#hazbin headcanons

[elsa-fogen]

so i just thought of something

Alastor fucks up his image on cameras, and he's doing it on purpose.

Vox has tv for a head and i assume his eyes technically work like cameras, so...

Vox haven't seen Alastor unglitched since... forever

Normal version, because he is SO PRETTY here i can't

it's a rare occasion where i draw Alastor evil and intimidating and also beautiful af

i can say that i finally remembered how to draw this mf

[cultven]

he’s like an ex i can’t stop thinking about

[pannman]

Headcanon that when Alastor gets truly close with someone he has this toxic trait where he will tell them to go away, he will insult them, he will act like he’s mad at them when they get him show emotions in front of others. And then… he’ll get mad they went away, felt hurt or decided they didn’t want to deal with him anymore because clearly he ACTUALLY meant the opposite and they should know him better and they are selfish for not being with him 24/7

Alastor bursts into readers room*

Alastor: you better have a good explanation for avoiding me

Reader: what? You asked me to leave you alone

Alastor: of course but you weren’t supposed to actually do it. You haven’t talked to me in a week

Reader: you told me not to talk to you!

Alastor: again! You should know I never meant it. And now you are hanging out with Lucifer to make me angry

Reader: YOU LITERALLY SAID GO HANG OUT WITH LUCIFER INSTEAD BECAUSE HE IS THE ONE WHO IS ACTUALLY LONELY

Alastor: but I didn’t actually expect you to!

Reader: Alastor! Do you think I can READ MINDS!?!?

[angelltheninth]

Orgasm Control with Hazbin Hotel Characters

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar, Alastor, Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Valentino x Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, masturbation, orgasm control, toy use, public sex, dom/sub dynamics, blowjob

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Sorry for these being late, I moved and there's so much going on right now.

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

Kept a firm grasp on his cock with his tail

Smirking the whole time you edged him

Urges you to suck his cock too because he knows he can hold back for as long as he needs to

Gladly eats you out and makes you come as many times as you can handle while not coming once himself

After you've had a few orgasm you can see his self-control cracking a bit but he's still holding on

More vocal when you suck him off

His composure cracks when you straddle him and your pussy swallows his cock

Curses loudly when you ride him, feeling you squeeze and tighten

Wants to make you crack before he does by fucking his cock up into you until you beg him to come inside of you

And that is exactly how it happens, so when it's all done he can still say that he didn't lose to you

ALASTOR

This man can and will edge you for hours, the whole day if you let him

He is as sadistic as ever

Don't let his affection and gentlemanly ways fool you

If you thought he would let you come when you asked, just because you asked, you couldn't be more wrong

Grins widely as he watches you writhe and squirm on the bed, begging for him to touch you

You know he won't, you know he will make this agony last for as long as your body can take it

Tells you that you're gonna disappoint him if you come without his permission

And the last thing you want to do is disappoint him because his disappointment means punishment, which could mean you don't get to come at all

When he's finally had enough he restrains you to the bed and walks over, admiring how pretty you look

Restrained and all at his disposal he pushes his cock inside of you, your hole more than ready for him and

CHARLIE MORNINGSTAR

Is not one to make you suffer for anything

Quite the opposite, she loves giving you pleasure and making you feel good

But when you tell her how you want her to tell you when you can and can't come she can't deny the appeal

A bit of a power trip for her too since she doesn't like using her royal status much

Is by your side the whole time, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you're pent up

Giggles when you tell her how badly you want to come, how much you need it, how much you want her to be the one to tell you to come

When she notices the tears in your eyes she gets worried that she might have pushed you too far

She leans in whispers the command against your ear, holding onto you the whole time your body shakes with its release

Doesn't let go until you're fully relaxed and asks if that was okay, if you are okay

Can't help but smile widely when you confess that this was one of the hottest things you've ever done together and that you can't wait for next time

VAGGIE

Takes a long time for her to trust you enough to control any aspect of her

Something as intimate as this is very hard for to give up control over

But she trusts you, you're her partner after all and she knows you'd never hurt her intentionally

Puts her best, and your favorite, lingerie on her for the ocassion

It was sometime before she grew comfortable enough to ask for an orgasm from you but once she did she was very loud and vocal about it

A little embaressed about it too

Keeps your head between her legs while you lap at her pussy without mercy, grinning every time her thighs twitch and lock around your head

Might be petty but some part of her hopes God can hear this

When she comes a tear falls from her eye, from pleasure yes, but also from the fact that someone like her was able to find someone like you, who loves her unconditionally

Next time you do this it would mean a lot to her if you let her take control of your orgasms

ANGEL DUST

A mutual thing for the two of you

Won't do this that often since he is a pretty busy guy and is sometimes too tired

Tries to mask it with jokes and offering to give you head until you can't take it anymore

But you'll settle for his talented hands, nice and slow, and you'll return the favor at the same time too

You cuddle, cling onto each other the whole time because as kinky as you can get you want to let him know that you're there for him, that he can relax around you

Much of his job involves getting rough, being quick about it so he likes these slower sessions with you

However he can only take so much before he's asking you to go faster and spilling all over your hand and both of your stomachs

Knows he should clean up fast but he wants to keep edging you for a while longer, until you're a mess too

With him making his way down there's only so much you can take before you're exploding into his mouth

No shortage of pride in his eyes when he swallows and asks you to go for a few more rounds since you just made him ever hornier than he was before

VALENTINO

It's something of a game for the two of you, a game that you play in private and in public

He has no shame and you really shouldn't have any either

Walking around with a toy in you, a toy that only he controls just like he controls you and your pleasure

Doesn't matter how many times you ask to come, he wants you desperate for it

Fucks your mouth during meetings to keep your moans down

Now if only the room weren't full of other demons it wouldn'd add that much to your humiliation

Gets so horny when he sees you look up at him all teary eyed and flustered, lips swollen and covered in cum

Sometimes he'll have you watch the filming of his movies and make you come when the actors do, but other times he'll make you watch and forbid you from coming no matter how much you want to

By now you know better than to cross him so you behave like the good little toy that he needs you to be

The smile on his face when he fucks the orgasm out of you is one of the most sadistic ones you ever see on him

[alastor-insanity]

can i ask for some of your alastor headcanons and perhaps a doodle?

i love the way you see him and your artstyle's really cute, i've been craving more of your little doodles of him. your design is just perfect!!

if you can't think of anything general, more about alastor's adhd presentation would be cool. since viv said in an interview coffee is one of alastor's favorite foods, i was wondering if you'd think he uses caffeine to self-medicate since the idea of adhd wasn't around back when he was alive, and i doubt hell is out here advocating for psychiatric care.

i imagine alastor drinking 5+ cups of coffee a day just to moderately function...the first time he has a monster energy, he's like "ew" and then it becomes Crack to him (totally not projecting or anything haha). this is actually mildly scientifically backed because taurine (which is in most energy drinks) can actually reduce hyperactivity but isn't recommended to treat adhd because it has a lot of interactions with meds. but i find chugging a monster actually makes me feel normal.

okay i kinda went off on a tangent but this is me poking you with a stick to hear more about how you see alastor!!

HI!!! OH MY GOSH HELLO!!!!

I am so so excited to answer this oh my gosh thank you for sending this in i am a normal amount of invested in this character and my headcanons about him ( <- girl who has never been this insane about a character ever)

But first!! For a doodle i present to you

Adhd on adhd violence

Immediately I am going to say that we’re zeroing in on his adhd presentation for the headcanons im going to talk about. I am not a doctor I am just a weirdo who literally hyperfixated on neurodiversity for several months and still didn’t realize I had adhd until I got diagnosed 💀 so this is filtered through my personal experiences and understanding let it be known I am not a doctor!! This is going to be a rambly mess that is poor in cohesion but rich in passion lol umm

cw for internalized ableism and brief mentions of child abuse <3 also pain stimming. It’s not self harm but if you’re sensitive to that you might also be sensitive to this

That being said.. >:3

So. I don’t want to vague post but this whole concept formed because I saw a post pointing out how we’d only seen alastor pull his hair when he was “extremely stressed or upset” (tbc no hate to the person who said this op of that post ily I just interpret things differently!!!) and backed it up with screenshots of him during his season 1 finale freak out, and after Dont You Forget on the bench outside of Rosie’s. They then followed it with a screenshot of him grabbing his hair while rejecting vox’s business proposal

And I saw what they were saying and I just thought. Or…. He just does that during high emotion situations. Any high emotion situation. Even if that emotion is hysteria.

I bounce on my toes when I’m in stressed in high-energy situations. And when I’m excited. And when I’m extremely mind-numbingly bored. Some stims are only seen in response to particular emotions or situations, but most, at least in my experience, appear in a variety of contexts for various reasons. Alastor was stressed and scared in the season 1 finale, I agree. But he wasn't stressed outside of Rosie's. He was fuming. He was furious with her and with himself and there's no one around to take it out on so where does he put this energy?? Hands go into his hair. As for the bar scene, he was subejcted to a sudden and unexpected shift in mood. Hands in the hair to help regulate. If i believe the bar scene went down the way we saw it (i have a Whole Thing about that btw but i'll get into that another time) i could even tie some of his reaction to emotional dysregulation, along with the mix in of aspd i see him having as well.

And after i made that realization with his pain stimming, i started thinking about his touch aversion. He's so incredibly relatable in that if he initiates the contact, that's okay. That's planned and expected and he can end it whenever he wants. But other people touching him is unbearable. Its warm and disgusting and makes your skin crawl and just all around repulsive. A few weeks after i saw the season 2 finale, my sibling was behind me and grabbed me by the shoulders. And. Oh my gosh ohhhh my gosh alastor should have ripped vox's head off live on air ITS ACTUALLY AWFUL no one is giving alastor enough credit for enduring that multiple times daily without so much as a word. He's hell's strongest soldier i'm serious it was actually nauseating.

But anyways!!! Touch aversion is often linked to neurodiversity and my hc of choice is of course adhd :3c

Everyone in the fandom latches onto lucifer's inability to remember names. I am shocked that i've seen absolutely no one talking about how Alastor just forgot about the whole Sir Pentious. It's played off as a joke until you think about it more and the language alastor was using during the scene, like,

"Who are you?”

[insert pentious spiel]

“Well, if all that were true you’d think i’d have heard of you!”

“I attacked you literally last week”

“???” (Head tilt static noises)

“We’ve done battle like… 20 times?”

“Well, you must’ve been really bad at this”

It just. It doesn’t sound to me like someone who’s perfectly able to recall but is needling pentious for fun. Alastor’s body language isnt jovial and silly like he’s being annoying on purpose. He just. Pentious was boring. Boring things dont get stored in the working memory. Alastor’s probably getting into random fights with idiots all the time. Pentious wasnt special. And later when Pentious comes to the hotel and apologizes for ripping Alastor’s coat, Alastor looks at him and says “I definitely remember you now” which. Why would he say that unless he genuinely couldnt remember before.

I’d say that Alastor probably struggles with remembering people and names just like Lucifer does. The difference is that Alastor.. actually cares. Alastor was raised as a human being around people where you can’t get away with blatantly and repeatedly not knowing someone’s name when you’re told and exist around them for an extended period of time. So he actually puts effort into figuring stuff out and remembering as opposed to Lucifer’s uncaring disregard.

Alastor’s a sensory seeker. This ties into his thrill seeking and love of adrenaline but that is also hand in hand with the aspd. He stims a lot but he's masking so it’s stuff he's learned he can get away with without being suspected which means the fandom doesnt clock him! But canonically he hums whenever he's alone, taps things, picks at his hands, swings his feet, there's a moment where he almost paces but stops himself and redirects to pulling his hair. He's. He's masking all the time and i really think he'd be pacing and fiddling with stuff and even more talkative if it wasnt, in some ways, beaten out of him as a kid. Either socially or literally depending on what kind of backstory you want to give him. (There’s a drawing of him done in an old stream labeled “would strike a child” with an arrow pointing to him. So. Let that color your perception of how he was treated however you like) He was a neurodivergent kid in the deep south at the start of the 20th century. No matter how loving one or both of his parents were, they would be doing parenting the only ways they knew how, which ended up strongly discouraging him from being visibly neurodivergent in a variety of ways. Pacing is the one stim ive gotten the most commentary on, the one thing people need to discourage no matter how little right they have to comment on how I regulate myself, and i just-

I think about him outside of Rosie’s. I think about him starting to pace and cutting himself off by sitting down and redirecting that energy to his hair. I think about it a lot.

Because the thing is. He has no idea something is up with him, would be insulted if anyone suggested it. So he thinks all of what he experiences is normal (it is. But. Ykwim) and that influences how he views other people. I imagine he looks down on other people who are worse at masking (or dont mask at all) than he is because he doesn’t understand that not everyone needs iron clad self control just to behave in socially expected ways, thinks people who do the things he got wrung out of him as a kid are just behaving rudely, even if he never quite understood why they were rude. It doesn’t matter, it’s what he was taught and it’s about the principle. Why are you pacing? Everyone knows you do that alone, where no one can see you. Why are you so fidgety? Did you never learn to force yourself still like everyone else did? He’s still got the voices of his parents and teachers in his head whispering stop it whenever he finds himself wandering without purpose or absentmindedly toying with whatever object he happened to pick up.

I can’t definitively decide where I stand for him with regard to RSD. I imagine it was worse when he was younger, when being too loud, too boisterous, too much, would have resulted in a correction, whatever form it took. But I also think his response to being scared has always been to get angry, which definitely did not create a cycle when he was alive, and yes he has only the normal level of loathing for authority why do you ask? Anyways, nowadays when something manages to poke at that soft spot he’s buried so deep I imagine it pisses him off to no end. He’s The Radio Demon, not the furious little kid he once was, forced to bend to the whims of those with authority over him. He’s allowed to be as talkative, as intense, as much as he damn well pleases. But even still, maybe, under the anger, something sharp squirms deep in his chest.

Back to the sensory seeking: he likes spicy foods with strong flavors, which is of course cultural as well, but I’m still counting it. He likes fights he likes getting thrown through the air and slammed into things and biting and scratching and running, tearing, mauling. It’s very enriching. Good for Alastor. Let Alastor fight people whenever he wants. I hc him as a major pain stimmer, extrapolating from how he pulls his hair. He clenches his fists all the time, and I think sometimes he’s digging his own claws into his hands just to feel the sting. I imagine he squeezes things he’s holding just a little too hard sometimes, so he can feel the edges of it digging into his hands. He chews on his tongue and the insides of his mouth. If he’s extremely overwhelmed, I can see him biting his own hands and arms (im not projecting sHUT UP-) he’d like rough and sharp textures, just to poke at and squeeze because they’re fun. Pain stims arent always a response to something negative, sometimes you just want to squeeze something kind of sharp bc it’s fun.

There’s the whole spinny chair. Spinny chairs are like crack to vestibular stimmers he’s so real. The coasting and spinning and leaning, especially because he couldn’t get up and walk around and scratch the itch the way he usually would. He was so incredibly mobile in that chair because he was trying to match his normal level of movement while still strapped down. Bc if he didn’t he would get zoochosis. He gets incredibly irritable and destructive and violent when he's understimulated.

I imagine he’s more prone to hyperfocus than to hyperfixation. Radio is his oldest and dearest one, it oscillates from hyperfixation to just a normal interest (that he’s still passionate about, of course), the intensity of it ebbs and flows but it always comes back. He can hyperfocus crazy style though, and sometimes locks himself away to read entire novels in a day, or go insane on some maintenance work that needs doing, or just build a new radio from scratch without taking breaks. He so clearly wants to talk about radio so bad but nobody asks him!! Begging someone at the hotel to ask him about his show I want to see him talk about it so so bad (I want an hour long special that’s just Alastor’s radio show. Please. Pleasepleaseplease)

There’s his hatred for change. This is mostly talked about in regard to autism, but unexpected or forced changes in routine can be incredibly distressing for adhders as well. Again I’m bringing personal experiences into this, but I was recently put into a situation where I had to get a new phone, and the idea of leaving behind my old one was so overwhelming I couldn’t process it. Ofc in my time of distress my brain turned to my hyperfixation and I literally thought “is this how Alastor feels? I get it now” I see where he’s is coming from, actually. Even if it started as just stubbornness or loyalty to his time or whatever, at this point he’s been using his selected technologies for so long. It would be so scary to change them now.

As for how he manages it!! Its so fun that you bring up coffee as a way to self medicate because i actually

We know he's no stranger to self medicating *gestures to the whiskey and cigaratte pain relief situation* and I can absolutely see him using caffeine to help get his head on straight. He’s never understood what people meant when they talk about coffee making them energized or jittery or anxious when it’s only ever helped him settle into himself, but it works for him so he doesn’t question it. He’s been doing this since he was alive. I also like to think he keeps a pen and a little notebook on his person at all times to help him remember stuff, particularly instructions he got for tasks when he was helping run the hotel. His working memory is rough so if he doesn’t write it down it simply will not be done. He managed to get “just write it down so you don’t forget!” to actually work for him because he’s maintained the habit for several decades. He drags music along with him wherever he goes for background noise, curtesy of his staff. Niffty is the sole reason his room is as tidy as it is. Loathe as he is to admit it, she really was a massive help when she offered to join his legion of contractees. He loses things all the time but it doesn’t matter if he can’t remember where he put something down because he can just summon it back into his hand. Being insanely powerful has its perks, even if it’s something as mundane a not having to worry about where he stashed his glasses.

All in all, he gets by. He copes and he has systems that work for him. Even if there are other ways he could be going about things, different survival strategies or methods to his madness, better ones even, he’s existed with this mask for so incredibly long that he has no idea how he’d begin to function without it. So he’ll continue as he is, at least for a while longer. Maybe in the future he’ll make some discoveries, but as for now he keeps on keeping on :}

[kinsuim]

TELEVISION SWEETHEARTS | DARK CONTENT

drabble: vincent whittman x assistant! fem! reader

(w.4.1k) you got the job of your dreams with the man of your dreams…but is he really who you’ve dreamed about for so long? the sweet and innocent weatherman? or, someone entirely and utterly obsessed with you? a/n: this is dark content for descriptive deaths; contains yandere behavior, you have been warned.

WARNINGS: MDNI/18+, suggestive sexual references, inappropriate display of work behavior, strong language, implied age difference, descriptive deaths/murders, yandere behaviors, nicknames, character deaths

You liked Vincent since your older college days.

Even now you remember how often you stared longingly at the chiseled man, more entranced at his grin than his warning of imminent windstorms.

So what’s a girl to do? Well, pursue a degree in meteorology, apply for an assistant position at the news network, and cross your fingers that you’d meet the man of the hour.

And did you get that wish completed?

No, you didn’t for a while. The news network isn’t as easy as rom-com movies make it to be— it’s dirty, mean, and full of sex. On the first day of the job you were yelled for simply bringing the wrong coffee, but how were you to know that the News Anchor didn’t like her drinks hot?

Following that day, you saw co-workers fucking each other in the break room. The girl was Martha, some chick that looked like an angel guiding you around the station, and the guy seemed to look like the Sports Anchor, young and blonde.

They didn’t even notice that you entered the room, and it was pretty obvious because the woman seemed to moan insufferably. Your lips twitched in disgust, wondering if you would even last the full first day here.

It even brought the question of how your idol managed to survive in a place like this? He certainly didn’t seem like the type to do this, and there was some part of you that had sympathy for him, perhaps wondering if he was a victim to this kind of cruelty.

Yet, little did you know.

Your face had his kind of “observer” look to it, and you kept your movements minimal and nifty at every barked command. It seemed like you were unfazed to this behavior now, and you made sure to live up to that part. Your suit was pinstriped black and grey, fit to your feminine body and hugging your curves every time you bent over to clean a broken mug.

The man behind the sets noticed that.

It didn’t matter who you were, he wouldn’t let someone with even a prospect of success to get in his way. He simply wouldn’t allow it. But when Vincent observed you for a few days more?

Some sick, twisted delusion filled his head.

He knew of the dirty dogs that littered the station, even the other power-hungry anchors who’d do about anything to get what they wanted. The only advantage he had was that he knew how to hide this facade, and play a role that would even convince God that he was a beloved Shepard.

And you?

Oh, you had success all right. Being an obedient and strong woman such as yourself could easily land you at being an assistant director to any career you desired. It could possibly even land you a trip straight to a shark tank, torn and unrecognizable, just like the broken porcelain you collected.

“Are you…perhaps Vincent Whittman?”

The curious voice made the man smile as he turned slowly from his desk, concealing some minor plans. His eyes met the wide and sparkly ones of a familiar assistant, and her arms were wrapped tight around a white clipboard.

“Depends sweetheart,” he raises an angled brow, “Who’s asking?”

Your hand trembled as you extended it, and the exchanged smile threatened the fangirl inside you to burst out,

“F/n L/n, the recent assistant that was hired for background stage.”

You swallowed thickly as his eyes narrowed, observing you from head to toe, judging probably anything and everything about you. It did sort of help that it was already the end of the day, and most of the people at the station had left, leaving you and Vincent practically alone.

His hair didn’t look any different from when you last saw him, except for that single streak of lighter brown hair. His heterochromia eyes were like a mesmerizing color, and more dominant when face-to-face with your own simple e/c ones.

“Oh yes! You’re that little mouse we call, the er…” he snaps his fingers as he presents you with grin, “The good one— yeah, you’re that one.”

Your heart tinged a bit, but you continued nonetheless,

“Yes, yes, you got that right,” you chuckled, “Well, I just wanted to introduce myself before I get to formally…!”

A paper is pulled from your clipboard, and you offer it to the weatherman, who takes it with a hum. The brief moment of contact let your nostrils intake the smell of his strong and bitter cologne, causing your smile to twitch for the smallest of seconds.

“…Be your new assistant. I was moved to be under your care, and I was just notified of it yesterday. I don’t really know if you or someone else moved me, but I do think—“

“What do you want to be ten years from now, Miss L/n?”

His question is loud in the enclosed area, and you felt yourself sink into your heels as you raised a brow,

“Excuse me?”

”Ten years from now,” he motions his hand to another chair in his office, directly across from his desk, “What do you want to be?”

“Ah,” you say, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as you take a seat, “Ten years? Well I don’t know, maybe a rocket scientist?”

You hoped for a laugh, but seeing that you only evoked a grimace, you discarded the “play it chill” act;

“Er, but you know— realistically speaking— I think I want to be a weatherman too, or weathergirl? I find that kind of job interesting you know? Where everyone can like—“

You gesticulate with your right hand, trying to find the right words,

“Like, trust you! And if I’m being fairly honest, I’m looking at my role model right now, and you certainly have all my trust and faith. That’s how I see myself in ten years.”

“So you want to take my job then,” his grimace falls to a frown, and he leans on his elbows, “And leave me without a career?”

“Oh gods no! I don’t mean it—“

Vincent’s instant laugh leaves you rattled, and you watch as he slaps his palm on the wooden furniture. His teeth flash his pearly whites, and they glint under the dim lighting almost like fangs.

“I was simply messing around with you sweetheart, don’t mind me,” his chest still heaves with pleasure, “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

Clenching your fists, you forced a weak laugh,

“You? No, not really— I mean, like I said, you have all my trust and faith.”

The brown-haired man nods his head, and begins to lift from his chair, walking around the littered desk, and stopping right in front of your seat. He leans against the table, then speaks with a hushed tone,

“So if I asked you to kill somebody, would you do it?”

Your gaze lifts from his pointy shoes, to his soft, contrasting smile.

“Would you trust me then, Miss L/n?”

You pursed your lips, ready to reply, but you were swiftly interrupted by another voice at the door.

“Don’t scare your new assistant already Vincent, she’s still new.”

You watched the said man’s demeanor change to one of disgust as he snarkily replied,

“You should listen to yourself Dick, you’re awfully famous for scaring all the assistants you’ve had before.”

Slowly, you receded from your seat, and began to make your way to the door, seeing the Sports Anchor eye your chest a bit too long for your comfort. You knew what he was famous for too, and remembered the horrid look on Martha’s face as she vented about Dick’s dickey move of impregnating her.

“Nah, corporate just said I’m too good to have one.”

Not wanting to be in the middle of a conversation, you waved at your new manager, giving him a hearty grin,

“Raincheck me on that question Mr. Whittman, seem’s like you have a guest to take care of at the moment.”

You left soon after, jingling your keys all the way to the parking lot. However, you were oblivious to the scream that shook the Earth slightly, and you disregarded it for the thump of your heavy suitcase.

“Well shit, I guess I need to lighten up on the amount of sweets I bring,” you mumble.

The weeks that followed after the office scene were a new fresh intake of news station life. With Vincent, he never yelled, cussed, or skimmed your body with his hand sexually— in fact, he did the opposite.

He cooed, praised, and gave you playful winks every time you completed a “side quest” from him. Whether it be fetching him his lightning-bolt of a pointing stick, or fixing up his hair before he aired on show, he always respected you better than any man.

Heck, it made you even forget about the gruesome murder of Dick, who was found with a dildo impaling his diagonally split body. Though it didn’t end there.

You weren’t able to connect the dots as quick as Vincent thought you would, so it made this all the better. Remember that woman who yelled at you for your poor mistake of a coffee your first day here? Well, he made sure that she received a jaw-dropping and eye-popping of a coffee just a few weeks ago.

He distinctly recalled your small grin when her death was notified to the crew, and that small action was more than enough to make him keep going. After all, he wouldn’t want anyone standing in the way of his assistant.

“Vincent!” you called out, speed-walking to catch up with the now-upgraded News Anchor, “Guess what!”

“Yeeeesss, sweetheart?”

The man with the glasses turned, still reciting his new lines in his head until he saw your gleaming eyes overly excited for the news he was obviously aware of.

“I got offered your part of weatherman! The director said that since you’re already taking up so many positions, I might as well take up your old role!”

He bumped shoulders with you, relishing and exchanging a smile;

“That must be—“

“I rejected it!” You interrupted, and quickly explained the moment his face dropped, “I don’t want to be a weatherman anymore, I just don’t think it’s for me— see, I’m actually more than happy of where I’m at right now.”

You walked ahead of him now, who seemed flabbergasted, “Well, I’m off to type up your script— and oh! File some data too…”

“Wait a minute missy,” his hand pulled your shoulder back gently, restraining itself from slamming you against the wall, “I thought that was your goal? And you rejected it?”

After all I went through? Vincent irked to slap that cheeky grin of yours— don’t you realize he’s helping you up the food chain? Giving you a better career? A better—

“Is there something wrong with a changed goal? Nothing is ever set on stone, Vincent, and I thank you for your worry, but I’m actually really proud to be with you.”

For the first time, his voice sounded…unhinged. You saw his lips fall to a frown as he breathed out;

“You’re proud to be with me? Of all people?”

“Why?” you laughed it off, and pulled at his sleeve to keep walking, “Is it so bad to work with someone you find so much in comparison with?”

The man stifled his chuckle, and wasn’t reluctant to correctly fix your grip on his sleeve. His slender fingers grabbed your wrist, and pulled you close enough to have your nose inhaling that bitter cologne once more.

And for him, perhaps, to see your tense shoulders, and light dust of pink on your cheeks.

“Do tell, how do we compare?” he whispered, his head tilting toward you, “You didn’t become the weatherman you sought out to be.”

You bit the innards of your cheek, trying your very fucking best not to melt at his vice. Sure, you had a very long time collaborating with him, but it didn’t mean that your feelings didn’t slip from time to time.

Like that one time you were nearly caught staring at him change; and sneak a peak at the insane happy trail he had going down. “We’re both victims of this abusive system, the whole catastrophe that goes on behind the scenes,” you perked up, having the courage to boop his nose with your finger, “You never know when we might go dead too, so it’s best to be optimistic about each other.”

Victims?

Oh darling.

He was anything but the victim.

Vincent sucked his bottom lip, attempting his innate best to not spill all the dark secrets he was tempted to tell. His lip made a soft pop as he let go of his hold on your wrist. Of course you wouldn’t understand though, oh not yet.

The propped walls witnessed his once-in-a-lifetime offer, and the sweet action he did only for you; he handed you a pin, familiar to the both of you when he first aired on show.

The small, little, orange fish.

“It would be awfully rude of me then, to not invite you for dinner, would it?” he said, his glasses glinting your awed expression, “From one victim to another?”

“Depends…”

Your hand trails from his nose, down to his collar, where you give him a light tug forward. His discolored eyes narrow at your attempt, but he gives you the brief taste of power as you whisper,

“Where will it be?”

And he replies, almost on the same husky tone as he slips the pin between your cleavage,

“Twin Peaks bar, oh and,” he peers down at your quivering excitement, “Wear your best dress.”

Best to say that you listened and immediately bought the most sexiest dress you saw.

It didn’t take long for nightfall to happen on the glimmering sky of stars, stabbed by skyscrapers standing overzealously among the populace.

You kept a long, black trench coat over your slit dress, for a variety of reasons. One, it was cold. Two, you were near the alley for gods sake.

Vincent mentioned he had some business to take care of before he arrived, so it left you waiting outside the bar until he came. But, that was hours ago.

And right now you had this gut wrenching feeling that you were being stood up.

“I should’ve known it was too good to be true,” you murmured, finding yourself walking back down to street from where you came.

Light patters of rain kissed your fancy hair, making you wince. You didn’t even have an umbrella on you, so with a tired sigh, you pulled your trench coat off your body and looped it over your head.

You kept walking gloomily, your heels clacking on the pavement, and your ears listening to the snarky remarks of dirty men.

“Now I know you’re not leaving me on this cold night.”

The rain had concealed his figure from you, but you recognized the comforting voice to be none other than Mr. Whittman. His shoes had some dark stains, but you disregarded it for the rain; and your eyes led up to see his knuckles white around the bouquet of fallen geraniums.

He seemed out of breath, and you cracked a grin to ease him:

“Oh dear, is that someone I recognize?” you comically rubbed your eyes, “Oh! Vincent!”

“Ha ha, very funny sweetheart.”

You extended a hand, to which be took within his arm and muttered beneath his breath, “Twin Peaks closed early, and I still have unfinished shit to get done.”

“Then I’ll join you.”

He only hummed, though it sounded more like a grunt. You had to pick up your pace little by little as angrily mumbled to himself— and you admitted that he did look sort of cute. This was also the only time you got to seem him, well, bothered.

You only hoped that as weeks passed, he’d still stay alive. There was this itching feeling that something was dreading to happen, but you disregarded it for the anxiety you must’ve been feeling.

As the rain kissed the pair slowly, the moon began to watch the smaller one lean against the other. And the moon would see this day after day, until it was the set date for one to set out on his deed once more.

“You know, Vincent, I never got to answer your question.”

Years had since gone, and as you stapled reports together, a thought came up on your mind.

Your now-proclaimed lover sat with his legs crossed over his desk, watching you complete his paperwork. Not that you complained of course.

“What question?”

“When you asked if you told me if I would kill someone at your command.”

His brows furrowed together as he began to stand, noticing the ticking clock. It was already the dreading hour that he’d make his last move to victory, and perhaps, be able to tell you everything.

“Ah, do tell then.”

“I would kill for you,” you smiled softly, then handed him his script, “And then I’d trust you for a reward after.”

The chuckling man approached your figure, keeping his hands to your sides as he leaned forward. His lips hovered over yours tauntingly, and you couldn’t help but look up at his narrowed eyes.

“Prove it to me then,” he grinned, savoring your pleased look, “Show me how much you really trust me.”

“Ah, well if I did—“

“Mr. Whittman! You’re up!”

Your cheeks grew bigger as you peeked over his hunched shoulder, it always seemed like the moment he finally got time alone with you, someone had to intervene.

“He’ll be right out!” you exclaimed, eyeing the feet below the cracked door of the office, “He’ll be out in one!”

“Well…”

You turned your attention back to the grimace Vincent had, “What? Don’t you love your job? Get out there!”

Your hands gave him a light shove away, but not before landing a peck on his thinned lips. It felt euphoric to finally have him in front of you, sharing the same air in the same place, and being called his.

“Fine, but do fetch me some scotch by the time I’m finished,” he began to recede, “It should take you, hm, a good hour or so…”

He counted his fingers, nodding to himself as he glanced up at your raised brow. This would certainly be enough time for him to quickly finish off the final man he needed to topple, and then the fucking whore that decided to interrupt his sweet time.

“Right, the special one no?” you brushed past him to the door, and collected your purse, “The traffic is heavy this late, so you’re not entirely wrong.”

You felt his breath down your neck, his lips dragging slowly up your jaw, making you grin,

“If you keep this up, the boss might be angry at you.”

“Don’t worry about that sweetheart, he won’t be for long.” he hummed, appeased at the laugh it evoked from you.

The traffic was the last thing you needed.

Three whole hours had gone by, and your cab driver was doing nothing but smoking the entire vehicle with his cheap cigar. The cars beside you were beeping insistently at the one before it, and its drivers were hollering insults to each other like a Christmas carol.

“Are you sure this was the fastest route?” you asked, bouncing your leg impatiently, “I need to be at the studio—“

“Missy.”

His cracked voice snapped at you, and his wrinkled eyes glared from the mirror,

“It’s 8-fucking-o’clock, what did ‘ya expect? Rainbows an’ unicorns fetching ev’er one from their cars and shippin’ em to their ‘omes?”

Oh lord, you had to hold yourself from breaking the scotch cradled in your arms and shoving its broken shards down his infested throat. You didn’t know what your lover might say if you’re any late, but you didn’t want to test it any longer.

“Yes, you dumb fugler!” you pushed the broken door open of the cab, making it scrape against another car, “Fuck you and your unicorns!”

The cold breeze hit you as slammed the door back, rattling the cab and the angry cab driver. Flashing lights yelled at you as you swerved from car to car, running blocks down to the studio.

At the corner of your eye, you noticed some wailing blue and red dots, but you didn’t have the time to snoop around and figure out why.

Vincent was more important.

Not long after, and a few breaths cut short, you made it to the back alley of the studio, and quickly made yourself inside. As you expected security or some other employees to greet you or call you out to reveal your ID…there was none.

The desks, levers, and background drops were cleaned of any organic beings.

“Hello?”

Your voice echoed, and in the distance, the lights dimmed down to a slight blue hue. Was the power down or…?

Taking a deep breath, you set down the scotch on a set table, then plucked a pen from your coat’s pocket. A small relief resided in you as you saw the collection of pins gifted: a goldfish, a sailboat, and an anchor.

And now, you had to anchor yourself down so nothing would scare the crap out of you.

You walked slowly to the center stage of the studio, where all the live recordings took place. Your arms were slightly raised to your chest, where your pen was clutched by your tight fingers.

You made it to the center stage, dimmed with only one hanging light fixture. It was quiet except for the thrumming of the cameras and tech working overtime, but a single beep rattled your attention.

“Help is on the way, stay still Mr. Elon, if the man comes back—“

The voice doesn’t get to finish as a guttural cry cuts out, and then followed by a crushed chorus of applause.

You weren’t alone.

And you felt that something was awfully wrong. Not because of the obvious wafting death of the other mere inches from you, but also because of the man. The darkness, the heaving breaths, and wailing sounds that were nearing at each dreading second only helped push the voice in your head to scream.

“Oh sweetheart, you came earlier than expected.”

Your eyes darted in the dark as you took steps back, but you wouldn’t dare reply. Oh no, no. It wasn’t as if it helped anyway.

Something warm and wet skimmed your neck, leaving a sticky trail as it squeezed your face. Vincent hissed into your ear, his nose grazing your temple,

“Listen Y/n, listen to me because I’m only giving you one chance.”

The lights were slowly brightening, and the wails of cop cars were nearer than ever. From what you could see, the floor before you was stained in red, and a body was plastered with knives upon their back.

A sick, churning, feeling began to erupt in your stomach.

The hand that held your face forced you to turn, making your heart fall to your feet. He was beautiful, so beautiful that it hurt to realize the truth.

I am so, so, stupid.

His face was speckled with blood, and his eyes held a different kind of love as they scanned yours for the horror that drained itself on your body.

Vincent was always the killer.

“Kiss me.”

Your brows furrowed, confused and scared as you meekly muttered;

“W-what? Vincent I—“

“What?” he sneered, hovering a sizzling cord over your ear, “Don’t love me anymore? Because sweetheart, I can easily rekindle our love,”

Thumping footsteps began to run to the side of you, signaling the entry of the police. It’s not like you had anything to lose— and he wouldn’t actually kill you, would he?

“Vincent I—“

A hot, metallic, feeling hit your temple like a rippling fire. Your brain felt like it was melting inside, and your body trembled and shook, as you could barely process the cord pressed against you.

To Mr. Whittman, you reminded him of the pixel-character he liked when he was younger. She would glitch on screen everytime she moved to his taps, but he’d love her regardless.

The running police would fire at him the moment they see him, and a bullet shouldn’t decide how his show ends.

His palm skimmed your awfully warm face, and your eyes had grown bloody tears, to which he wiped with a soft coo.

“I did this for us sweetheart, but we weren’t meant for each other in this life.”

You were lifeless, and the cord still thrummed with more electrical venom. Smiling, he pressed his lips upon yours, savoring the fear that rested upon them.

“This is the police! Stop right—“

He pressed the cord on his own temple, and gritted his teeth as he fell down with his arms around you. The pain receptors all over his body rattled and fizzed out as he shared the same death.

Maybe in hell, he’d see you.

His vision grew impaired as he grinned, then faded with crimson film.

Afterall, your sin was loving a monster like him.

work and rights belong to me, laurel.

[ventalizm]

they totally smoke weed together

[dawn-of-fawn]

yeah Alastor using French pet names for a partner is cute n all but have you considered ....

Alastor speaking Frenglish while drunk?!?!

please I need to push my french-speaking drunkalastor agenda

"Al, are you drunk?!"

"Non non! Well... peut-être, just a little... work is hard, mon chou. A bit of a break... est en bonne santé, oui?"

please pardon my French, deerlings, it's been a while since I practiced so I mostly used Google translate 😿