Reader: I thought I'd get myself a little companion while you were gone.

Alastor: *just staring at the weird fly Chihuahua his partner is carrying *

Reader: Originally, i was going to get an actual dog, but surprisingly, they are hard to find here. And i dont know how I feel about owning a sentient hellhound

Alastor: *just keeps staring at it. It's wearing a little sweater.* Darling, we never discussed this.

Reader: Yknow since we're all JUST making major life changes without discussing it with each other, right?

Alastor: *oh no, its a HANDMADE sweater* Darling?

Reader: And if anything happens to her. I will send myself and everyone here to double hell.

Some Valentines Day cards for y’all

-🌈

Dearest 🌈, I will be sure to bring up the lack of juice at the bar with Husker. We always have some in the fridge if you’re thirsty.

Alastor had offered to 'poof' you up a whole new closet, but you had rejected the idea. Your style was too modern, and were afraid of giving the 1930s man that much power over what you wore. Besides, your relationship was still new, and the idea of him getting you any major gifts still made you uneasy. Relationships are made of compromises, so you allowed him to get you ONE new outfit. With the added condition of your shopping trip with Angel.

Now Alastor unfortunately finds himself thanking the spider after seeing some of your new clothes himself. . .

AN: might expand on this. For now I'm going to bed. ..

He feels too much.

He feels too little.

Vulnerable. Raw. Gritty.

Lord, he feels his age. Reminders of his mortality aside, Alastor is exhausted. Another seven years could be spent sleeping, and it still wouldn't be enough. Form disolves into nothingness. Silently, shadows enclose around him and ferry him across to his room.

The others in the parlor share a look of concern, but really, what could any of them say? Who would be willing to risk their own hide to try and show any empathy towards one who held himself in such high regard? If not careful, his ruined pride could easily turn deadly. Only an idiot would risk it.

I missed Valentine’s Day

In front of strangers, he is the picture of propriety. Your hand tenderly tucked into the crook of his. But back at the hotel, he goes to town.

He's picking you up under the armpits like a cat. He's carrying you around like a suitcase. He sits you on his lap like you're some ventriloquist dummy.

And the worst part of it all?