Alastor And Rosie Friendship - Tumblr Posts
My fanfic which focuses on Rosie giving love advice to Alastor! 🌹☕📻
This was a fun little fic I wanted to write about Al being AroAce and not realizing it. After Rosie's comment in ep 7, I had to write it.
Summary :
Rosie, the love expert, observes her enigmatic friend Alastor’s reluctance to embrace romantic connections. She "subtly" hints that love comes in many forms.
This is a short fic, about 800 words.
Spoiler ahead >>>>
Here are a few lines <3
The Café is quiet only the clatter of cups, the soft murmur of conversations. The tables are far enough for everyone to feel alone. Couples sat at those tables, lost in their worlds. Rosie’s gaze wandered to a pair by the window—a young demon with lilac hair and her partner, their fingers entwined. They laughed, their love palpable It was beautiful to love a person and want to spend eternity with them. She always wished to find that herself.
“Rosie,” Alastor said, breaking her reverie. “What intrigues you about them dear?”
She glanced back at him, studying his eyes. “Their connection,” she replied. “It’s more than physical attraction. It’s… companionship. A shared history. Love, perhaps.”
“Love.” Alastor’s voice held a hint of wistfulness. “I never understood the desire for it.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “A curious concept. Humans and demons alike chase after it.”
“And yet,” Rosie said, her gaze drifting to the other tables. “It’s everywhere. In the simplest gestures—a touch, a smile. Even in this café, love dances between tables. Maybe you'll have it someday.”
He leaned back in his chair, his crimson eyes flickering. “What if I don’t want a partner?”
•☽────✧༺♥༻∞────☾•
All of my fics are here and I can't let this one feel left out!
Rosie is lovely and I hope we see more of her next season! ♥
Denial of closeness update>
Chapter 3: Threads and Memories
Niffty is making a puppet show!
This time she wants to make it with actual puppets, so Alastor volunteers to make them with her.
3. Don't you hate it when the princess calls you Niffty's dad?
Here is a snippet>>>
As the last notes of her makeshift orchestra faded, Niffty took a bow. The applause was polite but distant. She glanced at Alastor, who sat in the corner, his crimson eyes half-closed. As others left the room she came closer to him. His crimson eyes bore into Niffty’s, curiosity etched on his face. “What’s on your mind, my dear?”
Niffty fidgeted with her sketchbook, her mind racing. “Do they hate my shows?” she blurted out, her voice small.
Alastor chuckled, his smile enigmatic. “Niffty, they wouldn’t watch them if they hated them. Your roaches have their peculiar charm.”
But Niffty wasn’t satisfied. “Maybe I should try something new,” she mused aloud. “What if I made actual puppets? New characters, fresh stories!”
Alastor leaned back. “That could be refreshing,” he conceded. “And you know how to sew, don’t you? You made that beautiful dress!”
Niffty’s eye widened. “Yes, clothes! Mostly with a machine. But dolls? They’re different. How do I even start?”
Alastor hummed and clapped his hands “First, we’ll need fabric. Something sturdy but soft. And a pattern—” “I can draw the pattern! Look!” She flipped her sketchbook to reveal a rough outline of a doll, its limbs elongated, its head oversized.
Alastor examined her drawing. “Not bad. Now, let’s cut the fabric.” He demonstrated, the scissors gliding smoothly through the material. “Remember, precision matters.”
Niffty mimicked his movements, her tongue poking out in concentration. “Precision,” she repeated.
His fingers traced the delicate fabric, guiding Niffty through the art of doll-making. He spoke of seams and stitches, of shaping limbs and faces. Niffty listened, her enthusiasm growing with each whispered instruction.
“Next,” Alastor said, “we stitch the body. A simple running stitch along the edges.”
Niffty threaded the needle, her fingers deftly pulling the thread through the fabric. “Like this?”
...
"Exactly like that sweetie."
Memories of his mother surfaced—the way she’d sit by the window, sunlight streaming through her hair as she sewed. She’d taught him patiently, her voice soft and encouraging.
His father had scoffed, calling it "women's work." Yet, his mother had persisted, her needle weaving magic into every stitch. She had even shared her secret—the voodoo dolls. They were not the dark magic of horror stories but a beautiful connection to the universe.
"Every stitch holds power. Healing and protection," her voice echoed in his mind. Alastor's fingers betrayed him.
He pushed the needle through the fabric, wincing as it pricked his finger. Blood welled up, staining the cloth. “Ouch,” he muttered.
Niffty glanced at him. “Are you okay?”
He chuckled, wiping the blood away. “Fine. Just a little mishap.”
∘◦ ✂ ————–✂ ◦∘
After a month of hiatus >>>
Chapter 4 (bonus): The aftermath of Niffty’s last puppet show! Emotions be damned.
An attempt to write from Niffty’s POV.Later Rosie’s POV. Features confused and angry Niffty, Husk trying to comfort unsuccessfully, and drunk Alastor.
