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radio-writes · 9 months ago

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Love is Whatever You Can Still Betray

Synopsis: You recall a time when Alastor still saw you as friend, as an equal. You wonder: was any part of it even real?

Warnings: manipulation, mentions of drugs, violence and blood, physical harm to reader, power imbalance.

Tags: Relationship can be read in any way; Alastor x Reader; GN Reader

MDNI

At the back of your mind you vaguely remember a time when Husk had warned you.

"He's a sweet talker when he needs to be. You'd be better off not trusting a bastard like him."

You think that's what the drunk cat had said. You're sure it was somewhere along those lines, at least. It was a fair bit of time ago.

However, you do remember—painfully clearly—that you had laughed him off. You found the mere idea of Alastor betraying your trust ridiculous.

The Radio Demon would never dare cross you. You were a powerful overlord; one that practically held the whole ring in the palm of their hands. And, more importantly, you were friends; one of the very few that either of you even had.

Surely even someone like Alastor would think twice about stabbing a beloved friend in the back, right?

You almost wanted to shoot yourself realizing how naive you've been.

Now, having been a brilliant chemist during your life on earth, it wasn't really much of a shock that you turned to drug production when you got to Hell. You had to make a living somehow, right?

Besides, with the quality of the drugs you made, it only took you a few months to have Pride Ring's whole drug operations under your thumb.

But you were still so careful. You made sure to never deal with your clients or your distributers or your cartels directly. And on the rare times where you had to, you made sure to keep yourself as hidden as possible.

Very few people actually knew who this new Drug Demon was, and that's exactly how you wanted it be. You were smart, brilliant, a genius—if you do say so yourself; but what you weren't was strong.

Drug business in Hell was undoubtedly—and quite often literally—cutthroat. You wouldn't stand a chance if the enemies you made came after you, and you knew that. You'd probably have better chances of survival standing butt naked in the middle of the streets on extermination day.

So it made sense that the few friends you held dear were the only ones you trusted with your secret—with your life.

Alastor was...not really meant to be one of those friends.

Sure, he was the very first soul you met down here in Hell. You also both shared a love for soft jazz and easy nights and dancing your worries away. His dry comedic remarks and tendency to gossip made sure any time spent with him was entertaining enough to make you forget where you were, at least temporarily.

But still, you were cautious enough not to spill your darkest secrets to every charming young demon to slide to your side of the bar. Specially not to one that's been eager to steal your soul since the start.

Alastor was a friend, sure. But you weren't blind to all the blood he spilled, and much less so to just how much joy the Radio Demon got from it all. You hadn't failed to notice his grin stretching just a tad bit too wide, his eyes shining with glee with every limb he pulled from his victim's body.

Often times you found it hard to connect your silly little friend, wagging his finger to the tune of the live music, with the demonic horror you've witnessed happily feast on the corpses of his unfortunate prey.

Of course, that eventually started to change.

You think, it all started on your One Year Anniversary in Hell. It's been decades since you've chained yourself to your current predicament, but the bitterness of that night was still so hard to swallow.

"Hardly anything to talk home about. Simply bumping gums with an old butter and egg man. But Oh! The drama when his children came in. Ha!" Alastor had been recalling some story that night. You barely understood a word of it, if you were being honest. Alastor had the tendency to use old timey phrases when drunk—whether as a genuine habit or to mess with you, you were unsure.

"Didn't take you to be type to cozy up to the rich folk." You had jested, sliding a shot glass over to your companion.

Alastor had caught it, downed its contents in one go, and smiled at you. "And I didn't take you to be such a light weight, old friend." Alastor mocked you.

You laughed it off, accepting and drinking the shot he then slid to you.

Your eyes glanced across the bar in front of you, several empty bottles of alcohol scattered about already. How much time had the two of you spent there? You were unsure. Clearly it was at least a few hours past closing time; but it's not like the cowering demon behind the bar had the guts to kick the Radio Demon out.

"I'm not the one swaying in my seat with every breeze, old friend." You bit back.

"Ha! You must be absolutely stewed, dear. You're seeing things now!" He had slung a lanky arm over your shoulder, yanking you snugly to his side.

For a moment, the room spun; taking a whole second before steadying again.

Sure, there had been a slight slur in Alastor's words underneath all the radio static, but the demon wasn't far off with his observation still. You admittedly did feel a bit tipsy.

You had placed a hand on Alastor's chest, pushing yourself away from him, laughing all the while. "Watch the hair! You wouldn't want to piss me off now."

"Anger a sweet thing like you? Come now, you couldn't hurt a bee if it stung you in the eye," Alastor ruffled the hair on the top of your head as if to prove his point.

"Hey!— Fuck," You swore under your breath as you moved off your seat far too quickly.

Alastor materialized behind you, easily catching you by your elbows.

"Steady now, dear! Seems you're a lot further gone than I expected you to be," He laughed.

You twisted around in his grip and poked his chest rather sluggishly. "I'd have you know I'm not the same weak soul you met a year ago,"

You should have stopped. It was only ever meant to be a joke.

Your body should have just blacked out.

"I happen to run all of Pride Ring. I can get your Great Depression ass hunted down for messing my hair up," You boasted.

Alastor didn't seem to take your words for anything more than drunk ramblings as he helped you up to your own feet. "Is that what they call my time? I happen to have found the whole stock market crash hilarious, not at all depressing." He mused, he seemed to have been ignoring your ramblings.

"I'm serious, you know!" You puffed up your chest proudly, wanting to be taken seriously, looking him straight in the eye.

"I am the great scary Drug Demon after all."

You heard a record scratch.

Oh you were far beyond just tipsy.

You couldn't quite remember much else from that night. At least not after black tentacles swiftly protruded from Alastor's back, spearing right through the poor cowering bartender's chest.

He said something too. Something about how your secret would be absolutely safe with him.

It took you a long time to realize why he had sounded so odd to you in that very moment. But eventually, as the times flew by, you realized it was because he had spoken straight—not a trace of slurring tainted his tone. But that was a realization that came far too late of course.

You had been worried, absolutely scared shitless when you had sobered up. You spilled your biggest secret to someone so infamous. Someone so happy to hog the spotlight for all of eternity. You felt as if you might as well have broadcasted your identity on live TV for all the good it'll do you now.

But the Radio Demon had proved himself to be quite the trustworthy confidant.

Surprisingly true to his word, Alastor had never let a word of your secret slip from his lips. Never once even hinted at it to anyone, not even in jest.

Instead, what he did do was help you in secret. He had fed you information on the ins and outs on different turfs on the Pentagram; down to the smallest of details. Who was itching for a fix, who would have given up anything for their next high, what down on their luck sinner was desperate enough for any means of escape.

The promise of new information to help your business had made all your occasional catch-ups and night outs with Alastor all the more enticing for you.

Not only would you be out and about with a dear friend, having fun, dancing, and drinking, but you'd also get a chance to grow your influence even more.

And hell be damned if that hadn't gotten your greed to grow.

It wasn't long until you trusted Alastor enough for the flow of information to turn into a two-way street.

When he had given you intel, you had thrown what you knew back at him. Desperate sinners, gangs, cults, that you cater to that could really use a trusty deal to get out of rough spots.

You had also found that Alastor, being the schemer that he was, made quite a good soundboard to bounce ideas on. He'd hear your plans out, help you hammer out the kinks before putting them into action.

He had been there to help you out of tight spots.

He had been there to expanded your influence.

He had even been there to take care of any dumbass that dared to try to rival your business.

But there had always been one nagging question just simply gnawing at the back of your mind.

"Your soul? What in Hell would I want with that?" Alastor laughed when you asked if you needed to sell him your soul in exchange for all this help.

"No, my dear. I simply want you to keep me company! It's so hard to find such a like-minded soul in this dreadful cesspool." He explained, taking your arm to loop around his as he had lead you to take a walk with him.

You were his friend he had said. And after all he's helped you with—after all the years spent drinking, gossiping, dancing, and scheming—you believed him.

So you didn't question it.

You didn't question it when one night people broke into your home. They had yelled for the Drug Demon. They yelled for you.

You simply had to run. Break through your window, caution thrown into the wind, and run.

You had no choice but to flee with no plan in mind, nothing in hand. Run with nothing but the clothes on your back.

You didn't question it when heads had turned to watch you as your ran through the streets. Hell's nightlife well and alive, but did nothing to help your pathetic self.

The whispers felt like screams in your ears.

"The Drug Demon."

"That's them isn't it?"

The Drug Demon. The Drug Demon. The Drug Demon.

Everyone in the Pride Ring knew who you were.

You didn't question it when you had been cornered in an alley, a large hand squeezing your throat. Your body ached everywhere.

How many times had they bashed your head against the concrete? How many times had they punched you in the gut? How many times had they kicked your ribs in as you laid whimpering on the ground?

You were in far too much pain to have kept count.

You didn't question it—you should have questioned it—when Alastor showed up. Skewering the sinner just as they held a knife to your throat.

And stupidly, you still didn't question it when he made you that offer.

"You need to be much more careful than that, old pal." His gentle hand had patted dust off your shoulders. "You seem to be Hell's most wanted at the moment."

Your eyes had been wide as your body seemed to have moved by itself. Your arms wrapped around the Radio Demon in relief. "Alastor, thank fuck! I thought I was dead!"

You had felt his chest vibrate against your body as he laughed "My dear, you already are dead!" He joked, pulling your arms off him and stepping back. He had studied your shaking form, his grin stretched just the slightest bit more. "But I do say, you were lucky I was passing by just now. Can't say I can protect you all the time though."

Your throat had felt dry. You knew he was right. Had your good friend not been around, you were sure you'd have died right then.

Now that your secret was out, you needed Alastor. You needed his protection.

"Can't I just stay with you? At least for a little bit." You had said—pleaded, your voice still unsteady from the fear that ran through your body.

"Hmm?" Alastor's head tilted. He leaned his body on his cane in front of him. "Why of course you can! Although I don't quite see how that'll help much." He grinned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my dear, you've made quite a lot of enemies in the past few decades, haven't you? Torn apart many families and damned these poor souls further with all those recreational drugs of yours." In your distress, you had failed to catch the sheer glee in his tone.

Alastor melted into a pool of shadows, before he reappeared right behind you, his hands at your shoulders. You had jumped in his hold but it didn't seem to bother the demon.

"Sure you can stay with me for a while, but what after?" His tone still as cheery as ever. "And what about when I just have to leave you? You can't expect me to be at your beck and call for every second, after all. I'm your dear friend, not a pet."

"Please, Al." You begged, turning around to face him. You weren't sure what you were even asking for. You weren't sure what you wanted him to even do.

All you knew is that you were scared. You were scared because for how smart you were, you were sure there was no way you'd survive a night on your own now.

"Of course, there is something we could do to ensure you stay safe." Alastor had smiled at you, circling you like a vulture; elated that it was now the perfect time to swoop in on a long awaited meal.

"What?" You said, desperation clear in your voice.

"We could make a deal." He grinned.

You should have ran.

"A deal?" You asked, for all the fear you had, part of you was still wary.

"A deal." He confirmed. "If I owned your soul I could summon you whenever I want to. Should you fall into harm's way while I'm not around, I'd be able to pull you out and back to my side with a snap of my fingers."

You'd have been better off facing all the enemies you made. You should have ran.

"I can make sure you're safe and sound; untouched by all these ruffians after you. And it's not like you'll be selling your soul to a stranger now. Haven't I proven myself to be such a caring friend all these years?" His sickly sweet voice, and that overwhelming radio static filled your ears.

He had stopped in front of you, bent down to your height when he extended a hand your way. "So what do you say, darling? Do we have a deal?"

You should have known the worst creature stood in front of you. You'd have been better off facing all the enemies you made. You should have ran.

You bit your lip, eyes glanced away from Alastor in uncertainty. Surely, there must be other ways. If you could just have one night to think it through—

The sharp pain that had come from your back almost blinded you.

"I found them! They're over here, fellas!" You had heard someone shout from behind you, at the opening of the alley.

Your arm reached behind you, feeling something sharp lodged into the back of your shoulder. Your hand quickly dampened by your own blood.

"Fuck. Fine, yes, it's a deal." You had hissed through your teeth before you could think. Your hand reaching out to clasp your friend's outstretched palm.

A bright green light cut through the night's darkness, sealing your fate into Radio Demon's hands.

"Lovely." He drawled out, pulling you behind him as a flood of sinners made their way towards the pair of you.

"Pleasure doing business with you, boys, but I'm afraid I have no use for you anymore." Alastor had greeted the crowd.

"Who's this loser?"

"What the fuck is this bitch talking about?"

"Shut up and hand us that trash!"

You heard many replies to Alastor's words before the screaming started. Shadows ripped through the sinners as essily as if they were simply wet piles of tissue paper.

And then your blood ran cold. No, not because of the sound of flesh tearing from bone.

But because you were sure you had heard one of them say: "Weren't he the one that broadcasted Drug Bitch's name anyway?"

Surely—surely—you had heard wrong, right?

"Why, of course, I did!" Alastor had cheerily answered you. "Got a good deal from it too. Couple of Overlords happily forked their souls over just to know your name!"

It had been a couple of weeks after the deal when you finally worked up the courage to ask.

It hadn't been the answer you were hoping for. You had spent all this time convincing yourself that Alastor would have never done such a thing. That he was your beloved friend—your trusted friend. That he'd never have put you in harms way just to get a couple more souls under his belt.

The tray you had held bent with the grip you had on it. "You sold me out?" You wished you could bash the tray over his stupid shit-eating grin.

"Hello? Yes, that's what I just said. Did you not hear me, pet?" He finally glanced up from the paper he was reading to meet your glare.

"Oh don't look at me like that," He said folding the newspaper and setting it aside. "You're no patsy, surely you saw it coming."

"We were friends, Alastor!" Your voice had risen in volume.

A heavy, glowing collar materialized around your neck before you knew what was happening.

With a harsh tug you had stumbled, barely catching yourself on the armrests of Alastor's chair when he yanked you down to where he sat.

His free hand had reached up, anchoring itself heavily on your shoulder.

"Yes we were!" His voice was cheery, but there was an edge to his grin now. "That made the betraying part all the more entertaining, if you ask me."

"You piece of shi—" Your voice caught in your throat, the collar shrinking around your neck.

"I don't quite appreciate that kind of disrespectful language, darling. Specially, not from my pets." His pupils had turned to radio dials as you fought hard against his pulling just to remain upright.

The rush of anger in your veins froze as you met his eyes. You had felt your blood turn to ice in that very instant.

You've been with this man for so long.

You've seen him skewer crowds of sinners without batting an eye. You've seen him swallow limbs whole with a smile.

You've seen him happily throw friends to their deaths for...entertainment? Was that what he said?

His grip on your shoulder had tightened. Claws dug into your flesh and ripped your recent wound wide open.

Your poor little broken, indignant, heart could wait.

With the flash of pain stinging up your arm, you knew that every second that passed without a reply from your lips was a step closer to death's door again.

So you willed yourself to speak, despite the collar barely allowing enough air to reach your lungs. You managed to struggle out a weary "Understood."

And in an instant, the chains were gone, Alastor was back leaning against his chair. Newspaper back in hands as he idly read the print.

You had clutched at your neck, greedily sucked in air as you stumbled backwards.

"I like my breakfast on the raw side, by the way. And no sugar in the coffee next time; I do have a distaste for sweet things," He said dismissively.

Normally, you'd have cussed at him. Flipped him off and walked away. But there had been no fight left in you then. Your world was reeling from the revelation, from the fact that your friend throughout all these years, didn't even feel the slightest bit of remorse for betraying you.

That he'd happily dispose of you himself for something as simple as disrespectful language.

You had meekly nodded, and hurried to leave the room.

Now you stood, listening to the princess of Hell herself rambling on about how much of a big help Alastor was to the hotel she made. How he's been so supportive.

How he's been such a good friend.

You just couldn't stop yourself.

"You know, your highness, Alastor's a sweet talker when he needs to be. You'd be better off not trusting a bastard like him."

She laughed you off. To her, the idea of Alastor betraying her trust was just absolutely ridiculous.

Surely he'd never betray a beloved friend, right?

#tw: physical harm to reader #tw: manipulation #tw: mentions of drugs #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x gn!reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #Vien Writes #Not me studying 1930s slang for a few lines of dialogue

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roukabi · 2 years ago

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AIGHT who's ready for some hadestown SLANG and STUFF

Up Top:

"Board the Ferry" - to die. Stemmed from Charon's boat to the Underworld. Another iteration is “board the train”, because of Hades’s train. (John boarded the ferry last night.)

"Queened" - to be stuck in an unfortunate situation, especially if it concerns a relationship. Stemmed from Persephone and Hades' tumultuous marriage, as well as the original definition. (How are Rob and Gary? Heard they've been queened with each other for a while.) (All this economic turmoil lately has got me completely queened!)

"Shaded" - to feel or appear to be faint; lightheaded. Stemmed from how dead the shades of the Underworld look. (Hey, pal, you're looking shaded, everything alright?)

"High jazz/low jazz" - the amount of truthfulness to a statement, with 'low jazz' meaning more truth and 'high jazz' meaning less. Stemmed from... uh, this one's kinda made up, but I'd say it's easier to tell secrets when the band is playing loud. (There's a lot of high jazz surrounding that rumor.)

‘Rum-running to Hades’ - To suffer greatly. Rum-running was the illegal smuggling of alcohol. Rum-running to the grouchy King of Hadestown doesn’t sound fun at all. (Poor Gladys over there, she’s been rum-running to Hades ever since the blizzard.)

‘Kicking Daisies’ - dancing really hard. If you stomp and swing your feet enough times, you’re bound to tear up some poor family of flowers. Whoops. Also, ‘Daisy Kickers’ are good dancers. (Hey, check those two out, kickin’ daisies like no tomorrow!)

‘Lick Coins’ - Die 💔 . Charon’s Obol refers to (a) coin(s) placed either over the eyes or on/in the mouth of a dead person before burial. (And you know what I told those jerks? I told ‘em they could lick coins!)

‘Storming’ - Fighting. When Persephone and Hades fight, a storm brews. (Oi, quit storming over there! Break it up!)

Down Below:

“Dog-Collar” - in rough terms, the cops. This one has a bit more context: The original phrase was ‘dog-caller’, which referred to the handlers of Hadestown’s vicious hellhounds. Over time, though, the phrase became ‘dog-collar’, because the dog handlers themselves are seen as Hades’s pesky watch dogs that keep everyone else in line. So what started as a general term ended up as an insult. Sometimes the phrase is shortened to just ‘collars’. (Aw, shit, here come the dog-collars.)

‘Cog’ - a worker. I don’t think we need context for this one. (35 new cogs registered into the machine today.)

‘The Machine’ - Hadestown. See previous term for an example.

‘Unemployed’ - Anyone who is alive. Stole this one right out of Papers. (’Hades, I know this boy!’ ‘One of the unemployed?’)

‘Rattler’ - Loose term for A) someone who is easily frightened/a scaredy-cat, or B) someone who, for whatever reason, is quite prone to screwing up the rhythm of Hadestown. Not only do people shake when scared, they look ‘rattled’. Fear also means no focus, and a lack of focus leads to interrupted, rattled, production. (Who is that damn rattler kickin’ up a fuss in Sector B?)

‘Canary’ - newbie. Canaries were used in coal mines to detect the level of toxic fumes in the workplace. Bonus points if the ‘canary’ can, in fact, sing. (Look at the canaries over there. Recognize any of them?)

Note: some slang from Down Below can be used Up Top, and vice versa, though depending on whether your ceiling is made of starlight or stalactites, reactions can range from confusion to hostility. For example, saying 'Dog-Collar' up top is fairly normal, while 'unemployed' is... bootlick-y. Likewise, telling the dead to 'lick coins' is considered rude, and 'kicking daisies' is entirely unheard of down there.

#these arent replacements for 1930s slang (which is really fun by itself) i just like random worldbuilding #i like language can you tell #use em however u want i guess #hadestown #worldbuilding #long post #hadestown musical #musicals #rook roars!#PS I have No Idea if any of these actually exist/have close irl versions so. there's that i guess

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