first one to do this with him. It doesn’t go any further than passionate lip-locking, but the way he clings to you and you to him, like two cogs sliding together, is more than enough for you both. 

When you pull away he chases after you and his arms tighten. He’s not quite ready for you to be any less than a few centimeters from him. You release a giddy giggle and lean your forehead against his own, noses nuzzling, heartbeats sharing. You feel cool metal against your neck and look down, spotting your half of the necklace resting against your chest.

“We should go,” you whisper.

“Mm, go where?” He asks as he begins to sway your entangled bodies back and forth.

“Somewhere far away from the eager ears of my sister.”

Alastor’s ears perk up and his eyes dart to the back room, where he can just catch a retreating shadow, presumably belonging to Molly.

“You might be right about that, dearest.”

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 4

Alastor got up early the next morning with the intent of making you breakfast before your romp through the city. It’s a trait he got from his mother. Whenever he was sick or down or angry or particularly joyful, her love came pouring through to him in the form of food. He’s always thought it was the greatest devotion one could demonstrate. Good food, the kind that lifts the spirits and makes you feel warm some place deep, takes time and care and patience and love. And only people who deserve it get food like that.

Today he woke up with the vision of you eating his mother’s beignets, so he started planning out everything he would need as he walked into the kitchen.

“Heya, smiles,” came the still slurred words of Angel Dust.

Alastor’s shoulders tense but he refuses to show his discomfort any further. Although it probably wouldn’t have mattered, Angel was clearly still drunk from whatever party he had snuck out to last night. He probably couldn’t tell right from left at this point.

“Good morning.”

“You l-look... You look sexy.” Angel flops over onto the table and groans. Fat Nuggets nudges his ankles and makes a concerned oink.

Alastor rolls his eyes and slides the waste bin over to him with a flick of his fingers. 

“You look like you’re about to ruin the floors. For my sake, Nifty’s, and your dear sister, you’ll aim for the bin.”

Angel picks up the bin and squishes it against his cheek, hugging it like a baby. The little pig at his feet whines again and plops on the floor, sulking.

Alastor waves his hand and the ingredients begin to fly around the room, arranging themselves on the counter for him to get to work.

“Who ya lookin’... dressin’ sexy for? My sistah? YoU wanna get l-lucky with ma sistah?”

At once the eggs and milk that were still levitating in the air fall to the ground. The milk sloshes everywhere and the eggs land with a loud crack. Fat Nuggets squeals and hides under the table. Alastor’s shoulders arch and the bag of flour that was in his hand explodes from the grip of his fist. The flour cakes Alastor’s suit, hair, and face, thankfully hiding the vibrant red of his cheeks. If Angel had seen just how bright his cheeks were at the thought of... “getting lucky” with (Y/N), he would never be able to live it down.

“Oh my goodness!” Your voice, like music to Alastor’s ears, floats through the air but for once he is less than thrilled.

Alastor scrambles. He whips around and takes in the sight of you in this absolutely darling red dress with black flowers embroidered into the skirt, your hair was perfectly done up, ready for your day with him and here he is, messing up your kitchen. 

“What happened here?” You ask, your eyes lingering on the cracked eggs and then the flour caking his shoes. He must look like a complete wreck, absolutely putrid.

Before he can even begin to stumble out an excuse, Angel decides to open that big fat mouth of his.

“S-Smiles here was makin’ ya breakfast,” Angel sings. You roll your eyes.

“Angel how late were you out?”

“I’m s-still out,” he slurs, flopping onto the table unbothered by the milk that spilled there.

You groan and squeeze the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache that you really don’t need before meeting an Overlord. Only it’s about to get worse as you hear the excited squeal of your favorite pig.

Fat Nuggets runs and jumps at you, caking your dress in flour. But as much as you loved the dress and the confidence it gave you to be in the presence of this Rosie and... Alastor, you can’t say no to that little face.

You scoop him up in your arms and hold him like a baby. He immediately settles down, lets out as much of a sigh as he can, and relaxes in your arms.

“Hello, sweetheart,” you coo and waggle a finger in front of his nose.

Alastor’s dead heart almost dies a second time as he watches you, watches the way you coddle and care for the pig, how right you look with a baby of any sort in your arms. You tickle the pig’s tummy, causing him to squeal, and it takes everything within Alastor not to leap across the room and cradle you in his own arms. 

“I’m so terribly sorry about this, love. Let me clean this up.” Alastor kneels before you and pats the flour out of your dress. Your face flushes and you have to resist the urge to giggle at the smile he’s sending you. His pants are being ruined by the milk and yolk on the floor, but all he seems to be concerned with is you. 

It takes a lot for a man like Alastor to kneel before anyone. It’s the ultimate sign of weakness, submission. He’s just a little shorter than you when he’s like this but you have a perfect access to his jugular, could kill him in an instant, and he’d probably let you.

You smile sweetly down at him. Alastor wants to lean up and kiss you, your lips are so close like this.

“Hey! G-Give me back my baby,” Angel stands and stumbles over to you. “Go make one of your own!”

“Anthony!” “Angel!”

You both gasp and Alastor is thankful once again for the flour shielding his cheeks.

You step away from Alastor and stomp on your brother’s foot, drawing a sobering squeal from him.

“Don’t be nasty!”

Alastor sighs, mourning the ruined moment. That was a moment, right? It felt like one.

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor has cleaned the entire kitchen and produced a steaming plate of beignets, although, they are hardly up to his standards. Some knockoffs of his mother’s recipe, undeserving of the honor of being held in your hand. But you both have a long day ahead of you.

“Care for one, dearest?” He holds the plate out to you, drawing you away from your whining brother. The frown on your face is instantly replaced by your glowing smile, a good sign.

“Oh, thank you. That’s so sweet.” You continue to hold Fat Nuggets in one set of your arms and take a beignet with a remaining free hand. “You really didn’t have to--”

“I won’t hear it,” Alastor scolds. “It is never a chore to cook for a lovely lady.”

Your cheeks feel as though they have caught on fire. You want to come up with some witty comeback, some harmless little flirtation to diffuse the glint in his eyes and the softness of his smile. But your mind is running a blank and he’s looking at you with the most hopeful of smiles, so you take a bite. He watches you closely as you chew and take in the waves of vanilla and sugar. It’s delicious, breathtakingly delicious.

“Do you like it? It’s my mother’s recipe.” He grins and tilts his head, making him look all the more like a precious deer.

“It’s wonderful. You really outdid yourself. Would you... Would you mind showing me when we get back?”

Yes, he wants to scream. Yes, and then we can have dinner and talk about the rest of our lives together.

“I would love nothing more,” he says, in the most tender tone a man like him can muster. 

“Should we get going?” You ask, turning to the door in a foolish attempt to avoid his intensity.

“Absolutely!” Alastor hooks his arm around one of yours and tugs you close to his side.

---

The walk to Rosie’s Emporium is easy. Walking anywhere in Hell is easy when the Radio Demon has you snuggled into his side as he chats with you about the glory of Creole cuisine. You’ve implored him to teach you more about it in exchange for his own requested lessons in Italian pastry making. Although you still haven’t quite figured out why a man who notoriously hates all things sweet and sugary would want to learn about one of the richest dessert cultures ever. But like most things regarding Alastor, it’s a mystery. A cheeky mystery you can’t help but want to unravel, if it meant getting to spend an extra minute in his presence.

He has a way of making you feel so special, like a spotlight is constantly on you and deserves to be on you. And he’s one of the few men you have met in this life and the life before that never seemed to care about your weight, the width of your hips, the parts that stick out where on most they stick in. Either he doesn’t care or he sees you as nonthreatening because of it, but you can’t say you want to complain. It’s nice to get a bit of attention. 

It’s also nice to not get hassled on the streets for once. To not be hollered at because someone wants to fuck you or because someone wants to kill you. Demons clear a path for you like a rock in a stream and you know it’s all him, the mafia isn’t nearly as powerful here as it was up there. But his confidence and his glee and his power seep off of himself and into you. Another gift that comes from being so close to him.

Rosie’s Emporium reminds you of the shopping centers from when you were alive. It’s so quaint and prim and well kept that it doesn’t even look as if it belongs with the filthy buildings that surround it. The only marring detail is the black paint (although it might be dried blood, you’re not sure) crossing out the name ‘Franklin.’

“Who was Franklin,” you ask as Alastor strolls forward with a newfound fervor towards the door.

“Rosie’s dearly departed husband. Although... it’s best not to talk about that now, darling.”

Alastor throws open the door and leaves your side. As soon as he enters, the throes of women shopping and lurking swoon. They all greet him with girlish squeals and coos of his name, and it is then that you realize that him accompanying you was not really a favor for him. He wasn’t really here for you, was not concerned, just looking for a reason to get out of the stuffy hotel and into his crowd of adoring admirers.

Alastor goes on to charm the eye-batting crowd like it’s absolutely nothing, while the bricks around your heart slowly start to build themselves back up again. You’re not completely surprised. He’s always been teeth-rottenly charming and oozing charisma. That’s not the part that hurts, it’s just his nature. 

The part that hurts is that you were actually starting to feel different. That perhaps the flirting he did with you was in some way different than what these women got from him. That in some way you were, God forbid, special. But that’s far too much to ask from a man so caught up in himself and his own inflating ego. You weren’t special, just a store of validation for him to tap when he couldn’t escape here.

With your heart effectively locked back up, you have no more distractions, no more vulnerable emotions. The version of you who shot up mobsters in the streets, who poisoned and threatened men without a second shot, comes back in earnest. You steal yourself and wander towards a receptionist.

“Hello,” you say, back straight and eyes icy. “I have an appointment with Rosie.”

“Name?” She asks, ogling Alastor from her desk.

“(F/N) (L/N).”

By some great feat of strength, the girl is able to peel her eyes off of Alastor and down to her calendar.

“Oh! Yes, she’s waiting for you. Right back through there,” she says quickly so she can resume her admiration-from-a-distance. You thank her quietly and head to the back room, hoping to make it there without Alastor who you really don’t need to see right now. But today the universe doesn’t care what you want because he’s right by your side just as you knock on the office door. 

“There you are, darling,” he cheers.

“Here I am.”

Rosie calls you in and you march forward before Alastor’s lanky arm can make its way around you again.

---

Usually the men you meet with are that. Men. In large mahogany offices with clunky leather furniture. The rooms always smell of smoke and hard liquor. They’re always cliches.

Rosie’s office is warm and inviting despite her Overlord status. It fosters false security with its pink furniture, silk curtains, and the multi-tiered tray of tea cakes ready for her guests to consume, like the witch’s home in Hansel and Gretel. And Rosie herself screams, “I’m a sweet darling in my modest dress and my big floppy hat. Please trust me inherently so I can snatch you in my web and digest you.” 

It’s diabolical and you love that.

You offer her a polite smile and she sends an eager, toothy grin right back at you, not Alastor. No, he gets a much softer, much fonder smile.

“Good morning, ma’am. It’s very nice to meet you,” you bow your head, offering up your own sense of false security in the form of humility.

“Likewise. I’ve heard wonderful things about you, Miss (L/N). Good to see you again, Alastor darling.”

Behind you, Alastor flushes and his eyes widen, which only makes Rosie’s teasing smile wider. As a distraction, Alastor sets his eyes on to you. He’s never quite seen you so at ease. You take a seat opposite Rosie as if you were friends for millennia. You take a small finger sandwich from the same tier that Rosie takes one. Smart. You indulge in Rosie’s small talk about the latest politics and the hotel. Smart. You keep your shoulders and the curt smile on your face steady. Amazing. 

It occurs to Alastor quite quickly that he really didn’t need to be here, at least, not for your sake. You were fine and your years of dealing with creatures as diabolical as Rosie were shining through. Cooking and baking were not the only things you had a mastery over. 

You descend into business soon. Your ability to negotiate a fair price for Rosie’s ability to transport your family’s goods across Hell’s circles lights up a spark in Alastor’s heart. And he realizes even more now that you’re brilliant and resilient and he’s just dead weight at this point. Rosie seems equally captivated by you. When you’re not looking, she sends him playful winks and even sent him a thumbs up when you refuse a truly awful business proposal from her. Maybe he shouldn’t have talked so endlessly about you to her. Rosie was clearly going to blow his cover, she’s not as sneaky as she thinks she is.

“Don’t you think, Alastor?” Rosie’s voice brings him out of his internal reverie and panic.

“E-Excuse me, darling. What was that?”

Rosie smirks, “I said that your companion’s idea is brilliant. I hadn’t even thought to start peddling products from the other circles in my own shop.”

“I just figured,” you chime in, “with your connections all around Hell, your Overlord abilities, and your business savvy, that our clients’ products would be the best in your hands. And selling them through your store would not only increase your business but would also save my family the trouble of peddling product around town. Far too many mouthes to shut.”

Rosie grins at Alastor, then leans towards you with great interest.

“I think we can make that work, dear.”

Alastor flushes and excuses himself quickly back into the emporium. You’re fine. You’re more than fine. You’re doing swimmingly and you didn’t need him at all. That’s what scares him. This whole time he’s been trying to demonstrate just how useful he could be to you, just has much of an asset he could be in your life if you just let him linger there. This meeting, the way you’ve handled yourself, is just another sign to Alastor that he needs to try harder, do better. His eyes catch something on one of Rosie’s many shelves and he makes a b-line towards it, in a vain attempt to prove to you just how necessary he is.

You noticed every single wink Rosie sent Alastor even though you’re sure she was trying to hide them. It just places a layer of steel and concrete around the bricks until your heart is nothing but an impenetrable fortress. You focus on Rosie in an attempt to ignore the way Alastor hovers just behind you, probably to get a better look at Rosie. She’s really delightful and lady-like and polite and powerful and beautiful. So many things that you are just not but it’s obvious why Alastor would find himself taken with this woman. Even you are, to an extent. She reminds you of the mother you wished you had but gave up on long ago. 

You draw up a deal with Rosie quickly, and the entire time she talks to you about Alastor.

“He’s a wonderful cook, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he is,” you give a curt response back, really wanting to just finish this contract, go home, and cry into your pillow. 

“And an impeccable singer.”

“He likes to remind everyone of that, yes.”

“And quite powerful, too. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories, but he was quite the firestorm when he first arrived and continues to be. I personally couldn’t take my eyes off of him.” 

You grit your teeth and smile through the heaps of compliments that she heaves. 

When you exit Rosie’s office with a completed contract and a date with Rosie to have tea to “get to know one another,” you spot Alastor at the checkout counter. There’s a box in front of him on the counter, but the checkout girl seems rather keen on holding him hostage. She wraps and re-wraps the box over and over, purposefully ripping the paper or running out of tape so she can prolong her time with the Radio Demon. Alastor continues to smile at her and you had quite enough. 

You bid Rosie a goodbye and speed your way towards the door.

“Darling, hold on! I’m not quite finished--”

You don’t turn around. You don’t want to see him. You can’t seem him, and he certainly can’t see you because then he’ll see the tears ready to pour down your cheeks. You face the door and try to steady your voice.

“Actually Alastor, I think I want to go on a walk for myself for a while. Please, stay and enjoy your adoring fans.”

You leave quickly, just in time for the tears to spill over.

Alastor stops in his tracks. The half-wrapped box is in his hands, he didn’t want to wait any longer to take it from the incompetent and rude checkout girl. Couldn’t she see that this was clearly a romantic gift meant for you, his sweetheart?

He feels a hand on his shoulder. Rosie tsks up at him.

“She’s a remarkable young lady.”

“Isn’t she?” His eyes are locked on the door as if he can still see you standing there.

“You probably shouldn’t have come,” she teases.

“You might be right about that, dear.”

“Try picking out a more romantic sight for your first promenade around town, darling. And definitely don’t underestimate her and don’t lose her,” she whispers and pats his back before retreating to her office.

[bluebellwriting]

Mom-Friend Looking For A Dad-Friend - Part 3

Sylvia’s POV

Sylvia knows she should feel guilty. You look so uncomfortable at the party, back pressed against the wall, eyes darting around like a stalked animal watching out for a hunter. Your arms are crossed over your stomach in what she recognizes as your signature move--something you always did during your one year of overlap at Starfleet when she dragged you to the occasional party--quite effective at hiding your body from the world. 

You look so out of your element in the fit and flare dress she forced you into, even though you shouldn’t. Your curves look fantastic and after hours of deliberation you were both able to tame the signature Tilly Sisters Frizz TM. She’s actually quite proud of the smokey eye she was able to slather on you and the lipstick she convinced you to wear. You look beautiful, I mean, you’re her big sister, her first and bestest friend, of course you look beautiful to her. 

But she’s hoping that you can see that in yourself too because she knows another certain someone on the ship sees you as absolutely enthralling.

Her eyes flit between you and the door, hoping that Saru will take the hint and actually show up. She’d been dropping little details to him all week about the party and how you had wanted to attend (which was a lie) to meet someone (another lie). 

What? She’s desperate. She’s been watching her basically-Captain/resident dad of the entire ship quietly fawn over her sister for months and vice versa. She needed to up the ante if she was going to get you two together, and well, nothing is more motivating than jealousy. One thing about post-vahar’ai Saru that everyone was picking up on was that he was far more expressive and a lot less shy. Especially, Sylvia noticed, when it came to you. She actually heard him growl once at an ensign that got a little too close to you in the cafeteria.

Actually, said ensign is making his way over to you right now with two drinks and a drunken smirk on his face. Her eyes glance nervously at the door. Still no sign of Saru. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

(Y/N)’s POV

You were going to kill your sister. You hated parties with a passion. All the people rubbing against each other, rubbing against you and spilling your drink, the form fitting clothing. Especially the form fitting clothing.

Not to mention that the few times you have gone to parties always ended in you being abandoned by friends who found someone to go home with while you were left alone and feeling unwanted. 

The other reason you’re absolutely miserable at this party is because the one man you actually want to dance with isn’t here. Because why would he? A room of his crew mates grinding against each other isn’t exactly his scene. But your eyes still dart to the door, willing Saru to march through those doors and take you in his arms like in a typical Earth romantic comedy. 

Except why would he? You’ve been ignoring him for days and have most likely effectively destroyed any interest he could have had for you. He probably thinks you’re so shallow and immature and weird.

“Hey there.” 

Your eyes meet the drunken smile of Mark, an ensign on the ship who has flirted with you on more than one occasion. He’s come to your office numerous times, always feigning emotional distress so that he has an excuse to flirt with you. You’ve turned him down time and time again, sighting that you were not interested. Mark doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“Good evening, Mark.” You straighten your back but keep your arms around yourself, mindful that the dress your sister gave you is low-cut and showing off more cleavage than you’ve ever showed in your life. You shudder when Mark’s eyes immediately wander to your ample chest. You push yourself away from the wall but Mark steps in front of you, effectively caging you in.

“I got you a drink.”

“Oh. Thank you, but I’m not thirsty.” You try to take your leave again, really just wanting to go home and wallow in a bowl of ice cream.

“Actually,” you continue, “I was just about to head out.”

“Aw, why?” He leans forward, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “Don’t you want to dance with me, Doctor?”

“I’m not much of a dancer. Now if you will excuse me--”

“What the hell is wrong with me, huh?” Mark snaps and slams both cups on the ground. “I’m a nice guy. A good looking guy. You could do far worse.” 

His words are slurred but none the less furious. His eyes are dark and glaring at you now, something evil within them. 

You glance around for help but the music is too loud and there are just too many bodies. Nobody seems to notice your distress or the sudden violent nature of Mark.

“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m sure you’re very nice but I--” One of his hands punches the wall next to your head and you yelp.

“You’re fucking right! Better than any guy you could get with in your life, you fat fucking bitch--” In an instant you’re pulled away from the wall by a strong arm while Mark is lifted from the back of his collar and pressed harshly, face first into the wall. 

Saru POV - a few minutes earlier

Saru stares at himself in the mirror, scrutinizing what is now the third outfit he’s tried on. It has to be perfect. Tonight has to be perfect. Because you’re perfect and you’re at that party waiting for someone to sweep you off your feet and damnit, that someone is going to be Saru. He’s not sure what he would do if you found someone else to dance with tonight, to hold and to love. It would completely destroy him. So yes, everything has to be perfect. 

This whole week, Saru has been completely miserable. He’s sure you’ve been ignoring him and he’s not entirely sure why, except he’s completely convinced that he’s done something wrong. He’s tried reaching out, but you keep turning him away at every turn and it’s truly breaking his heart. He misses his meals with you, he misses relaxing in the observation deck with you, and he dreads seeing the exhaustion on your face when he passes your office (which he’s found time to do every day under the guise of “checking in on the med bay” -- everyone knows he’s definitely not checking in on the med bay). 

And then there was Ensign Whatever His Name Is, who has become the bane of Saru’s existence. The last time you had dinner with him, Ensign Asshole decided to sit at your table and unabashedly sidle up to you. It wasn’t that Saru saw him as a threat, it did not go unnoticed how uncomfortable you were at the ensign’s advances and, let’s face it, Saru knows he’s far better suited for you. But it was your discomfort, and the way the ensign’s eyes lingered on you like you were a piece of meat for him to consume and then toss aside, that made Saru want to flip the table and launch the man across the room. 

Maybe that’s why you’ve been shutting him out, though. Maybe for some inexplicable reason, you were incredibly attracted to this man and you were leaving Saru in the dust. His heart clenches and his stomach feels pained at the thought.

Saru runs a hand over this new outfit, debating whether you would approve of the color, if he should wear something more casual, or something fancier? Maybe something... form fitting? Michael had mentioned that humans tend to wear something a little tighter to seem attractive...

Michael alluded that you might be at this party tonight, and immediately he began thinking up ways to woo you, to show you that he was obviously the right man for you. Or at the very least, it would be a reason to talk to you, to figure out how to get back in your good graces. He doesn’t have to date you at all, he just needs you back in his life in any capacity.

A ping on his PADD interrupts his ruminating. He grabs it, smiling and hoping that it’s a message from you. 

It’s not.

Sylvia: Are you coming?!

Saru: Yes. I just need a few moments

Sylvia: You need to come right now!!! It’s (Y/N)!!!

Saru’s eyes widen and his heartbeat accelerates in an instant. He tosses the PADD on his bed and makes quick strides to the common room where the party is being held. His mind races as he imagines what could have happened. Were you injured? Were you asking for him?

When he arrives at the party he stands in the doorway, scanning the many heads below him for the curly (h/c) hair he knows so well and loves so much. 

“Saru!” Sylvia has been by the door waiting the moment he walked in to yank on his arm. She frantically points to a spot on the wall and looks at him with helpless eyes. “I can’t get to her. There are too many people.” 

Saru’s eyes track from her finger to the wall, where he sees your small form cowering under that same ensign’s body. Seeing the fear in your eyes, the helplessness, and the tears starting to pool, stirs something deep and vicious in Saru. His instincts go into overdrive, like he isn’t in control of himself anymore. Or maybe he is, this new, fearless version of himself has taken over. 

Saru marches forward, shoulders tensed and his mouth set in an uncharacteristic snarl. The crowd seems to part for the seething Kelpien until there is nothing between him and Ensign Dickhead, who can’t seem to read the room. 

With one arm he pulls you out from your spot between the wall and this scum of the earth. With his other arm, he snatches the ensign’s collar, lifts him off the floor and smashes his head into the wall, holding him there. He growls, a low and savage sound. Everyone is looking at him but all that really matters in this moment is your wellbeing and the man who tried to threaten you. 

Even though the ensign is off the ground, he is nowhere near as tall as Saru, who is looming over him. Saru leans down, ignoring the whimpers of pain from the ensign who definitely has a broken nose.

He snarls, “Don’t touch what isn’t yours.” 

He wants to do more to this man. He wants to beat his head against the wall. He wants to drop him on the ground and kick his stomach until he can’t breathe. He wants to shove him in the airlock and hit ‘eject.’ He’s basically the captain, he can do it. But your gentle hands wrap around his free forearm, reminding him that you’re here and that everyone is watching.

He glances down at you with a serious gaze, looking to you for guidance. ‘What do you want me to do to this man?’ his stare asks. Because he’d do anything you asked him. 

You give him small shake of the head and Saru drops the man immediately. As two security officers and your sister swarm the bleeding man on the ground, you tug on Saru’s arm, signaling him to follow you.

Your walk together is quiet. Saru still feels the anger coursing through him. He really wants to turn around and finish the ensign off, and he doesn’t particularly care how out of character this is for him. That man deserves every bit of pain Saru can muster for what he did to you, what he was going to do to you. But there’s also the stress, the concern that you are furious with him, that he was too violent, that he had startled you. Would you hate him now? Are you afraid of him?

You tug his arm one last time, taking him to... his room. 

Third Person POV

You drag him inside and lead him to his bed. After a few moments, Saru realizes that you want him to sit. So he does. He’s still taller than you, but your face, your eyes, your lips are infinitely closer to his now. Your hands slowly trace from their hold on his forearms, up his arms and shoulders, to hold his cheeks. Your eyes look deeply into his own, and he can see that there are still tears in your eyes.

Instinctually, Saru’s arms find their way around your waist and tug you closer to him. You ease into him immediately because after that display, you know that there is nowhere safer than Saru’s embrace. One of his hands rubs soothing circles into your back while the other stays around your waist. Your head buries itself into his shoulder while your arms wrap around his neck.

You both stay like that for a few moments, relishing each other, acknowledging that you are both together and safe in the garden that is Saru’s room.

“You’re not mad?” Saru whispers.

“A little startled.”

“Oh.” 

You pull away slightly but your hands return to his cheeks. 

“I’ve never seen you so...”

“Angry?” Saru’s eyes are downcast, waiting for the moment you tell him yes, you were so vicious, I could never love someone so violent.

“Valiant.” You give him a shy smile with a hint of embarrassment. 

Oh. 

Both of Saru’s hands return to your waist and give it a comforting squeeze. 

“Did he hurt you?” Saru’s eyes scan over you.

“No, no. He just scared me.” 

He pulls you closer so you can lean your head against his chest. Like you weigh nothing at all, he lifts you onto his lap and wraps his arms around you again. You don’t know where this forward and overly affectionate Saru came from, but you’re not about to start complaining. You’ve dreamt of this after all.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “You really didn’t need to get that fierce with him.”

“I know, I know but... That wasn’t right. He was horrible and he was going to hurt you and you deserve so much more than that.” You shrug slightly, not fully believing him. Your whole life you’ve only attracted less-than-sub-par men and at some point you just started to assume that you never deserved better. 

“(Y/N) Tilly I am being serious. You deserve the best that this universe has to offer. You deserve someone who will respect you and love you, who thinks you’re the most brilliant and stunning woman who has ever lived.”

“And who thinks that?” You reply meekly, really hoping he’s about to confess to you. But the mind is a horrible, merciless entity, dead set on dashing such hopes.

“Well... If it wasn’t already obvious,” Saru gulps and takes a deep, steady breath. “I think that.”

Screw you, mind. 

“Really?”

“I do. I have thought so since the moment I met you and each moment spent with you has only reinforced how I feel.” Saru bows his head and nuzzles his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” he whispers, as if those three words have the power to end his entire existence

You release a shaky breath and let your tears fall.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” you whisper and Saru’s shoulders deflate. 

“You don’t feel the same,” he whimpers in the most pathetic way possible. It causes your heart to wrench.

“I was so convinced that you felt this way about Michael or, or somebody else, anybody but me,” you sniff. “And I was ignoring you because I couldn’t stand the idea of not being able to love you. You must think I’m such a child.”

You look away from him but his hand immediately moves under your chin and directs you to look up. He’s beaming at you, eyes glassy with joy, and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

You lean up and capture his lips in yours, conveying all the love you feel for him. Saru inhales sharply through his nose but lets out a breathy moan as he leans into your kiss. His hands tighten their hold on you and pull you closer, until there is barely any space left between you both. 

You pull back by barely an inch, not daring to stray too far from this man.

“I love you too,” you whisper. 

Saru beams at you, shyly, but the glow of that smile speaks volumes. He kisses you again, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck, securing you to him. 

[great-blue-heron-apostate]

Spock is a Jewish-coded fucking Vulcan who grew up on an alien world and was played by and basically created by a Jewish man and in 2019 you guys are still drawing him in Christmas sweaters and writing 18 billion Christmas fics about him

[if-i-am-not-for-me]

Reminder that in the Star Trek extended universe novels Amanda Grayson is made explicitly Jewish and thus Spock is not merely Jewish coded, he's straight up, undeniably, legal under any movements definition, Jewish.

[bluebellwriting]

Mom-Friend Looking for a Dad-Friend Part 2

You’re sitting in your office, going over some case notes from your last session with Paul. The poor thing has really been missing his husband. You never had the pleasure of meeting Hugh, but from the way Paul talks, he was a wonderful man and a loving partner. You’re sure you would have loved him. 

Your door pings and without looking up you beckon your guest to come in. The familiar sound of hooves on metal draw your eyes upward to Saru who looks... horrible. 

His skin is pale, eyes watery and pained, and he’s sniffling. Never in the time you’ve known him have you seen Saru look so vulnerable or so openly in pain. It’s a strange and horrible sight, and you want nothing more than to wrap him in your arms, and hug and kiss the pain away.

“Oh, Saru!” You stand and usher him over to the small couch in your office. He looks gigantic compared to it, but he sinks into the soft cushions and lets out a content sigh. Once he’s seated and you can actually reach his face, you place a hand on to his forehead.

“You’re burning up, you poor thing.” Saru leans into your touch, forgetting for a moment the immense pain he’s in, just relishing in the coolness of your hands. You’re so sweet, so lovely, such an angel. 

“Saru,” your voice draws him back out of the fever’s void. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in med bay?”

“I wanted,” he breathes, “to come see you. It’s nicer here.”

“But you need help. More help than I’m equipped to give you right now.”

You try to move away but a hand on your waist -- Saru’s hand -- keeps you there.

“I’ll be fine. I just need to rest.”

He leans his head back to lean against the wall, but you’re still being held in his grasp. Which honestly isn’t fair, you need to be helping him right now and the feeling of his large fingers holding you close is just so distracting.

“Saru, please. Let me take you to med bay, or at least back to your room. My couch is too tiny for you, you giant.” 

Saru sighs but lethargically rises from the couch. His hand remains on you though, gliding up from your waist to your back to your shoulder, using you like a tether to keep him from plummeting into something horrible. The longer this “cold” persists, the more it occurs to him that this isn’t a rhinovirus. But maybe he can just fall into you, let the embrace you have over him keep upright for just a little bit longer. 

You have to hold on to him with all your might to keep him from falling over in the halls. He refused to go to med bay, afraid of the inevitable. He wasn’t ready yet, there was still so much to do, so much to tell, to say to you. The issue of needing to confess his love to you now before he disappears forever is weighing on his mind just as much as the news of his impending death. But it wouldn’t be fair to you, especially if you didn’t return his feelings. To pour his heart out only to expire and leave you with the guilt of not loving him back would be far too cruel.

You’re about to reach his quarters and Saru is lost in a day dream of resting his head in your lap, letting your thighs cushion and comfort him. But Michael had to ruin that with a desperate call to the bridge.

You graciously helped him there but were called back to med bay at that by Dr. Pollard, who was desperately understaffed. You left him in a rush, a promise to check on him at every possible moment, and one last lovely sight of the back of your head.

---

The med bay was overrun with your wounded crew mates after... whatever had happened. You’re still not quite sure. Right now all of your attention is on checking vitals and applying hypos. But when Saru comes stumbling into the room, it’s like you have tunnel vision. All you’re able to see is how considerably worse he’s gotten, how he can’t even support himself anymore. He has such powerful legs, it’s strange seeing them so weak.

You finished quickly and rushed over to him, not even trying to hide the partiality you felt towards him. That’s when he told you that he was dying, that the man you were falling in love with was going to disappear from this realm within mere hours. You almost burst into tears then and there, but Saru was determined now, motivated to use what time he had left to save his crew. He didn’t need you blubbering over him or confessing your love (which you’re sure he didn’t reciprocate) to distract him. This is how he wanted to spend his final hours, and you were ready to honor that.

But it hurt. A very selfish part of you wanted him to want to spend these last hours with you. That same part so desperately wanted you to confess your love to him, to scream out into the world how deeply into him you had fallen. But a bigger part, the therapist, the maternalist, tells you that you can’t. That he doesn’t need the weight of some girl’s affections on his fatigued shoulders. He needs to rest and to work, he doesn’t need to be concerned for you right now.

So you stay quiet and resist the urge to check in with him and Michael every minute. You use what you remember from medical school to help patients who you can actually save. You try not let the those dim, teal eyes haunt you throughout the day.

---

You’ve just returned to your office after your long day assisting in med bay when you get the call from Michael. You’re tired, your arms are achy and your back feels like it’s holding up a thousand pound stone. But when she calls you, you’re out of your seat and down the hall before she can even finish.

He’s okay, she says. He wants to see you.

When you enter his quarters he’s on his bed, shirtless, and very much not dead. In fact, the color has returned to his face and his eyes are alight with a kind of energy you’ve never seen from him before. On his end table in a small bowl rests his... ganglia. The sight of them is enough to distract you from his shirtlessness.

“Saru!”

His eyes meet yours and he grins. You hug him before you can even think about it because he’s alive. He’s breathing and smiling and hugging you back. He’s alive.

“I was so worried. I was thinking about you all day and I--”

“I’m sorry.”

You pull back to look up at him but you keep your shoulders on his forearms, just to make sure he’s here with you. It’s definitely not because you like the way his skin feels against yours.

“Why?”

“I...” he breathes out. “I came in here with all intentions to... And I didn’t get to say goodbye.” 

Your shoulders deflate and you remove your hands from him entirely. He came in here to die with Michael. He wanted Michael to be here instead of you. 

You take a step back, trying not to look hurt because this isn’t about you and your feelings. You should just be grateful that he’s alive. 

Plus, Michael’s known him for longer. And she’s stronger and more brilliant and more attractive than you, of course, he’d want her here with him. Of course, he’d choose her.

You hide your disappointment behind your best and brightest smile.

“It’s alright. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m just happy you’re here,” you tell him. He smiles at you again and proceeds to tell you everything that had transpired since you had seen him med bay. About his revelations regarding his people, about the freedom he now feels, about the conversations he had had with Michael. You try to be happy for him and in a way you are. You’re thrilled about his new relationship with his culture and his mind, and heartbroken with him over this new truth he has stumbled upon. But you have to force down the anguish you feel every time he mentions Michael.

---

You’ve been avoiding Saru since his vahar’ai, making up reasons for why you couldn’t eat dinner or listen to music with him. Sure it was cowardly, but you could take cowardice over the feelings he brought up for you. Every moment you did spend with him was just a reminder that he could do so much better, that your feelings were useless because he was probably in love with Michael or some other amazing person on this ship that wasn’t you.

Yes, you’re aware that if a patient of yours was acting so childish you would have told them to confront their problem head-on. But you’re only human and sometimes it’s just easier to descend into the pit of repression, no matter how psychologically damaging it might be.

That’s how your sister had put it when she had confronted you about your “increased workload” and frequent nights hidden away in your quarters.

“So what? You’re just gonna hideaway from him forever?” Sylvia asked.

“No! Not forever,” you pouted. “Just until I have to return to the Enterprise with Captain Pike.”

“Don’t remind me that that’s a possibility. I’ve loved having you here with me all the time.”

“I have too.” You smile at her. “But ultimately my home is on the Enterprise and this just... affirms that maybe this isn’t the right place for me.”

“But you are perfect for Saru!”

“That doesn’t matter, Syl. What matters is what he wants and I don’t think that will ever be me.”

“In that case... have you considered a rebound? Maybe that ensign that’s shown some interest in you,” she teases and you shudder at the thought of him.

“Mark? No, no way. He’s just a flirt who can’t take a hint.”

“Okay, then someone else! Oh! Maybe at the party next weekend?”

“No.”

“Oh, come onnnnnnn.” Sylvia flops onto your lap, sending you her best pleading eyes. 

“Ugh, no. I hate parties. The loud music, the bumping and grinding.”

“You’re such an old lady. Please? If you really want to get over him, a rebound might be the best way.” She nudges your shoulder.

“Syl,” you sigh. “I think that’s the problem. This isn’t something that can be fixed with a rebound, assuming I can even get one.”

Your sister sends you a glare, screaming ‘knock it off with that self-criticalness.’

“I just mean,” you continue. “This feels so different. I feel so different about him, more than I’ve ever felt about anyone and it just hurts to much knowing I can’t have him. He’s not someone I could just get over with a casual fling.”

“Why are you so convinced he doesn’t like you? You should know by now that he’s way different around you, way happier, way more relaxed. I don’t think it’s as out of the question as you think.”

You shrug because you can’t put it into words. It’s a feeling, deep in your gut, telling you that he’s going to break your heart if you’re not careful. You’ve already let your guard down too much.

“Well, how about we make it a girls night? We can dress up all fancy and dance~” Sylvia interjects, bringing you out of your cloud of negativity.

“...Fine. But I’ll only stay for a few minutes.”

---

Sylvia left your quarters with a conniving grin. She taps her comm badge.

“Tilly to Commander Burnham.”

“Burnham here. What’s going on, Tilly?”

“Can you meet with me in the spot?

There’s a short pause, but Sylvia knows Michael is grinning just as wickedly.

“I’ll be right there.”

“The spot” is really just their shared quarters but the two decided long ago that neither you nor Saru could learn about their secret meetings to get you two together. These meetings began as casual chats or with Michael complaining about the goo-goo eyes Saru would send you from across the room. Ultimately, this became the war room in the infernal battle to bring together two souls who were so obviously meant to be together but were too dorky to actually do anything about it.

“Did you tell her about the party?” Michael asks as soon as the door closes behind her.

“Yes! And she actually agreed which is the real miracle here. What about Saru?”

Michael sighs, “we’re gonna have to work on that.”

“What do you mean? What have you been telling him?”

“That there’s a party and it might be fun for him to socialize and relax.”

Sylvia looks at her incredulously.

“What?” Michael cries. “If I say, ‘oh, and (Y/N) will be there in a sexy dress,’ he’s going to panic and not show up at all.”

“How is he, by the way? Any better?”

Michael sighs and flops on her bed. Truth be told, Saru had been a nightmare and was making no attempt to hide it. He had been agitated every since his vahar’ai and everyone on the bridge was convinced it was because he wasn’t getting his daily dose of you. 

There was a pattern. He’d report for duty each morning with a hopeful look in his eyes. He’d send you a message asking if you wanted to have lunch. He’d receive ‘no’ as an answer. He’d ask about dinner. Again a ‘no.’ He’d mope for about a solid hour, and then be cranky for the rest of the day. At first it was kind of amusing, seeing the usually cool and collected Kelpien reduced to a depressed dork because of you. But now it was just annoying and infuriating, with a hint of sad.

“He’s getting worse. He doesn’t even snap at people anymore. He just mopes. Have you told (Y/N)?”

“Even if I did, she wouldn’t believe me. She’s so convinced that he’s actually in love with you.”

They burst out laughing at that. 

“Okay, okay,” Sylvia breathes, recovering from their fit of giggles. “You should tell him that she’s going to be there and that he should get a grip and whisk her off her feet. I have a feeling pushing him into the deep end on this will finally motivate him.”

“Are you going to tell (Y/N)?”

“Mmm, no. I think it should be a surprise.”

[swellio]

showing characters are in love without actually saying it

looks that last just a little longer than they should

constantly thinking about each other

they stand next to each other without even thinking about it

jealousy

lovers’ quarrel (they fight, get angsty, and then both make up after, yknow the usual)

always worried about each other

lingering touches

both subtly act a bit different when the other is around

protectiveness

they both know exactly how to comfort each other in the best way

smiles that last long after what’s been said (“why are you still smiling?” “hmm? what? what smile?”)

small touches

[jessicamiriamdrew]

Channukah prompts

bc i’m tired of seeing christmas fic written about jewish characters! anyway here are some prompt ideas, goy inclusive even. anyone is free to use/rb!

It’s an hour until first night candle lighting. Person A and Person B reach for the last pack of candles at the store at the same time

The neighborhood loses power. Person A, who is not Jewish, sees that their neighbor Person B has a lot of candles going and stops in for some light. (Surprise! It’s Channukah!)

Somehow person A gets roped into cooking all the latkes for a Channukah party, which is fine, until Person B decides to tell them they’re making them wrong. OR person B starts eating too many OR Person B causes a huge mess

There are accusations of dreidel cheating—which means Person A and Person B have to play with someone else’s dreidel and an audience for bragging rights. Trash talking encouraged.

Person A, a goy, was invited to Person B’s Channukah party but Person B didn’t think they’d attend—now it’s Channukah and Person A clearly has no idea what’s going on and it’s kind of endearing how clueless they are

“Your latkes gave me food poisoning” “no it was the horrid sour cream you insisted on putting on my perfectly good latkes”

You accidentally caught your Christmas sweater on fire at my Channukah party while inspecting the channukiah. we put it out immediately and I’m trying not to laugh but oh no you think I’m laughing at you, not at the ridiculousness of the situation

This is a Bring Your Own Channukiah party what do you mean you didn’t bring a Channukiah/candles i guess we can share

“Channukah is about the miracle of the oil” “Channukah is about military victory” “Channukah is about eating fried foods, clearly”

you got sufganiyot jelly all over your shirt and now you need to borrow something of mine to wear this could get awkward

[bluebellwriting]

Feel free to send any of these to me! As a Jew, I’m dying for more Jewish-reader content

[cassandracalin]

‘90s and ‘00s movie makeovers in summary.

[leela-small]

This right here is why I became so self-conscious of my curls as a teenager

[jackie-gremlin-ghost]

I started hating my curls when I was about 10 because of shit like this. I’ve thankfully grown out of that.

[bluebellwriting]

Love Me Tender Part 3

(Note: I know Molly hasn’t been confirmed as a demon nor is she in Hell, but for the sake of the story, I’m saying that she is a demon and she is in Hell. There’s not a lot of information on the spider fam so I’m going to be taking some liberties here)

Sunday dinners at your dad’s home have always a tradition, even when you all were alive. It wasn’t religious, Lord knows if it had been you probably wouldn’t have ended up here. But when your family spends every day of their lives and afterlives meeting with mob bosses, disposing of bodies, and doing drugs, it was nice to have a reason to come together and remind each other that you were all still here. It was because of those dinners and the evenings spent cooking with your Nonna that your love of cooking came to fruition.

Oh, your Nonna. You’ve tried looking for her down here, even though you know that there was no way she was deserving of a place like this. She was a saint, the mother you deserved instead of the mother you actually had. Your mother was cold, lazy, vain, couldn’t care for her children to save her life, judgmental -- she always insisted you try whatever insane weight loss trend was popular. Nonna was kind, understanding, taught you to be tough but also how to take care of those you loved, and never tried to pit you and your sister against each other. She’s honestly the only reason yours and Molly’s relationship survived.

But when she died, you took over as the family’s cook as the only person who could actually make something without burning it. Until you yourself died at the ripe age of 23, long before the rest of your family. Your family doesn’t talk about it much, but you can just imagine what the first dinner without you was like. How sad and empty, how burnt the food must have been if there even was any.

But you’re together again and your dinners were able to survive your family’s plunge into the afterlife. Apparently, so did your family home.

As soon as you entered the threshold of the home, you and Angel were smushed into a hug by Molly.

“My darlings!” She cries. Angel and you snuggle into the warm arms of your sister and wrap your arms around her.

“How are ya, Mol?” Angel asks.

“Oh, ya know, same old, same old.”

“Are those creeps giving you trouble at the store?” You take a step back and eye your sister up and down, looking for any physical manifestation that those creepy men crushing on your sister are up to no good.

“Not since you had a little chat with them, (N/N),” she teases.

Molly’s eyes brighten at the sight of your outfit.

“Ooh! You’re wearing the new skirt and blouse! It’s so pretty on you, (Y/N)! And I know I always say this but you have a great rack girl, ya gotta show it off like this more.”

You blush brightly and cross your arms over your torso.

“Gee thanks, Molly,” you mumble.

“I don’t know how you haven’t found a man yet with that bod!” She squeals and pinches your cheeks.

“Well, since ya mentioned it...” Angel smirks.

“Nope!” You shout and storm further into the house to avoid your baby siblings.

Molly looks back at Angel with an arched brow, the question looming in the air.

You make it to the kitchen, where your father and brother are heating up the food you left here last week. You turn your nose up.

“You know, I could have made something fresh. This is all a week old! And here I thought you were going to cook for once.”

“Very funny, (Y/N),” Niss grumbles, stirring the pasta sauce you had brought over last time.

“How are ya, sweetheart?” Henroin gives you a warm hug, one that is snug and warm and reserved for his unofficially favorite child.

“I’m good, dad. Doing just fine.”

“They’re running you ragged at that hotel.”

“Which means I’m left to pick up the slack,” Niss growls. You pull away from the hug and pull your brother into a forceful hug, just to make him uncomfortable. You were the same height as Niss and a year younger, and as grumpy and infuriating he can be, you always felt the closest to him. You’d like to think he felt the same, considering he scolds you the least. Or maybe that’s just because you’re way stronger than him and you have wrestled him to the ground.

“I know, but I’m doing this for Angel--”

“Anthony,” Niss hisses.

“If he tells me he wants to go by Angel, then I’m calling him Angel.” You narrow your eyes, your irises flashing a dangerous red and your teeth grow into vicious fangs in an instant. Niss rolls his eyes but backs down, trying to hide the shiver that went up his spine.

“I still don’t see how they’re supposed to help him.”

“Neither do I but I genuinely believe that that hotel is his only chance.”

“But why do you have to be there, too?” Your father asks.

“Because I’m the only one who knows how to handle him,” you beam.

“And because she’s dating the Radio Demon,” Molly squeals as she bursts in the kitchen, followed closely by a smirking Angel.

“What?!” Your brother and dad yell.

“I am not dating the Radio Demon, right, Angel?” You stalk over to him and stomp on his foot.

“Ah! Fine, fine. But she’s got him wrapped around her little finger, don’t ya, sis?”

“What the hell does that mean, (Y/N)?” Niss growls. Your father just stares at you, his eyes empty of all emotion but his shoulders are tensed.

“It means nothing. We work together and. That’s. It.” Everyone in the kitchen is staring at you. Angel is smirking, Molly is biting her lip as she holds in a squeal, Niss looks as though he’s about to punch a wall, and your dad is still staring at you. Their eyes are like deadly sunbeams and your body is a wilting flower. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and transport you to Second Hell, or whatever lies beyond this reality. A part of you finds yourself longing for arms to hold you, to wrap around you and shield you. Longing for grey arms in a red suit to protect you.

Oh jeez, maybe you do love him.

“The sauce is burning,” you break the silence and move towards the stove. “Is the pasta ready?”

“Yeah,” Henroin says and brings a bowl of noodles to the already set table. You turn the stove off and slip on two oven mitts to bring over the pot of sauce.

“Sit down,” you command. Your siblings scurry to their seats as your dad and you arrange everything on the table.

Once you’ve all sat and filled your plates (and taken away Angel’s phone), you turn to your dad.

“So what was the big announcement?” You ask.

Henroin swallows, “Not so much of an announcement, more of a request of you and Anth-- Angel. I know this hotel has been good for you,” he says to your brother. “And it sounds like it’s been... good for you too, (Y/N). But I need you to start pulling your weight around here, especially you, (Y/N).”

“Why me?” (Y/N) you ask, sending your father an incredulous look. “I thought I told you I wanted out of all of that nasty business.”

“Because some of our partners respond better to you. You have a way with people, in the way that is below my stature and beyond anything your brother can do.”

“Dad!” Niss yells, offended.

“Shut up. Now listen, (Y/N), you can still stay at the hotel, do whatever the hell it is you do there,” he gives you a pointed look, hinting that he hasn’t forgotten the Radio Demon business.

“But when I need you to attend a meeting or negotiation,” he continues. “I expect you to be there. You owe your family that.”

You look down at your barely-picked-at-plate, having suddenly lost your appetite.

“I’m guessing you have a meeting soon that you think I’d be well-suited for,” you mumble.

“There’s an Overlord we need to do some business with and I finally convinced her to have an audience. But word on the street is that she responds better to friends or women. And since we’re not friends and I’m definitely not sending Molly--”

“Daddy, you wound me!”

“--That leaves you, kid. We’re counting on you.”

You nod your head. The conversation continues, your siblings argue, Henroin gives you details for the meeting but you let it all wash over you like a wave. You actually thought you could finally start living for yourself for once, that you could stop taking care of others. You were wrong.

---

The city is alive with the sound of laughing and screaming, but all you can think about is the meeting tomorrow with Rosie, an Overlord and the owner of Rosie’s Emporium. Your eyes are heavy from the chaotic dinner, the three times you had to keep Niss from launching himself across the table at Angel, Molly talking your ear off about some cute man who would be perfect for you, and the new weight that has been added to your shoulders. It takes everything in you not to crash the car on your way home.

When you arrive back at the hotel it’s late at night and somehow Angel has boundless energy. He prances to the door, calling out about some party he’s been invited to by Cherri.

“Angel, it’s a Sunday night,” You scold.

“And? My work doesn’t exactly require me to be up and at em at 8, doll.” He bursts through the doors and immediately goes over to Husk and the bar, probably to pregame. You shuffle your way inside after him, rubbing your temples in an effort to tame the ache developing in your head.

“Oh, darling,” Alastor sings. He dances into the lobby from the kitchen, smile as wide as ever, holding two steaming mugs. Except instead of one of his pristine suits, he is dressed in slacks, suspenders, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a red apron. He looks completely and utterly adorable, and you’re just loving the view of his lithe forearms.

As soon as he heard Angel’s voice bothering Husk, Alastor came running to the lobby with the hot chocolate he had spent hours perfecting. His first batch was too bitter, the second far too sweet for anyone’s liking, and the third was accidentally consumed by Charlie (who is now hiding somewhere in the hotel to avoid his wrath). Plus, he had to endure Charlie’s relentless teasing. But he was certain this would be the perfect cup of liquid goodness to impress his sweetest darling. And judging by your tense shoulders and the stress in the lines of your face, you would definitely be needing something to lift your spirits.

“Goodness, did the dinner not go well?”

You released a deep, exhausted sigh, and lifted your head slowly to meet his eyes. For a moment, Alastor wonders if this might have been the wrong move. You were clearly worn out. You probably just wanted to shut yourself in your room and go to bed and not have anything to do with him and his boyish attempts to woo you. Hot chocolate, really? What was he thinking? Someone like you deserved something lavish, and you would probably scoff at something so simple as a hot drink.

His shoulders deflate at your lack of smile.

“It went about the same as it always did,” you sigh. “Siblings fighting, me saving dinner, my sister trying to set me up with some man.”

Alastor has to restrain the growl bubbling up in his chest.

Your eyes fall to the two mugs in his hands. You sniff the air and smile at the rich scent.

“Is that hot chocolate?”

“Oh... yes, it is.”

“Mm, is there any left?”

“Well of course! I made this cup especially for you, dearest!” He practically shoves the mug into your hands.

You quickly lift the mug to your lips and hope to all that is good and holy that he chalks your blushing cheeks to the heat of the drink.

“Oh, Alastor, this is wonderful. Thank you. I really needed this after the night I had.” You smile up at him, the lines in your face easing immediately. It’s enough to make the Radio Demon’s knees quake.

“You are absolutely welcome...” He pauses. The original plan was to woo you with the drink, whisk you off to a remote corner of the hotel, and attempt to confess his undying love to you. But the yawn you try to stifle almost causes him to deflate. Almost.

“Would like to talk about it, love? I’m all ears! U-Unless you’re too tired. You absolutely do not have to--”

Love. Love. You grip the mug tighter.

“Actually, Alastor, that would be lovely. If you don’t mind.”

Alastor grins.

“Not at all.”

He places a hand on the small of your back and transports you both to the library. He snaps his fingers and a fire lights up the room for you both. You flop onto the couch and Alastor takes a seat beside you, making a point to sidle up to you as you proceed to detail everything about your day.

At first you were rather restrained, convinced that the last thing this important, powerful, strong, kind, considerate, lovely man wanted was to listen to your problems. But as he asked more and more questions, he opened you up like an oyster, waiting patiently for the pearl inside.

“So now I’m meeting with this Rosie tomorrow. Something about transporting her goods across territories.”

“Rosie, you say?”

“Yes. Oh, do you know her?”

“Why yes! She’s an old and dear friend. But, um, quite ruthless towards strangers. You said you’re going alone?”

“Right.”

“Is that... normal? I mean, for you to go alone to meet such dangerous individuals.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been doing so since I was 18 and alive.”

Alastor chokes on his drink.

“That young?”

“I grew up in the mafia, Al.” You send him a coy smile. “I’m not as defenseless as I look.”

“Oh, I never doubted that, dearest, but... to not have anyone there for support...”

“When you grow up the way I did, you learn not to trust anyone. Not fully at least, and definitely not until you know them well enough.”

“Is that right... Do... Do you trust me, then? Or have I not earned that honor?” Alastor smiles at you but within he is a mess. This is it. The moment you tell him that he’s far too dangerous, too vicious, too disgusting for you to ever let into your life in the way he craves.

“You’re on your way.” You smirk at him and the light floods back into his body. That’s a start.

“So, would you allow me to accompany you tomorrow then?”

“Oh, no, Alastor I could never impose on you like that--” He’s just being polite, you tell yourself. He doesn’t actually want to spend time with you outside of the hotel, isn’t actually concerned with whether you die at the hands of this Rosie.

“Nonsense, my darling.” He leans down, smelling the chocolate on your breath. His nose is so close to yours, your lips just as near to his. He could lean forward just a bit, feign a fall, just for one chance to kiss you like he’s dreamed.

“I would love nothing more than to be your knight in shining armor.”

You smile, “Just to be clear, if you are going to escort me, Alastor. I am no damsel in distress.” You boop his nose and giggle at the hot blush on his cheeks.

“But,” you continue, “I would love nothing more than to have your company tomorrow.”

“Well, then have it you shall, love.”

[feministism]

[ashtns-deactivated20190303]

HOW DO I REBLOG THIS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE

[skypotatos]

THAT’S NOT EVEN THE FULL POST. Wonder why they cut out this part:

[moredifferentthanusual]

Of course they cut out the part where he talks about ableism he’s been subjected to

[fatandnerdy30]

My family could learn from this…

[fishdaddycharlie]

No piece of media is flawless except for The Shape of Water. I do make the rules here