#Love my spice overlord | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

michaelasworlds-blog · 6 months ago

Text

Sugar, Spice and Nothing Nice

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 10: Mother Knows Best

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS - SA (🍇) SEXUAL ACTIVITIES PHYSICAL ABUSE/ EMOTIONAL ABUSE/(IMPLIED) MOLESTATION & CHILD MURDER 🚨

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was once a woman who even though she was enslaved, felt as though she had everything she wanted. The woman was a mother, and the only thing in the world that mattered was her baby, she’d do anything for her child and did everything to protect them.

However, one morning she woke up and her child was gone; there was nothing but a trail of blood left where they were sleeping. The woman was devastated, she didn’t work, eat or sleep. After a while she was deemed useless, so the woman was sent away to another home. Things only got worse, while there; children went missing or were found dead.

No one knew what to make of this, until the woman was found one night covered in blood sobbing. All she could say was,

“Ou pa t 'merite yo! Okenn nan nou pa merite yo! Mwen te vrè manman yo!"

Translation: “You didn’t deserve them! None of you deserved them! I was their true mother!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor stood in silence staring at the woman in front of him, from her brown skin to her coily hair; this was his mother; he didn’t know what to do or say. She walked up to him, he took a step back.

“Now how is that any way to greet your mother,” she put her hands on her hips. “I have to say I am very disappointed in you.”

He stood there getting angrier by the second.

“Honestly I think-”

Before this imposter could say anything else Alastor grabbed her by her face, his antlers grew and his eyes blackened, “SAY ANOTHER WORD AND I PROMISE I WILL FLAY YOU ALIVE!” He threatened.

At that moment, the imposter grinned revealing its sharp teeth and blinked, showing its blackened eyes and glowing yellow pupils; her skin turned from brown to a burgundy red. Alastor let her go as she grew to his height. The demon wore a dress that even Alastor’s generation wouldn’t be caught wearing, she laughs.

Alastor goes back to normal, wiping himself off, “I’d advise you not to do that again.”

“Mo chargen mesye, Mwen t ap komik,” the demon responded.

Translation: “I’m sorry sir, I was being funny.”

Alastor looked at her shocked, “To pale kreyol?”

Translation: Do you speak Creole?

She nods, smiling. This excited Alastor, he forgot all about the distasteful little prank, “To permet mo entrodwir mo-mem, mo pele Alastor; sa-ki to non?”

Translation: Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Alastor; what’s your name?

“Mwen eskize mwen pa sonje non mwen, Sa fè anpil tan. Mwen pa te ale nan lanfè nan ane sa yo, men mwen se yon chèf moun yo te konn jis rele m 'manman yo,” she frowns.

Translation: I apologize, I don’t remember my name. It’s been a very long time, I haven’t been to hell in years; but I’m an overlord. Sinners used to call me their mother.

Alastor stared at her for a moment, it sounded like Creole but at the same time it didn’t; he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry my dear but I prefer English, is that alright with you?”

She sighs but nods, “Wi, pale dousan tanpri.”

Translation: Yes, speak slowly please.

“Splendid, now who are you?” He asks.

“I’m sorry mesye, I don’t remember my name; I haven’t been out in hell for some time, I've been on earth for many years,” she responds.

“Earth? Whatever were you doing up there?” Alastor raised an eyebrow.

She scoffs looking disgusted, “Humans, they love to summon us but don’t know how to put us back.”

“Oh come now cher, you can shapeshift but you can’t go back into hell?” He smirked. Alastor had his fair share of being summoned, but he’d never found himself stuck on earth. “And you mean to tell me you didn’t love being compared to Satan?”

The demon laughed, “Humans never make sense, they live and die confused.”

Alastor laughed along with her, “I’m sorry how long have you been away? You’d think I’d have heard of you.”

“I was here long before you were thought of Radio Demon, I was an overlord before I was summoned; sometime back in the late 1700s,” she grinned.

“An overlord not being able to come back from being summoned? How powerful you must be,” he rolled his eyes, being sarcastic.

The demon waved him off.

“Why did you come here?” Alastor continued. “I was having such a great night until it was rudely interrupted.”

“Don’t blame me! Blame that ungrateful child! She cast me out with nowhere to go because she wanted to throw a tantrum!” She crossed her arms. “Also I thought you wanted to talk with the great Sugar.”

“I’d hardly call you great, you ruined the hallway carpet,” Alastor rolled his eyes.

“That carpet was ugly,” she shrugged.

Alastor had nothing to say, he did hate that carpet on the third floor.

“Well bonne nuit monsieur, enjoy your horrid music,” she waved, putting her hand on the lamp.

“What are you going to do? I don’t know if you noticed but I don’t think she’s coming back,” Alastor asked, choosing to ignore the blatant lie.

She sighed, “She’ll be back, children act out at times but once they hit rock bottom; they realize that they need their mother.”

Alastor stood staring at her as she turned off the lamp and the other lights came back on.

“Hmm, how interesting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ACTIVITY🚨 (skip bold font if uncomfortable)

“Fuck!” Bean moaned, clawing Valentino’s back while he thrusted into her, he bit into her neck gripping her hair.

“You’ve been such a bad girl baby, I don’t know if I can forgive you,” Valentino put his hand around her neck and started squeezing, making Bean moan even louder.

He flipped her onto her stomach and laid on her continuing to thrust into her, Valentino grabbed her neck. “Beg for my forgiveness,” he licked her neck.

“Please forgive me daddy! Fuck yes keep going!” She squealed before Valentino put his tongue in her mouth. “Fuck! I’m so close-”

Bean was cut off by her phone ringing.

(END)

She reached over to her phone, “What the fuck! I thought I said no phones;” Valentino got off her crossing his arms.

“I’ll be a minute,” she answered the phone. “Hello?” She smiled, “Hi Zeke, yeah I think he’d look great in black.”

Valentino narrowed his eyes watching Bean on the phone, she laughed; he didn’t get what could be so funny. He was ready to toss it down her-

His phone rang, “What?!” He snapped into the phone.

“Geez what’s up your ass?” Vox’s voice came from the other side.

“What do you want-”

Bean laughed loudly, cutting Valentino off.

“Um do you fucking mind?!” He yelled startling her. “Anyway what?”

Vox sighed, “Look you and Velvette wanted to do this photo shoot I just wanted to know if you had picked your models out yet?”

“Shit…” He mumbled.

“Val..? Please tell me you have SOMEONE.”

Val was quiet for a minute.

“ANYONE!” Vox yelled

“YES! GEEZ!” Valentino pulled the phone from his ear.

“Good, now I know you probably have Angel, Tiffany, and Tony but I was also thinking you could add Sugar just to make it-”

“No,” Valentino glared at her. Bean looked at him pouting.

“Even,” Vox finished. “And why not? She’s modeled before.”

“Because someone is on punishment for playing footsie with someone else while they were getting interviewed!” Val yelled into the phone.

“Look you’re the one that tells Velvette and I that thing that I can never remember, lo- lose-..”

“Lo mío es tuyo” Valentino rolls his eyes.

Translation: What’s mine is yours.

“Yeah that,” Vox said. “Anyway, it was footsie; who cares?!”

“I cared,” Bean mumbled.

Valentino snapped his head back in her direction, “Footsie is personal,” he growled.

“Ya know jealousy isn’t cute on you,” Vox sighed. “I want a fourth model by tomorrow Val, or I’ll choose one for you”, he demanded before ending the call.

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: PHYSICAL ABUSE🚨 (skip bold if you’re uncomfortable)

Val turned to Bean walking towards her, “Okay for the record, he started it,” she said before being backhanded.

“Who’s Zeke?” He slammed her on the bed.

“He’s- He’s my friend,” She said, frightened, holding back tears.

Val put his hand around her neck, Bean yelped. “Do not lie to me!”

“I’m not I swear-” she cried before he squeezed her neck tighter.

“I haven’t forgotten about the shit you pulled weeks ago, I could’ve had your ass locked in my studio! Be lucky I didn’t fuck you up when you stepped foot back in this building,” He growled.

Bean said nothing, only holding her breath.

“Do not fuck with me, are we at an understanding?” Valentino threatened.

She nodded before gasping for air as he let her go, “Good, I’ll be back; daddy has stuff to do,” He put his clothes on before leaving the room

(END)

Bean laid on bed staring at the ceiling. She mumbled,

“I’m not lying.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earth, 1986

“I’m not lying!” The girl cried.

“Would you please lower your voice,” Eugenia; the girl's mother tried calming her down. “He could hear you-”

“I don’t care! I’m trying to tell you-” the girl was interrupted by Eugenia.

“First off little girl you do not talk like that in MY family’s house! That man has done nothing but provide for me, you and your sister; he wants to get to know you! But you won’t stop being a little bi-”

The door opened, the girl’s stepfather walked in, “What’s with all the yelling?” He said concerned.

The girl said nothing, leaving the room and going upstairs. Eugenia put her head in her hands.

“What’s up with her?” He put his arm around his wife.

“I don’t know, I just can’t with her right now,” Eugenia leans on him.

“Want me to talk to her?” He asked.

“Ugh please!”

🚨 TRIGGER WARNING: (IMPLIED) MOLESTATION & PHYSICAL ABUSE 🚨

(Skip bold if you are uncomfortable)

Later that night the girl peeked out of her bedroom, seeing the empty hallway she left her room going down the hall. As she was about to grab the bathroom handle, the 12 year old was thrown, then pinned up against the wall by her step father.

“Get off me!” She struggled to get out of his grip.

“Shut up! What did you tell your mother?!” He yelled quietly.

“You mean that you look at little kids when we go to the park? Or that you can’t get enough of her daughter,” she grinned. “Cause I told her both you sick fuck!”

He grabbed her neck, “Me sick? Are we gonna talk about the neighbors cats that wind up dead at the bottom of our trash bins? Or the fact that I had to convince your younger sister that she had a hallucination from her concussion when she saw her older sister eating a possum?”

The girl kept struggling, starting to find it hard to breathe. “I don’t know why you keep playing this game,” her stepfather scoffed. “I already told you, keep fucking with me and I can have you sent to a crazy house, and your mom ya know; my WIFE will jump for joy and thought of you being locked up- OW!” The girl got enough strength in her legs to kick him in the dick, he dropped her and she immediately took off down the stairs and out of the house.

The girl kept running and running, not stopping until she reached a closed off area. Spray painted on the “Do Not Enter” sign was

“Satan’s Railway”

(END)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day of the photo shoot came and Angel wasn’t too excited about it, he was excited to be with Voe and experience her first ever billboard shoot but he wanted to find Bean; he hadn’t talked to her in weeks and she hadn’t even answered his texts or calls. He found a way to sneak off that morning and get to her room, knocking on the door she took awhile to answer so he knocked again.

“Give me a second!” Bean’s voice came from the other side, the door finally opened; “What!” She snapped.

“Good morning to you too,” he crossed his arms.

“What?!” She sounded impatient.

“You haven’t been answering texts” he raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t see them,” she shrugged.

“I called too,” he replied, something was going on; Bean was looking around like she was on the lookout. “You fuckin’ someone?” He smirked.

“No,” She said without hesitation. There it was.

“Who’s in there?” The spider demon tried looking into the dark room but Bean closed the door a little.

“Okay you know what? I am sick of you and Voe keeping shit from me, I want the tea and I want it now!” He pointed. “Who do you have in there, Vox?” He joked. Bean was silent just staring at him, Angel gasped, “Wait you and-”

“Okay bye!” She quickly shut the door.

Angel was officially offended, “Answer my texts! I asked an important question!” He looked at his phone, “Oh shit! I’m late! I’m so late!”

He rushed over to the set seeing the models dressed and everything set up, however the first thing he noticed was a pissed off Val standing to the side of the room.

“Shit.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bean sat up on the bed seeing her phone go off, looking at it she saw Angel had texted her.

Angel 😈 - how’s the 📺 🍆 ?

She rolled her eyes before starting to type.

Bean 🫘 - None of your business 😒

While waiting for him to respond, she was grabbed from behind by a shirtless Vox; “Who are you texting?!” He startled her.

“Ugh, asshole,” She nudged him as he laughed.

“What’s the matter, your face still hurt?” Vox kissed where Val had slapped her.

“Very funny,” she rolled her eyes, “Shouldn’t you be at the photo shoot?”

“The thing about being the boss my dear is..” He bit her neck, making her moan. “I can do what I want.”

“Whatever..” Bean tried not to moan when Vox squeezed her breasts.

Bean and Vox had grown a little bit of a liking to each other ever since she came back, he was the only reason she didn’t have thoughts of leaving. Bean’s feelings were probably a lot stronger, Vox didn’t seem to care what happened to her; but she did like that he treated her like an adult and not a child.

“Don’t give me that,” he kissed her and she kissed him back, turning to him and sitting on his lap.

“Can you do me a favor?” She trailed her finger down his chest. “Can you..cover for me while I go visit my dog?”

“Awe dog? Is that at that hotel?” Vox asked sarcastically. Bean smiled nodding, “Awe..no” her smile dropped.

“Why not…?” She groaned.

“Because…fucking Alastor is there and that’s basically you being in cahoots with the enemy!”

Bean scoffed, “Cahoots? Are you serious? I just wanna see my fucking dog! I haven’t seen him in weeks and I miss him!” She whined. “I wanna see my dog-”

“Okay fine! Geez! You’re giving me a damn migraine!” He rubbed his temples. “You need to leave now though, while Val is still doing the shoot; I’ll come up with something.”

She squealed, “Thank you!” Bean jumped off his lap putting her shirt back on.

“Whatever, you’re just being loud,” Vox rolled his eyes. “It’s just annoying.”

“Uh huh,” she tied her hair up.

“When are you coming back?” He was looking at his phone.

“I don’t know, whenever I feel like it,” she joked.

Vox looked up from his phone, “I can’t keep him distracted for long, maybe 4 hours and that’s IF he’s not already pissed today at the shoot.”

“Ok ok I’ll be 3 and a half hours” she grabbed her phone.

“I’m being serious!” He growled.

“When are you not serious?” She scoffed. “Ciao,” she blew him a kiss before leaving.

Bean had made it to the Hazbin Hotel with ease, well it was always easy; nobody cared where she went except Val so she was able to walk past everyone.

“I’m back~” she sang, but stopped noticing that there was no one around. “Oh- I thought I texted everyone saying I was coming back.” She mumbled looking at her phone, “Oops wrong group chat.”

Work Chat

Sugar - Guess who’s gonna be back for approximately 3 and a half hours but closer to 4!!!

Tiff Titz - No one gives a shit 💩

Angel - 😐

Basic hoe - who is this?

Angel - Who is THIS?? ⬆️

Tiff Titz - Tiffany??

Angel - I have to block this group 😐

“Hmm, should probably delete this..” Bean deleted the message. She gasped seeing Barktholomew on the couch, “Barky!” She jumped on the couch hugging the large dog. “What are you watching?” Looking up at the tv Bean sighed, “Soap Operas again? You’ll find someone-”

A throat being cleared caused her to look up, the Radio Demon was standing by them. “What,” Bean stared up at him.

“Your beast is sitting in my seat,” Alastor’s eye twitched.

“Barktholomew is NOT a beast, and how was I supposed to know you’re usually not even here,” she rolled her eyes.

Alastor stared daggers at her, she just stared back not really knowing what to do. Alastor sat on the opposite side of the couch, Bean smiled at him; he continued to look at whatever was on.

“Why don’t you like dogs?” Bean said.

Alastor was shocked, he tried coming up with a reason that didn’t make him sound..like he was afraid, Alastor wasn’t afraid of anything especially not some beast that eats its own vomit; “I mean the real question is who would like them, they’re horrid creatures.”

“Um no dogs are a man’s best friend, Barktholomew is my best friend,” Bean crossed her arms offended.

“How sad,” He looked her up and down.

Bean turned back towards the television.

“I thought you weren’t coming back, did you come to get the rest of your stuff and leave?” He grinned waiting for an answer but Bean turned up the tv. “Is there a problem?”

“You called my best friend a beast and proceeded to basically call me pathetic for having him as a friend, I’m kind of tired of talking to rude people so I’m not talking to you,” she glared at him.

“My apologies cher I was only joking, if you want I’ll even apologize to..” Alastor looked at the creature as it frog blinked. “Barktholomew.”

“Well it wasn’t very funny, and my name isn’t cher, it’s Bean,” she sat back on the couch.

“What now?” Alastor tilted his head in confusion.

“You called me cher, that’s not my name,” she repeated.

Alastor stared at her for a moment, then laughed; “oh dear you’re mistaken, I know your name; cher means well, dear in creole, no one taught you even the slightest bit of creole I thought you were from Louisiana,” he shook his head disappointed.

“Dude, I already told you; I’m not from Louisiana my grandma was,” She sighed.

“Your grandmother or mother didn’t teach you?”

“I didn’t know my grandmother, and that bitch can eat shit,” Bean looked disgusted.

“That’s how you talk about the woman that birthed you?” He was astonished, he wouldn’t dare call his mother a female dog.

Bean covered her face, “I’m sorry I’m a little frustrated; Barktholomew is having body issues and I can’t remember what time I got here or how long I’ve been here.”

“It’s only been a few minutes,” Alastor raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah..my mom wasn’t the nicest person,” she twiddled her fingers.

Alastor was silent for a minute, “My father wasn’t the greatest-..oh who am I kidding he was a terror to be around,” he laughed trying to lighten the mood. Clearing his throat he continued, “Don’t ever lose your smile my dear, it’s a weapon.”

“And clothing,” Bean started laughing

For a second Alastor stared then burst out laughing, “HA HA good one my dear.”

“What else do you know in the um..cre- cre..” Bean looked confused.

“It’s Creole,” Alastor sighed.

“Yeah, like how do you say ‘hello’?” She turned to him interested.

“Bonjou,” He responded.

“Isn’t that French?” Bean tilted her head.

“It's a French-based language darling,” Alastor responded.

“Oh, Bonjou,” she waved.

“Bonjou, sa-ki to non?” Alastor grinned.

“What?” Bean laughed.

“What’s your name?” He translated.

“Bean, sa-ki to non?” She asked in a Louisiana terrible accent.

“I think that’s enough lessons,” Alastor chuckled.

“Awe..can you teach me more later?” She asked with pleading eyes.

Alastor was shocked, no one except Voe wanted to learn from him; “Sure.”

“Yay!!” She looked at her watch, “I have like an hour left.”

“I don’t think you know how time works-“

“Do you wanna play numbers?” Bean interrupted him.

“Excuse me?” Alastor raised his eyebrow.

“Numbers, the hand game Numbers?” She put her hands in front of him, one palm was facing upwards while the other was facing down.

He tilted his head, he knew about hand games like “Miss Mary Mack” and of course “Patty Cake” but he’d never heard of this “Numbers” game.

“You’ve never heard of Numbers?” Bean gasped. “Come, put your hands like mine.” Alastor is hesitant but does what he’s told. “Good let’s go slow.”

Bean taught Alastor the first part of the game, “Now let’s go faster,” she said. They did the first part faster. “That’s good! You’re a fast learner!” Bean smiled, clapping.

Alastor was flattered, “Why thank you, shall we continue?”

Bean nodded, she continued to teach him the rest of the game; he had to admit she was a good teacher and was very patient. They messed up multiple times and laughed it off, the game went on for at least another hour. He kept losing over and over.

“I feel like I should have another go, since I’m new to this,” he suggested.

“Are you going to keep using that excuse-” Bean’s phone went off. “Oh my gosh! What time is it?!” She looked at her phone and gasped. “I have to go!” She got up.

“So soon?” Alastor asked.

“Sorry-” Bean said, rushing to leave, but Alastor grabbed her arm. She looked at him.

“Let’s do this again,” He said.

“Um maybe-”

“That wasn’t a question, we will meet again and if we are unable to; I will come get you. Do we have a deal?” He grinned, holding his hand out.

Bean was hesitant, not knowing what he meant; She shrugged, shaking his hand.

“Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: PHYSICAL ABUSE & SA (🍇)🚨

“I’m here! I’m-” Bean rushed into Val’s studio getting ready to beg for forgiveness. But was interrupted by yelling, Valentino was throwing a bunch of objects at a very frightened Angel.

“Val I swear! I didn’t tell her anything! I was okay with doing it!” Angel tried defending himself but was slapped by Valentino.

He yanked him up slamming Angel against the wall, “I don’t give a fuck what you did tell her! If one more of your little cunts questions ME on decisions I decide MAKE, I’m gonna kill those bitches!”

“Val listen let me exp-” Angel started.

“Are you seriously talking back?!” Val growled. “You have got some nerve!”

Bean unfroze, she ran up to the two demons, “Leave him alone!” She bit the overlord’s lower arm creating a gash.

“What the actual fuck!” He dropped Angel then turned around punching her. “Okay what is going on?! I have been NOTHING but the best to both you ungrateful whores! And this is how you treat me in return!” He raged at them, Val put his heel on Bean’s head; beginning to press down, “I’m not gonna kill my star, but I will DEFINITELY crush you if keep fucking with me!”

“STOP!” Angel yelled. “Please Valentino, I’m sorry! Don’t hurt her!” He pleaded.

Valentino continued pressing his foot in her head, Bean heard her skull begin to crack.

“Val please!” Angel cried.

He finally took his foot off of her, “Go home Angel,” Valentino said. Bean remained curled up on the floor.

Angel slowly stood up, “Come on Bean-”

“No no no, YOU leave,” Val smirked.

“But I-” Angel was scared.

“Go back to that shitty hotel you call home or I will shoot her, is that what you want? To be responsible for your friend’s death?” He grinned.

Angel looked at Bean then at Valentino, he didn’t want to leave her; but he didn’t want her to get hurt; either way she’d get hurt but she’d be around..

He left and he didn’t look back.

Valentino looked smug, then glared down at Bean; “Get up.” She didn’t move, he kicked her; “Now.”

She got up wiping her tears, “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

He bent down to her, “You will be.”

Valentino grabbed Bean pulling her into one of the set rooms, he pushed her onto the bed and went to the director’s seat and lit a cigarette.

“What do you want me to do? I’m not even in costume,” she said.

Valentino ignored her blowing out smoke, “Ray! Come out here baby,” he called.

The door opened, a male demon walked into the room wearing a jacket. Bean’s eyes widened, she remembered this guy.

“Hey Sugar Cube, still want this jacket?” Ray winked.

“You’ve met Ray haven’t you? He’s one of my male actors, he’s not often here but I pulled a few strings,” Val smirked.

Bean started to hyperventilate, Ray got on bed next to her putting his arms around her, “No! I don’t want to!” She pushed him off her.

Valentino sighed walking over to them, he crouched to Bean who was struggling against Ray. Val grabbed her face before blowing red smoke into it, the smoke quickly entered her nose and mouth making her cough a bit. It didn’t take long for her mind to become clouded, making her dizzy. “Alright let’s start,” Valentino walked over to his seat.

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: SA (🍇)🚨

(Skip this section if you are uncomfortable )

Ray shoved a delirious Bean onto the bed getting on top of her, he took his jacket off licking and biting her neck.

“Work the camera like I know you can baby,” Valentino smirked.

He ripped her white sundress, she began to cry; not just because she was scared but this was her favorite dress. Ray dug his nails into her back making marks in her, the nails stayed buried in her as he shoved himself inside her.

Bean gripped the sheets sobbing as he started thrusted into her, she felt so helpless, so weak…

She was neither.

(END)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earth, 1986

The girl sat on the abandoned train tracks sobbing, she felt so weak, so helpless..

Maybe she was…

A thick fog started surrounding her, but the girl didn’t care; she didn’t even notice. She also didn’t notice the woman standing in the distance.

“Hey, turn around,” a voice whispered.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” The girl screamed.

The woman saw a young girl crying in the distance, she had never seen someone so young on these tracks; the woman grinned walking up to the girl.

“Hey, turn around,” the woman whispered, getting closer to her.

The girl screamed. The woman walked up to girl, putting her hand through the girl’s thick coily hair.

The girl turned around. The woman grinned.

“Bonjou”

(Hey guys just wanted to say that Alastor and Sugar speak two different Creole, he speaks Louisiana Creole while she speaks Haitian Creole; that’s why Alastor can sometimes understand and sometimes he can’t. For those who do speak and understand Creole sorry that the translations are bad, I know Google and YouTube aren’t good enough research but I don’t wanna pull stuff from my ass)

11 notes · View notes

kaylopolis · 6 months ago

Text

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Five

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down, but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This was my first attempt at smut (I giggled posting this, I am so excited!). I am new, but any advice is welcome! I tried something different with formatting (you'll see when you get there). I didn't want anything to be spoiled while ya'll rode the emotional rollercoaster that is this chapter. Let me know if it was weird and didn't work (or if it did that would be great!). I also added a link to the music found in a later part of this chapter in case you wanted to listen while you read.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Five - Night's Mistress

Content Warning: Blood, Blood Play, Murder, Choking, Graphic Sexual Scenes Involving Violence, Smut, MINORS DNI! (let me know if I missed anything else!)

The pull behind your navel felt foreign.

It didn’t come with the taste of honey or the scent of daffodils like Rosie’s summons normally did. It didn’t come with a hint of sass or flood your mouth with spice like Carmilla’s. Crimson’s tasted of red pepper flakes and copper - a disgusting combination - but he was no longer an issue.

This pull, however, was new and terribly, terribly… boring.

Has one of your cards fallen to a rogue with sticky fingers? Has one of your holders died and a new holder taken their place?

Whomever it was, the pull made you pause atop your perch overlooking V Tower. With Vox’s new Angelic Security soon to be released, you didn’t know how close you could get to the media demon’s headquarters. So you sat a few buildings away, scanning the horizon for any newfound technology that might impede your nighttime endeavors.

There was another tug.

Jesus, impatient much?

You stood, stretching the stiffness from your legs. It was late, you’ve been out here for hours watching absolutely nothing happen. All the Vees like to do is sit, drink, and talk shit. Seriously what did they get out of their friendship? Was it friendship? Or were they all fucking? Ugh, you did not want that picture in your head.

Okay, time to go.

You jumped, allowing the smoke to envelop your form. Feeling the pull, you headed toward the inner part of the city. Circling Heaven’s Clocktower, you broke off back toward the Magne District - the district that held the Hotel. Except you weren’t headed for your new home. The pull brought you left, almost to the border town but not quite, to an old tower.

In a plume of smoke, you landed on a balcony, the black swirls twirling about the landing before pooling over the sides. You were probably twenty stories up, the tallest building around. Not nearly as tall as V Tower - which the balcony gave you a great view of - but still, Pentagram City was striking.

The balcony was connected to an apartment, reachable to the world only by an elevator at its center. Behind you was a wall of glass, heavy curtains preventing you from peering inside. On the balcony sat a small table, framed by two iron chairs. The setup was empty, except for your card which sat atop the table, a single drop of blood at its center.

You took a step, your feet finding a puddle of red before you finally noticed the body. It was face down, scarlett flooding from a wound which wasn’t visible to you. It didn’t appear to be anyone you knew. Definitely a Human Sinner, but not one particularly interesting.

So who in Hell summoned you?

As if on cue, a zip of static runs across the back of your neck.

Of-fucking-course…

“Ah, there you are,” Alastor emerges from the darkened apartment, shutting the door behind him with a kick of his heel, a smooth jazz playing on his radio.

Your heart skips a beat as his eyes find yours. Half-lidded, he smirks, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of glasses in another.

Your eyes flit between the dead Sinner on the floor and the red demon before you. “You did not use your own blood?" This was a first. Cardholders always used their own blood. Although not directly stated, it was implied.

“Heavens, no!” The demon places the glasses on the table, next to the obsidian calling card, as he uncorks the bottle using the tip of his claw. “We barely know each other. That would be too…” His eyes slid to yours. You feel his gaze rake over your form eliciting a blush beneath your cloak. “Intimate.”

Jesus.

You stifle a sharp intake of breath.

Get your shit together. You’re a fucking Overlord for Christ’s sake.

You drop his gaze, eyeing the half-dead pile of blood beneath your feet.

“Ah, apologies for the mess,” Alastor snaps and the Sinner, along with the blood, disappears. “Wine?” The red demon holds a glass out to you, liquid sloshing in its basin.

You look at your boots before moving, noticing he even wiped the blood from their leather. How thoughtful.

Goblet in hand, you finally join the Radio Demon in the chair adjacent to his, and gaze out to the City.

It was quiet, the hustle of Pentagram City’s nightlife drowned out by his jazz. Funny, you thought it almost peaceful. Could Hell be peaceful? No. That would be an oxymoron. Hell was designed not to be peaceful by definition. Yet all the way up here, tucked far back from the rest of the chaos, you could pretend it was.

The demon sits back in his chair, crossing his legs at his knees. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his shoes have a print on the bottom - a deer’s hoof. How fitting.

The obsidian calling card sits between you, a drop of scarlet crusting on its surface. Letters in white slowly fade from the card’s edge, signifying the death of the card owner. Whoever the Hell Stanley Jenkins was, Alastor had killed him and used his blood instead. Smart actually, for the card comes with its own parameters…

And to the Sinners without a card? That was a bit trickier. Only a handful of obsidian calling cards were in circulation, and only cardholders could summon you at will. To the lower rung demons without the honor, they had to go through back channels. That’s what you used Rosie for. The Cannibal Queen knew all the best gossip in town, her network of information reached every edge of the Pentagram. She was your starting point for potential hits - you took care of the rest.

“A toast,” Alastor holds his glass out to you. “To power and chaos.”

You freeze.

The demon clinks his glass with yours.

You had not heard that phrase in a very long time.

You look to the Radio Demon and watch as he sips his wine, the red liquid kissing his lips as he drinks.

More importantly, where had he heard that phrase?

And then it clicks.

Lilith. You last heard that from Lilith.

“It isn’t poisoned. I assure you,” Alastor purrs, bringing your thoughts back to the wine. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” The demon chuckles.

You shudder at the sudden static vibrating through your bones.

You put a pin in this conversation - a mental note. You had more homework to do.

You swirl the red around the glass, noting the alcohol crystals sticking to the sides. It was an older wine, a heavier red by the color. The liquid wooed you in scents of dark berry, cloves, and cedar. You could taste the tannins on your tongue before the liquid even hit your teeth. God, was it a thick red, so dry it left your mouth parched for more. Alastor couldn’t see your face beneath the hood, but if he could, he would see the moan you stifled behind closed lips.

God, it was almost Heavenly.

“One of my more everyday favorites,” Alastor smiled at the world below, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of City lights. “Although, I have far better in my cellar.”

In my cellar. Your ears perked up at that, although you tried to hide it, the twitch of Alastor’s lips told you he had noticed. The Radio Demon knew something about you now: you liked wine.

Was that what this meeting was all about? He wanted to gather more information on the Shadow? The way he made it seem at Carmilla’s was that there was a deal to be made. He thought you two could benefit from some sort of… partnership. Yet, you sit here and drink.

This wasn’t how your deals often went. Usually, you showed up, and Sinners demanded action straight away. They practically begged you for your help, all too eager to make a deal. Lesser demons were pathetic, demons thinking themselves anything more attempted to look strong or intimidating, but the second they saw your eyes, they cowered. You’d like to think it the same as Zestial’s situation but you didn’t dare compare yourself to someone as great as him.

Alastor, however, sat before you as an entertainer, a flatterer, a narcissist obsessed with his image. He didn’t just want to make a deal with you - if he did at all - he wanted to put on a show. Offering you a drink and a lovely view of the City communicated to you that he didn’t see you as a threat, but you already knew that. The question then was, did he respect you, and why did it bother you so much not to know?

You turned the bottle to read the label: Stag’s Leap. How fitting.

“Have you read the Allegory of the Cave*?” Alastor posits.

You nod. Of course, who hasn’t read Plato?

“When the man leaves the cave and makes it to the surface and is finally disenchanted with the shadows below, why do you suppose he returns?” Alastor takes another sip, waiting for you to answer, because he genuinely cares as to what you have to say.

“To free the two he left behind,” your voice growls.

“Hmm,” he ponders. “I supposed that as well, but never understood. To have the power of knowledge and to then share it… To not take advantage when it benefited him so. I see it as a tragedy.”

“Perhaps it is the Humanity in all of us.”

Alastor’s eyes flashed. “And if there is no Humanity left?”

“Return…” Your lips curled, “and kill the other two.”

Alastor tipped his head back and laughed, a deep chuckle from his chest. No laugh track followed. Was that genuine? A real laugh from Alastor and not the façade of the Radio Demon. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest at the thought.

Focus!

“Alastor, why have you summoned me?”

The Radio Demon’s lips faltered ever so slightly, his cheery attitude hardening. He thought a long moment before answering. “It seems we have found ourselves in quite the predicament.” He places the glass on the table and folds his fingers in his lap, his attention on the City below. Your eyes follow his, all the way to V Tower.

Ah, yes Velvette and Vox.

“Velvette can be quite the troublemaker.”

“And Vox can be quite the thorn.” You counter, taking another sip.

God, the wine was so good.

“I have… information worth your while.” His teeth shined.

“And in return?”

“A quid-pro-quo. I have been gone a long time, but my relationships with those I am… close with have held strong. That is the perk of being as old as I am. I am tried and true. You are new blood, officially worth a seat at the table. That seat will be tested.” There was an edge to his words now. “Do not take Velvette’s silence for inaction.”

You did not.

Yet, what could Alastor know that you have not yet uncovered yourself? After all, you have been watching them these past few days. Surely something would have come up by now.

You scoffed, finding the underlying meaning in his words. “Is that what happened with Vox?”

The Radio Demon stiffened. There it was, a hint of that barely contained anger. Oh, how you would love to see it unleashed.

You sniffed, searching for the scent of rage, of jasmine green tea - the main reason why you loved the drink. Yet there was nothing. Irritation prickled your skin. You have never been able to not read someone before. What made this Sinner so special?

“That is what you want from this… partnership, is it not?” You prod, hoping he will give away something, anything that might clue you in as to why you are here.

The demon returned to his wine, a muscle in his jaw flickering with agitation. He didn’t like appearing weak.

Narcissist.

“The plans I have in mind are far bigger than that poor excuse for an entertainment system.”

You snorted.

Alastor’s strained smile softened.

Hmm, a quid-pro-quo, huh? Still, he hasn’t said what he wants out of this deal.

You took another sip to think, noting your glass was already empty.

The Radio Demon cleared his throat, wine bottle in hand, gesturing for your cup. His fingers brushed yours as you handed him the glass, sending a wave of static through to your core. You pulled back too fast, bringing your arm to your chest. The demon’s eyes gleamed in amusement.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You are not afraid of the Radio Demon, so why were you acting like an idiot? Never let your weaknesses show and you just gave him a clear indication that he intimidated you. You are a FUCKING OVERLORD.

Why was this not easier with a mask on??? At the Hotel, you didn’t back down, but still, you let him think less of you. Not here. Here you are the fucking Shadow, you didn’t have to pretend. You had no reason to be so nervous.

So why was the smile on his face and the look in his half-lidded eyes making your heart do backflips in your chest? Why was it when he handed the glass back you were conscious to not let your fingers touch his? Why were you so grateful for the space between you two yet also so, so irritated by it?

“You still have not told me what you seek to gain.” You prayed your voice didn't sound as unnerved as you felt.

His smile went cockeyed. “A mutual agreement. We stay out of each other’s way, yet seek out the other when we can benefit equally.”

That didn’t sound like a partnership. That sounded like an alliance. Is this the same type of deal he had with Rosie? Interestingly, they seemed more like friends than something so surface-level as an alliance. Perhaps it started out that way and blossomed into one?

The butterflies in your stomach kicked up in a flurry. The Radio Demon thought you were worth his time. Your cheeks heated. He thought you could help him - in some sort of capacity. God, why did that make you wanna squeal like a small child?

“I will not be signing a contract,” you warned.

Rosie informed you of Alastor’s contract crafting abilities. The demon was meticulous, bordering on obsessive when it came to exacting details. Line-by-line he would work and when it was finally done, the deal would appear flattering in what it would have to offer. Somehow, Alastor always made it seem like it was you who was the one to benefit. Yet, that was never the case. It was a trap, a beautifully disguised ploy which demoted you to a creature privy to his whim. Alastor was a master and the signee his pet - he would have it no other way.

You’d die before you signed anything he authored.

The demon laughed. Yet, underneath, there was a hint of irritation. “Oh, no. I did not expect that, I assure you. Ours will be one of a verbal agreement.”

You let that marinate. He won’t be getting your name, but an agreement will still be made, and in Hell, that was a very powerful thing indeed. You’ve made plenty of verbal agreements before. Fuck, every hit you contracted was a verbal agreement - silence and the contractee’s soul in exchange for murder. The terms you set were quite simple, actually, yet strong enough to have kept any hint, any suspicion of who you are and how to find you, out of the mouths of Pentagram City’s most powerful. Yes, the media did try to track you down, even attempted to hunt you at one point, but they haven’t gotten very far. And they never will if you had anything to do with it…

You took a sip, letting the flavors melt off your tongue one final time, before standing and offering a hand.

The demon’s eyes lit up with a crimson fire, his lips curling at the edges. He looked far too eager for this deal and that made you hesitate.

Dealing with Alastor was like dancing - a dance you both pretended not to be leading but also refused to be the follower in. It was a game of power, you see. Yes, dancing had its steps and rules - a waltz is a waltz after all - but the direction it was going, the added flare to the spins, the story the choreography told - that was where you battled. Thus, you needed to be a half-step ahead of Alastor at all times - without him knowing, of course - until either the dance ended or you found a way to end him.

The Radio Demon took your hand, and as you gazed into his eyes, you watched his pupils dilate. The glow of your yellow irises reflected in their dark center, an aura of red encircling your hooded form. A river of blue and green exploded from where your hands touched, twirling about you like the eye of a beautifully destructive hurricane.

The wind whipped Alastor’s hair about his face, his smile never faltering, his eyes never leaving yours as a connection snapped between the two of you. Like a thin string bridging your souls, you could, for a moment, feel Alastor on the other end, feel his static radiating from his core before the connection faded entirely.

It was done.

“A pleasure,” he purred.

You attempted to step back and break away from his grasp, but the demon responded by clamping down and pulling you to him. You stumbled, your other hand coming to his chest to prevent your fall. The hood atop your head shifted back ever so slightly, but not enough to reveal your face or to give away anything underneath.

The shadows engulfing your feet twirled and twirled about you, yet you remained frozen. Alastor was a solid wall of muscle beneath his suit; even with gloves on, you could feel the marble from which his chest was sculpted. You took a breath before you pulled your hand away before your brain finally caught up with the rest of you.

“Beautiful,” Alastor’s voice deepened.

You dared a glance from beneath your hood and found the demon’s eyes locked on the silver embroidery of your cloak. With his other hand, he ghosted over the trim, his fingers tracing the hard edges of the stitching. Yet, at no point did he actually touch the black fabric. If he did, his fingers would phase through it, just as Velvette’s had at the meeting.

Without saying anything, he dropped the grip on your fist, freeing you from his clutches. You stumbled backward, grasping your hood and pulling it forward to ensure it stayed in place. Alastor couldn’t remove it, but that little stunt he pulled almost ruined everything you had worked for.

Your body grew cold as you backtracked to the railing, your little meeting coming to an end. You watched as Alastor’s grin turned into a lopsided smirk as he shoved his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly watching you flee.

Your instincts were screaming again, but this time, they were telling you not to let the demon out of your sight.

Passing by the table, you noted the obsidian calling card. He would use it to summon you from here on out, but he would never be using his own blood. His real name would be made to you then, and he would never risk that.

Take advantage of the power given, was what he recollected from Plato, and use it to slaughter others.

“Velvette is using a third party to buy weapons from Carmilla Carmine,” the demon finally spoke, breaking the tension. He turned to the skyline, absentmindedly analyzing V Tower as he talked. “The female Vee, however, is not the fighter of the group, she leaves that to Vox and Valentino. Velvette destroys by reputation. She is not much to fear if armed, but if privy to certain information, she will use that to destroy her enemies.”

A.K.A do not let her find out who you are.

You paused as your back hit the railing. You let your shadows build beneath your feet before you jumped in order to conceal your form as you flew. “Vox’s Angelic Security is in place but not online. It expands two blocks from V Tower. If anyone were to make a move, he would see it coming.”

The Radio Demon nods. He pauses a moment before adding, “Carmilla killed the Angel.”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. How the Hell did he know that?

“Carmilla is monitoring the Vees,” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you grabbed hold of the railing. “She doesn’t want them making a move against Heaven.” You needed to get away. This meeting was getting dangerous. Losing your cool and almost losing your hood in the span of minutes? You were never this sloppy. Alastor made you sloppy.

“Interesting,” his voice stopped you again.

You spun, raising an eyebrow in question. His lopsided smirk only grew. “You didn’t ask me how Carmilla killed the Angel.”

Fuck. He knew. He knew you already knew. He didn’t have to look at you to see the surprise in your eyes, he had figured it out by your response alone.

“Goodnight, Alastor,” you gave a shallow head bow before jumping off into the night, Alastor’s fucking grin following you into the sky.

____________________________________________

It was late when you returned. You took a few extra spins about Pentagram City before heading back, trying to collect your thoughts on everything that had just happened.

You had surmised two important things: One, Alastor’s absence wasn’t just about Lilith. The demon somehow knew Lilith. Perhaps it was because of her that he left in the first place. Which you already somewhat suspected, but this confirmed it. Two, Alastor wanted the Vees dealt with, but he knew he couldn’t do it alone.

A quid-pro-quo in taking out the Vees. Now, things were getting interesting. This didn’t derail your plans, however, little Ms. Morningstar was still heading in the direction you needed her to go for everything to work. You didn’t need the Vees for the endgame - you had other powers in your back pocket with far more influence than the three of them. Plus, the connections you were making at the Hotel were going swimmingly. Soon, not yet, but soon, you’d implement the next phase.

Oh, if only Father could see you now - wherever the Hell he was. Did he fall to Hell or was he somehow topside? No. You’d know if he was down here with you. You’d feel it in your bones. Wherever he ended up, you were going to find him and you were going to make him suffer for everything he put you through.

You weren’t just going to kill him - oh, no. He didn’t deserve a quick and clean death. It was going to be slow and torturous. You were going to make him feel every ounce of the pain he put you through and more. You’d take your time, after all; why rush? Hours, days, months, years; what use was putting a timeline to his punishment when it would never make up for what he did? No. You’d take your time pushing him to the edge, and when he was on the cusp of eternal darkness, you’d heal him and start all over again.

Perhaps you did have a flair for murder like the Radio Demon. Your creative outlets were just significantly more specific - lying in wait for the perfect muse.

Wrapping your fingers around the edge of the window pane, you quietly slipped inside. With a snap, your leather gear and cloak slipped into the Void, replaced with a silk pajama set: a tank top and shorts bordering on just too short. Scandalous, but you enjoyed burying yourself beneath layers of blankets while you slept. Any more clothing and you’d wake up sweating.

Going for the bathroom, you turned on the light and paused. In the reflection of your mirror, you saw it: a red box wrapped in black ribbon. Your heart skipped a beat.

Someone had been in your room.

Hesitantly, you made your way before the coffee table and found a card perched atop the neatly wrapped bow.

You leaned in and sniffed the package - Nifty. You were going to have to touch base with the Hotel cleaning lady after breakfast. From day one, you had made it quite clear - to her great disappointment - not to clean your room, let alone enter it. Perhaps you weren’t clear enough, for she felt it acceptable to leave this here as opposed to outside your door.

Doing a circle about the space, you inspected the sealing runes which kept certain individuals out, eyeing the shadows just in case. You had hidden the ancient magic in concealed places, even buying a rug to cover the one at the base of your door, and kept your most important things in your Void. It wasn’t the best place to store your leather and cloak - especially after the moth infestation a few years back - but it was a necessity at the moment.

Then you went for the present. Pulling the black ribbon atop, you jumped back as the box split into fours, revealing a small radio. It was of a classic design and cathedral in shape, carved from mahogany and detailed in yellow and red. The device was simple, with only two buttons: an on-and-off switch and a volume dial. No tuning dial to change the channel? No chord to plug it in?

Fuck. How did he know? You racked your brain trying to figure out when and to whom you talked to regarding your sleepless nights. Rosie knew, but you hadn’t specifically discussed it with her lately. Did you say something to Husk in passing? To Angel while you were bitching at breakfast?

Hesitantly, you turned on the device. A pleasant, smooth jazz echoed through the speaker: Paul Whiteman’s “Sleepy Time Down South.” Hilarious… The Radio Demon has a sense of humor. At least it wasn’t the screams of blood-curdling murder.

After inspecting the radio three times over, you deemed it not a threat - although you kept it far away from your bed as you crawled beneath the sheets. With a snap of your fingers, the bathroom light turned off, plunging you into a cocoon of darkness, enveloped by the lullaby of sweet jazz…

____________________________________________

At some point in the night, you awoke, your mouth parched and throat dry.

🎶 It’s not the pale moon that excites me 🎶

Alastor’s radio switches over to a new song, the music seeming to follow you as you make your way to the kitchen. The hallways were silent, the Hotel Natives snoozing away in the late hours of the night.

🎶 That thrills and delights me 🎶

You pass by the library as a zip of static runs its way down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. Alastor stood before the fireplace, flames roaring in its hearth, casting an eerie glow throughout the room. The demon faces the fire, his attention on the crackle of the logs as they whittled away into ash. He was still dressed in his three piece suit you saw him in only hours ago, his ears pressed flat against his head in irritation. Something was bothering him.

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

He pretended not to notice you standing there staring at him from the hallway, but his shadow didn't. It zipped around your feet, twirling about your ankles in greeting, before practically dragging you inside the room. And when it had you well within the confines of the space, it flew to the doors.

🎶 It isn’t your sweet conversation 🎶

The shadow slammed them shut. CLICK! Then locked them.

You were trapped.

🎶 That brings this sensation 🎶

Alastor tilts his head over his shoulder, his half-lidded eyes landing on you. The demon looked royally pissed.

This was it, this was the moment.

Alastor had figured out who you are. Your hood had fallen farther than you thought and he had seen your face and put the pieces together. He knew you were the Shadow, the mysterious new Overlord, here to challenge his grab for Princess Morningstar’s power.

And he was going to kill you for it.

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

You didn’t hesitate to summon your blue flames, preparing for a fight, yet he moved faster than your mind could comprehend. Between one blink and the next, Alastor appears before you, his hand wrapping around your throat so tight you choke on the lack of air. Grasping at his arm, you dig your claws into his skin, your demon form summoning, as you melt the red fabric with your flame. But he is unphased by the heat, pulling back and slamming you so hard into the wall that spiderwebs crack across the plaster.

🎶 When you’re in my arms 🎶

You try to summon more flame to burn him down to the very core of his soul like you had done to thousands of Sinners before, but the blue fire does nothing to his skin. It singes the red fabric, turning it black, but his skin beneath is unharmed.

Shit.

🎶 And I feel you so close to me 🎶

The demon leans in, a low growl emanating from his chest, his teeth glinting in the firelight as his eyes hone in on your neck. As the blood pumped through your jugular, you watched his pupils dilate and fixate on the vein. He was a Cannibal, a predator, a killer whittled down to pure instinct. Everything within him was screaming kill, kill, kill.

🎶 All my wildest dreams came true…🎶

Your lungs screamed as you choked out, “Alastor.” It was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to draw his gaze from your neck to your eyes. In his pupils, you saw yourself desperate and bordering on losing yourself to the darkness threatening to close in. Despite the fight you felt in your bones you looked terrified.

🎶 I need no soft lights to enchant me 🎶

His name slipping from your mouth, the quiver he saw in your lips, had cracked something within him.

🎶 If you would only grant me 🎶

His grip disappeared, allowing you a breath of air.

🎶 The right to hold you ever so tight 🎶

You bent over, coughing onto the floor, sucking down breaths in gasps that make your eyes water.

🎶And to feel in the night🎶

Standing, you held onto the broken wall, forcing yourself to stay on your feet, despite your knees threatening to collapse beneath you.

“Alastor, what the fuck…” And before you had a chance to finish your question, the demon wraps his claws around your chin and forcefully slams his lips into yours.

🎶The nearness of you🎶

The kiss was anything but soft, anything but patient. The demon was hungry and starving, and only you could satiate his appetite.

His other hand presses your hip back against the wall as he kicks your legs apart, drawing a gasp from your lips. Alastor takes the opportunity to run his tongue across your bottom lip before snaking it into your mouth. His tongue finds yours, prodding, testing, tasting.

He pushes you flush against the wall, his knee pressing higher and higher until it finds the pocket between your thighs, eliciting a gasp that turns into a moan as he pulls you onto him, forcing your clit in line with his leg.

The demon smiles against your lips, finally releasing your chin to grab your waist, his fingers bunching in the thin material of your pajama bottoms. You take the opportunity to find the lapels of his jacket to give you something to grab onto as you arch into him, pulling him closer as you press your breasts into his chest. The demon growls, a deep rumble emanating from within as he bites down on your bottom lip.

Copper floods your mouth, turning the kiss sweet, but for Alastor, it’s a frenzy. He was no longer satisfied with just tasting you. He had to devour you.

The silky material of your pajamas was oh-so thin. No underwear or bra beneath them, you were practically naked as the tips of his claws sank into the meat of your hips, beads of red pebbling on your skin.

God and the pain only added to the pleasure building between your legs, only made your head swim as his lips slid over yours, capturing every drop of scarlet flooding your mouth.

The demon helps guide your hips as you ground your clit into his thigh, wetness seeping into the silky material before pooling onto his pants. The room flooded with the scent of warm vanilla.

This man had you soaked, had your lips dripping as you ground into him faster and faster, your pleasure building with each roll. Alastor finally released your mouth, his teeth finding your neck, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he teased. He ran his tongue along the dip of your collarbone, tracing it to the spot where your shoulder met your neck, before finally running it up to your ear.

You moaned when he took your lobe into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth. Alastor instinctively rolled his hips, his cock tenting his pants, grinding on nothing but air.

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The friction wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed more of him to push yourself over the edge.

“Al…” You breathed into his ear between moans, your fingers trailing down to the twitch in his pants, but stopping when you hit his belt. “Please…” You tugged.

The demon laughed, capturing your groans with his mouth before answering, “No.”

You blinked. “No?”

The demon puts a hard stop to your hips, pausing your grinding and the build in your pleasure. He grabs your hand on his belt and captures two of your fingers in his mouth. Sucking with his lips, he circles your fingertips with his tongue, wetting them before guiding your hand back down to your clit.

“I want to watch,” he smiles against your cheek before he wraps a finger under your chin and brings your face up to his. “Fuck yourself,” he commands.

And you obeyed.

Your two fingers find the apex of your pleasure beneath your shorts, and you moan, wetting your clit with his spit as you circle the bud.

You barely have to touch yourself, you’re already so close.

Alastor does nothing to help, save for his gaze, save for his breath which matched yours. The demon’s eyes glittered with heat and desire as they bore into you. He could feel the pleasure radiating off of you, could feel it as real as you could feel his static on the other side of the bond you formed today.

“Good girl,” he growled, his cock twitching in his pants with each moan that escaped your lips.

“I’m close,” you whined, twirling your fingers faster and faster, feeling the pressure build between your legs.

Alastor dug his claws into your skin, his gaze soaking up every look of pleasure on your face, his ears absorbing every moan, his cock hardening with every swipe of your fingers against yourself.

“Cum for me, darling.” The demon’s lips curled as he swiped the hair from your eyes, sticky with sweat. He wanted to watch as you sent yourself over the edge. He wanted to miss nothing.

And just as you reached your climax...

(Keep scrolling)

...you wake up in bed, your screams of pleasure drawing you from sleep.

Your orgasm spasmed through your body, your legs twitching as you rode the wave, your pussy clenching on nothing but air…

Fuck, it was the best orgasm you had ever had, nevermind that it was your first.

And when it was over and your mind sobered, you realized it was all a dream.

You never woke up for a glass of water.

You never found Alastor in the library.

Grabbing a pillow, you launched it at the radio on the coffee table but missed by a mile. Burying your face in the sheets, you screamed. You screamed until your lungs burned because anything was better than acknowledging the truth.

Anything was better than acknowledging that you just had your very first wet dream, and it was of Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Muahahahaha! Remember it's a slow burn ;)

-> Chapter Six

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

*Plato's Allegory of the Cave

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff

#alastor #alastor shadow #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin #radio demon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel x you #reader insert #smut #Spotify

190 notes · View notes

emmg · 2 months ago

Text

Serious Writing Can Go Eat Ass: A Memoir

As someone who professionally churns out words for the academic circle jerk—a place where people basically worship the Chicago Manual of Style—it feels like there's this massive disdain, or maybe more like unfiltered contempt, for anything resembling fun in writing. Want to spice up an article with some personality? Throw in a funny quote? Craft a clever phrase that might break the mind-numbing monotony? Well, too bad. It will be swiftly dismissed and frowned upon by "peers" who clutch their red pens like they’re about to perform a literary exorcism.

This disdain doesn’t just stop at academic writing either. Oh no, it follows you into your creative life, like a clingy ex, making you feel guilty for producing anything outside the suffocating realm of “serious” content. You want to write something a little frivolous? Maybe funny? Maybe smutty? Maybe just angsty trash? Well, you better remember that it's not "serious" writing, and thus, has no worth. Or maybe you’ll hear that professor's voice in your head, the one who scrawled passive-aggressive margin notes admonishing you for taking a single, harmless stylistic risk. And just like that, it becomes second nature to hate or feel embarrassed by whatever you produce for fun.

Don’t get me wrong, I love academia. I’ve worked as a model since my early teens, which means I’ve spent most of my life living in a constant state of disconnection—always moving, always on the outside looking in. So, I turned inward, and I read. And read. And read some more. I learned and absorbed everything I could. When I finally made it to university and discovered this obsessive, laser-focused intellectual pursuit—complete with professors who actually encouraged my hyperfixation—it was like stepping into nerd heaven. The research, the archives, the thrill of translating that one obscure quote, the victory of pestering some librarian across the country for months and finally getting access to those oral histories—it’s exhilarating. I’m addicted.

But man, does this “serious” environment suck the joy out of anything that isn’t deemed important or intellectual. It’s fantastic at making you feel ashamed for enjoying "lesser" forms of creativity.

In this essay I will—no, but seriously, let me just give you my Ted Talk on how traditional writing conventions can absolutely, 100% eat ass. Maybe quite literally. They drain all the enjoyment out of writing. I love writing, but I hate looking at what I produce because of it.

On the flip side, I absolutely love the time we’re living in. Thank God for AO3. I adore fanfiction. I love that there’s no joy-sucking overlord policing my words when I get lost in a fandom and write purely for the fun of it. That’s true freedom.

This is exactly why I'm so hardcore about the whole comments/kudos culture. I will absolutely drown anyone who graciously shares their work with the world in praise. Why? Because I freaking love what they create, and I refuse to let anyone feel the way I do—like their creativity doesn’t matter. So yes, thank you, bless you, saint you, for sharing your fanfiction. I will devour every word, and then I’ll devour you, dear author, in an avalanche of gratitude. Keep writing, or I swear, I'll find you and flood your inbox with even more love.

I really wish my professional life hadn’t done such an impressive job of absolutely wrecking my self-esteem when it comes to personal writing. I don’t even give a second glance at what I toss out into the world anymore. Just yeet it into the depths of AO3 and forget it ever existed. Notifications? Turned off. Comments? Oh, I’m far too mortified to respond—though I make a half-hearted attempt sometimes. It’s that weird feeling of being undeserving, or embarrassed, or something equally stupid.

I don’t even know if I’m alone in this feeling. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. It’s just a random slice of my thoughts. I’m 28, I shouldn’t feel like I have to hate my creative side for not being “serious.” I’m too young to be this bitter about what I create. Not that there’s an age limit on this kind of existential dread. Anyway, thanks for coming to my impromptu mental breakdown. Peace.

#thoughts on writing #this is not for engagement or anything #just what has been going through my head and i have nowhere else to dump it #i love ao3 and everyone on it #ao3

4 notes · View notes

thaisibir · 21 days ago

Text

After 100+ hours I finished my first playthrough of Unicorn Overlord today and here are my (very) scattered thoughts, opinions, and reactions (spoilers ahead):

-Melisandre is best girl and was my ring of the maiden choice. From the start she cracked me up over how she has it down BAD for Alain (and even straight up tells him as much). Their last rapport was really touching and sealed the deal for me to give her the ring. She leads my swordfighter unit and was my go-to with holding down the fort at the command post.

-On the other hand, Scarlett just didn't quite work for me as a romantic interest. I don't sense a lot of natural chemistry in her interactions with Alain, despite the game seeming to push the player in her direction. Fiora from Xenoblade Chronicles was another main girl/childhood friend archetype, but I liked her a lot more. Maybe I have a weakness for girls with dual swords. I will say that I like Scarlett as a healer in gameplay and in rapports with other characters (that don't have to do with petty jealousy and rivalry with other girls). Just not a fan of her as a romance option for Alain.

-Virginia is another very cool character and absolutely kills it in my Hilda-led, real damage-dealing all-girls unit. I've never seen her fall, like ever. She may be slow but she knows how to take hits like a tank and dish out real damage.

-Same with Berengaria and Hilda. Really cool designs, real tough badasses, reliable fighters that always crush everything in their path. Love the sibling dynamics they have with Travis and Primm, respectively.

-I tend to suddenly obsess over very minor characters and in Unicorn Overlord, Raenys became the one. She comes in so late into the game, but her VA gives her a fantastic voice and she succeeded Ochlys to lead my alpha strike angel unit in late game, since she can fly plus provide arrow assist.

-I love talking animal characters, so Bastorias naturally became my favorite country to explore. The bestral unit led by Morard became one of my best hard hitters in late game. They're my night strike team.

-Character design is very hit and miss for me, particularly the women. Some like Virginia and Berengaria look absolutely cool and it certainly helps that their armor looks reasonable, but others make no sense and look absurd like Amalia's steel armor underwear.

-Sharon x Ochlys is my non-Alain OTP. They're so cute together and it's so painfully obvious they have a thing for each other. Romancing any of them as Alain felt wrong to me.

-My other crack OTP: Selvie x Bruno's gluts. Their rapport had me rolling on the floor.

-"I hope you get little eggshells in your omelettes for the rest of your life" from Nina is my new favorite insult.

-The localized writing/script sometimes feels needlessly embellished and elevated. Some of it is okay, but I feel like they overdo it at times. It's like seasoning with spices: sprinkle here and there for flavor, don't throw in so much that it just becomes overwhelming. I suspect they took inspiration from fantasy staples like Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones, among other things.

-Foraging and collecting stuff in overworld is lowkey kinda addicting. When I see a blue shiny light from the ground, I have to run over to collect it.

-The graphics for the rapport building meals look incredibly delectable. Someone should make a little cookbook on all the recipes.

#unicorn overlord #unicorn overlord spoilers #unicorn overlord thoughts

5 notes · View notes

hazbinsponsoredbyvee · 3 months ago

Note

Hello Lord Alastor,

I wanted to say I really find you fascinating. I would absolutely love to listen to your radio show. I really enjoy jazz, and I love to practice scatting as I listen to some great tunes. My favorite jazz singer is Louis Armstrong. Who's your favorite?

Yesterday I made homemade Louisiana creole gumbo, and it was incredibly delicious. I even mixed my own cajun spices, and I pan roasted the okra with a little vinegar to thicken the gumbo.

It would make me so happy to cook a delicious meal with you while listening to some jazzy tunes and scatting the evening away! What would you say, O high and mighty Overlord?

"Well, you have good taste, I'll give you that! There are many artists I enjoy - Louis Armstrong, King Oliver, Bessie Smith, and Cab Calloway to name a few!

"Hmm, you sure do make a tempting offer! What was your name, my good fellow?"

#athanasthos #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel ask blog #ask blog #rp blog #hazbin hotel roleplay #hazbin hotel rp blog #hazbin queued

5 notes · View notes

demonicangelics-world · 5 months ago

Text

Redamancy - Zestial x Angel!OC

Chapter Nine: The Long Night

Synopsis: In the shadowy realms of Hell and the celestial heights of Heaven, two souls grapple with the ache of unrequited love. Zestial, the formidable demon overlord, commands respect and fear. His past has forged a reputation that isolates him. Resigned to a life of power and isolation, he yearned for companionship and understanding, knowing that his intimidating demeanor made such connections seemingly impossible. Gabriela, once a radiant angel, admired the archangel Michael from afar, her heart swelling with unspoken affection for his divine strength and kindness. Casted into Hell on a mission, she now struggles to survive in a world where danger lurks at every corner, her angelic essence buried beneath a demonic exterior. Amidst the chaos of Hell and the secrets of Heaven, a profound and forbidden love ignites between them, challenging the very core of their beliefs and values.

Chapter Nine: The Long Night Chapter Ten: The Infernal Quacker

Word Count: 6,198

*********************************************************

I stumbled out of the dense, shadowy forest, my heart pounding and my breath coming in ragged gasps.

The canopy of trees had cast a near-impenetrable darkness, making my flight through the underbrush an exercise in pure, desperate instinct. Now, as I broke free from the last of the gnarled branches, I found myself on the outskirts of Pentagram City, the infamous urban sprawl of Hell.

I collapsed against a nearby tree, my legs and wings trembling with exhaustion. I could barely remember the last time I'd done more than a few steps and flaps inside the mansion. Every muscle screamed in protest as I forced myself upright, the relentless buzz of the city drawing me forward despite my physical exhaustion.

Looking down, I noticed my cloak had become a bit tattered from the thorns and branches. The once-pristine fabric was now covered in dirt and grime. Brushing off the debris as best I could, I straightened up and looked out to the city.

The city lay before me like a fever dream brought to life.

Neon lights flickered and blazed in every conceivable color, casting an eerie glow over the streets. Skyscrapers loomed overhead, their twisted, Gothic architecture clawing at the smoky sky. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sulfur, spice, and something sweetly sickening. I couldn’t tell where I was—every direction seemed equally disorienting, a chaotic mosaic of Hell’s urban decay.

The discord hit me like a physical force.

Engines roared, sirens wailed, and the ever-present murmur of a thousand conversations melded into a chaotic symphony. My head swiveled from side to side, trying to take it all in. Demons of all shapes and sizes walked the streets—hulking brutes with horns and claws, lithe figures with glowing eyes and serpentine tails, and countless others who defied description. Sinners, marked by their condemnation and haunted expressions, navigated the pandemonium with varying degrees of familiarity and dread.

Slowly, I ventured deeper into the city, the sensory overload only intensified. Billboards flashed advertisements for everything from infernal cuisine to dubious entertainments. The ground beneath my flats seemed alive, pulsating with the vibrations of the city’s heartbeat.

Despite the late hour, Pentagram City was anything but asleep.

The streets were a disarray of noise and light. Neon signs blazed in every direction, casting eerie, colorful glows over the bustling crowds. Vendors shouted their wares from every corner, hawking everything from enchanted trinkets to street food. The smell of questionable charred meat and spices mingled with the acrid scent of smoke, creating an aroma that was both tantalizing and overwhelming.

Suddenly, it all became too much.

The noise, the lights, the smell, the press of bodies around me—it swirled together in a dizzying, nauseating blur. I stumbled to the side of the street, clutching my stomach as a wave of vertigo washed over me. I doubled over and retched, the contents of my stomach spilling onto the cracked pavement. The acrid taste of bile burned my throat, and I gasped for breath, trying to regain my composure.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I straightened up, feeling slightly steadier. The overwhelming sensory assault had subsided to a more bearable level, though my head still throbbed. I took a deep breath and began to walk, determined to explore the city despite feeling overwhelmed.

I wandered into what seemed like markets and bazaars, my eyes wide with astonishment. Stalls lined the streets, packed with all sorts of goods and curiosities. Exotic fruits glistened under the harsh lights, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the city’s dark undertones. Strange artifacts and mysterious potions beckoned from every corner, each promising wonders or curses.

As I continued to explore, something finally registered in my mind that made me stop in my tracks.

Demons and sinners were wearing clothes that looked eerily familiar—my clothes. There they were, garments I had designed, now adorning the bodies of Hell’s citizens. The sight filled me with a strange mix of pride and disbelief.

Seeing my creations in person, walking the streets of Hell, was an entirely different experience compared to viewing them on my phone or television. Each garment, meticulously crafted and imbued with my vision, took on a life of its own as it draped over the demonic forms that strutted by. The fabrics shimmered under the infernal glow, and the intricate details I had labored over were now tactile, tangible in a way pixels on a screen could never convey.

It was surreal yet gratifying, a testament to my skill echoing through the bustling streets of Hell.

I approached a clothing store, its window display showcasing outfits that I had meticulously designed. The mannequins posed in stylish ensembles, their glass eyes reflecting the chaos outside. My heart pounded as I recognized each piece, recalling the countless hours I had spent bringing those designs to life.

Further down the street, I came across a magazine stand. To my astonishment, the covers of several fashion magazines featured models dressed in my creations. The headlines praised the latest trends, oblivious to the fact that the designer was now wandering the streets, lost and overwhelmed.

Seeing my work so prominently displayed, I felt a surge of conflicting emotions. On one hand, there was undeniable pride in seeing my designs so widely appreciated. On the other, a deep sense of betrayal—my father keeping me away from all of this.

I continued to weave through the crowds, the reality of my situation sinking in. My creations had made their mark on Pentagram City, even if I hadn’t been entirely aware of it. Now, as I walked among the bustling markets and neon-lit streets, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. If my designs could thrive in this chaotic inferno, perhaps I could too.

As I wandered deeper into the streets, the pulsating rhythm of the markets gradually gave way to a different kind of allure. A colorful banner caught my eye, flapping in the hellish breeze. Its bold letters proclaimed: Buckzo’s Family Circus II. Intrigued, I followed the excited chatter of demons and sinners alike, drawn towards a large, brightly adorned tent that seemed to shimmer under the neon lights.

The entrance was guarded by a small, drunk imp whose breath reeked of fermented brimstone. His eyes gleamed with greed as he sloppily counted the coins handed to him by each attendee.

"Step right up, lovely lady!" the imp slurred, his voice dripping with false charm as he extended a grubby hand. "$20 to the greatest show in Hell!"

I handed over the required fee, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose at his intoxicated demeanor. "Here you go," I replied evenly, stepping past him into the shadowy interior of the tent.

Inside, the air was thick with anticipation and the scent of burnt sugar. Rows of mismatched seats encircled a center ring where demons and sinners alike gathered in eager clusters. The atmosphere crackled with an electric energy as murmurs of excitement filled the air.

Suddenly, a spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating a figure that bounded into the ring with theatrical flair. It was the ringmaster—a charismatic imp with a top hat perched jauntily atop his horned head. His voice boomed through the tent, commanding attention and applause.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fiends and sinners! Welcome to Buckzo's Family Circus II!" The imp's voice carried a blend of mischief and showmanship that captivated the audience. "Tonight, we present to you a spectacle unlike any other, made possible by the grace of Lucifer himself, who has opened the pride ring for our traveling troupe."

A wave of applause and whistles erupted from the audience, mingled with shouts of approval and anticipation. The imp ringmaster bowed theatrically before continuing, "Brought to you by the circus that raised the famous clown imp, Fizzarolli, prepare yourselves for an evening of wonder, laughter, and a touch of devilish charm!"

The tent erupted into cheers as performers of all shapes and sizes began to flood the ring. Acrobats twisted and somersaulted through the air with impossible grace, while jugglers deftly manipulated flaming torches and gleaming knives. A troupe of spectral dancers floated ethereally across the stage, their movements synchronized in a hauntingly beautiful display.

Amidst the spectacle, a comedic duo of imps took center stage, trading witty banter and performing slapstick routines that had the audience roaring with laughter. Their antics were infectious, drawing me into a world where the boundaries between Hell's horrors and its delights blurred with each passing moment.

To the edges of the ring where stalls adorned with colorful banners, an imp beckoned patrons with promises of delectable treats and whimsical merchandise.

"Step right up, folks!" cried a grinning imp with crimson horns, weaving through the benches with a tray piled high with an assortment of treats. "Get your Fizzarolli's Famous Fiery Fritters here! Guaranteed to make your taste buds dance with devilish delight!"

The imp navigated the rows of spectators, offering sizzling pans of golden fritters to eager attendees. With each sale, he regaled customers with tales of Fizzarolli, his voice rising above the excited chatter of the crowd.

Not far away, another imp darted between seats, showcasing an array of vibrant masks and jesters' hats. Each item was adorned with bells that jingled merrily in the air, enticing patrons to embrace their inner clown.

"Step into the shoes of a jester, my friends!" he proclaimed enthusiastically, tossing a multi-colored hat into the air with a flourish. "Feel the whimsy of Fizzarolli's spirit! Each mask and hat carries the magic of laughter and mischief—it's a must-have for any true admirer of the circus!"

Around the perimeter of the tent, more imps ventured through the benches, their arms laden with memorabilia celebrating Fizzarolli's legacy.

Amidst the bustling activity of the circus, an imp with a mischievous gleam in his eye approached me, clutching a plush toy in the likeness of Fizzarolli. I quickly pull the hood down my face. His grin widened as he held out the plush.

"Step right up, miss! Take home a piece of Fizzarolli!," the imp chimed, his voice bright with enthusiasm. "This plushie is a must-have for any die hard fans of Fizzaorolli!”

I hesitated, feeling a pang of nostalgia wash over me. The sight of the plushie had triggered a flood of emotions, taking me back to a time when my father had surprised me with a Fizzarolli plushie on one of my early childhood birthdays.

As a child, I had been an avid fan of Fizzarolli's TV show, proudly sponsored by Mammon. It was one of the few things that brought genuine joy into my life, a colorful escape from the otherwise drab existence within my father’s mansion. I would watch the show religiously, often in the company of my father and his then-girlfriend, Jessica, a demon cat. Those were some of the rare moments when my father seemed almost humane, laughing along with the antics of the clown imp on the screen.

One particular memory stood out. It was my birthday, and for once, my father was home. Jessica, with her usual beauty but sporting an unexplained black eye, had baked and decorated a cake to celebrate. The scent of the freshly baked cake had filled the mansion, a rare and comforting aroma that contrasted sharply with the usual sterile air.

As I sat at the table, eyes closed, making a wish, I could feel the tension in the room despite the cheerful facade. Jessica's forced smile and the way she flinched at every sudden movement spoke volumes. Yet, in that moment, as I blew out the candles, all I could think about was the warmth of the flames and the sweetness of the cake.

To my surprise, my father presented me with a gift. His demeanor was unusually gentle, a stark contrast to his usual dominating presence. When I tore open the wrapping paper, my eyes widened in disbelief. It was a Fizzarolli plushie, complete with the same oversized smile and whimsical outfit as the imp on TV.

“Happy birthday, mija,” my father had said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

I had clutched the plushie to my chest, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness and disbelief.

For a brief period, that plushie became my most cherished possession. I held it close during the lonely nights when I first began to understand the true nature of my father—the manipulations, the schemes, the darkness hidden behind his charming facade.

It represented a time when my father had seemed like a real parent, a time before the facade had fully cracked and revealed the true monster beneath.

As I grew older, the reality of my father’s world became impossible to ignore. The control, the violence, the way he abused those around him—like Jessica—became painfully clear.

Yet, even as I came to understand the true nature of the man who had given me that plushie, I held onto it. It was a symbol of happier times, a reminder that even in the darkest corners of Hell, there could be moments of light.

Shaking myself from the reverie, I forced a small, polite smile at the imp. "Thank you, but not today," I murmured softly, declining the offer. The imp's grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, his sales pitch resuming with renewed vigor as he moved on to the next potential customer.

With a sigh tinged with nostalgia, I resumed viewing the performance. I found myself enthralled, caught up in the whirlwind of excitement and wonder that the circus offered. It was a brief respite from the tumultuous reality of Hell.

As the evening wore on and the performances reached their end, I couldn’t help but smile. The circus had cast its spell, weaving a tapestry of laughter and awe that transcended the infernal chaos outside. Amidst the cheers and applause, I settled deeper into my seat, grateful for this unexpected escape into a world where even demons could find solace in the magic of a captivating show.

As the crowd began to disperse, the spell gradually faded, and I remembered the harsh reality of my earlier flight from the forest. My stomach growled, reminding me that I had thrown up. Feeling the pangs of hunger and thirst, I joined the throng of demons and sinners exiting the circus tent.

As I wandered through the bustling avenues, the tantalizing aroma of food wafted through the air, drawing me forward. I weaved through the crowd, my senses heightened by the promise of a meal.

Eventually, I spotted a late-night diner that seemed to beckon with its warm, inviting glow. The sign above the door flickered with an eerie, yet oddly charming, retro style. It was reminiscent of a 1960s diner, but with a hellish twist—spiked booths, red neon lights, and waitstaff with devilish grins.

The diner was relatively full, a mixture of voices mingling with the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation. Demons and sinners alike occupied the booths and tables. I scanned the room and found an open stool at the counter. Taking a seat, I glanced around, taking in the ambiance.

A waitress approached me, her demonic features softened by a warm smile. "What can I get for you, sweety?" she asked as she handed me a menu.

I quickly scanned the menu and placed my first order of freedom—a cheeseburger with fries and a soda. As I waited, I observed the eclectic mix of patrons. Some were engaged in animated conversations, while others sat alone, lost in thought. The atmosphere was strangely comforting, a pocket of normalcy within the chaos of the city.

When my food finally arrived, I eagerly dug in, savoring the first bite of the juicy burger. The flavors were intense, a perfect blend of spice and savoriness. I sipped my soda, the fizzy drink washing down the rich food and quenching my thirst.

As I ate, a figure slid onto the stool next to me. I glanced up and saw a tall and slim demon with dark, bluish-gray skin, and dark green slicked-back short hair with lighter-colored roots. He had thick black brows, eyes with red sclera, neon-green irises, slit pupils, and upper eyelids colored in a darker shade of his skin. His wide mouth was full of sharp, neon-green colored teeth, giving him an unsettling, yet strangely captivating, appearance.

"Hey there," he said, his voice smooth and charming. "I noticed you were alone. Mind if I join you?"

I felt a twinge of nervousness and pulled my hood down lower to hide my face. "Uh, sure," I replied cautiously.

"Don't worry," he said, sensing my unease. "I mean no harm. I just finished a long day of studying and haven't had a chance to socialize. Thought I'd change that."

His words piqued my interest, and I glanced up at him. "Studying? What are you studying?"

"Political science," he replied with a hint of pride. "It's fascinating, really. The dynamics of power, governance, the interplay of different factions—Hell is quite literally the perfect place to study such things."

Despite my initial apprehension, I found myself intrigued by his study. "That does sound interesting," I admitted. "What drew you to political science?"

He leaned back slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Well, you could say it was a family decision. They thought it would be the best path for me, given our...background."

"Family decision?" I raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking. "So, your family is really into politics?"

"You could say that," he chuckled, his sharp teeth glinting under the diner's lights. "They've been involved in the political scene for ages. Tradition and all that. It's almost expected of us to understand the intricacies of power and governance."

"Must be a lot of pressure," I said, sipping my drink. "Trying to live up to those expectations."

He nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. "Definitely. But it's not all bad. I've learned a lot about how things work—or don't work. And it gives me a unique perspective on how to, well, navigate this chaotic world."

I tilted my head, intrigued. "So, your family must be pretty influential then?"

"You could say they're somewhat well-known," he replied with a smirk. "We hail from the Envy Ring."

My eyes widened slightly. "The Envy Ring? You’re not from here?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, this ring is a bit too... chaotic for my taste. The Envy Ring is a different kind of chaos—more structured, more about subtle maneuvers and less about outright anarchy."

"Wow," I said, still processing. "So, what brings you here to Pentagram City?"

"Study and experience," he replied. "You can't really understand Hell's political landscape without seeing all its facets. And Pentagram City, for all its madness, is a crucial part of that. Plus," he added with a wry smile, "it's a good place to get away from the constant scrutiny of my family."

I nodded, feeling a connection. "I can relate to that. The constant scrutiny, I mean."

His eyes lit up with curiosity. "Really? What kind of scrutiny are we talking about?"

I hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. "Let's just say my family likes to keep a close eye on me. It's... stifling."

He leaned in, clearly interested. "Sounds like we have more in common than I thought. What's your family like?"

I pulled my hood down a bit lower, evading his gaze. "Complicated. Always expecting me to stay in line."

He gave a knowing nod. "I get it. My family’s the same way. They’re always watching. It's like living under a microscope."

I looked at him, surprised by his candor. "Really? I thought I was the only one."

He glanced at my tattered cloak, a small smile playing on his lips. "I can tell you don't get out much. That cloak looks like it's seen better days."

I felt a pang of nervousness and pulled the hood down lower. "It's... comfortable."

"Don't be afraid," he said softly. "I know what it's like to hide from prying eyes. You shouldn't have to."

His words were sincere, and I felt a bit more comfortable. Slowly, I pulled my hood up, revealing more of my face.

He smiled warmly. "You are very beautiful. You shouldn’t hide behind such an ugly piece of garment."

I laughed, feeling a bit more at ease, and removed some of my cloak. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my outfit.

"That design looks familiar," he remarked, studying the intricate details. "Is it from Velvette's latest fashion line?"

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You’re into fashion?"

He nodded. "Yes, I find it fascinating. The creativity, the craftsmanship. It's a form of art and I always get invited to the latest fashion shows too."

I began to feel a connection to him, surprised by our shared interests. "What's your name?"

"Seviathan," he replied with a hint of pride. "And you?"

"Valeria," I said, offering a small smile.

"Nice to meet you, Valeria," Seviathan said, his tone warm and genuine. "So, tell me more about your designs. Are you a fashion designer?"

I felt a flicker of excitement at the opportunity to talk about my passion. "Yes, I am. I’ve been designing for a while now, though I didn’t realize my work was so well-known."

He nodded appreciatively. "Your designs have made quite an impression. It’s not every day you see such intricate and unique pieces."

I smiled, feeling a sense of pride. "Thank you. It means a lot to hear that."

Seviathan leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, Valeria, it's refreshing to meet someone who understands the pressures of family and has their own passions. It's not easy, but it’s worth it."

I nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of camaraderie. "Absolutely. It's what keeps me going.”

He grinned, his neon-green teeth flashing. "Well, if you ever need a break from the chaos, feel free to look me up. Maybe we can explore more of Pentagram City together."

I felt a warmth spread through me at his offer. "I’d like that, Seviathan. I really would."

Then, Seviathan leaned in a bit closer, his eyes curious yet gentle in the dim light of the diner. "So, Valeria," he began, his voice softer than before, "are you seeing anyone?"

His question caught me off guard, and I blinked, momentarily surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh, um, no," I replied, trying to regain my composure. "I'm not."

He chuckled softly, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Well, that's surprising," he mused. "You seem like someone who would have plenty of suitors."

I felt a flush of warmth at his compliment, though I couldn't help but feel a bit bewildered by the turn our conversation had taken. "Thank you," I replied, a hint of confusion in my voice. "What about you? Are you... dating someone?"

Seviathan's expression softened, and for a moment, a shadow crossed his face. "No," he admitted quietly. "We were... supposed to be married, actually."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. I waited quietly, sensing there was more to his story.

"Our families arranged for us to be married, but things didn't work out," he continued, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "Her mother disappeared, and... her father fell into a deep depression. She lost herself, and in turn, it strained our relationship." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "On top of that, she became obsessed with redeeming sinners, trying to save them. It was something she believed in, something she wanted to dedicate her life to. But... I couldn't understand it. I couldn't support it."

I furrowed my brow slightly, trying to grasp the concept of redeeming sinners. "Redeeming sinners?" I repeated, my voice laced with confusion. "What does that mean exactly?"

Seviathan looked thoughtful for a moment, as if considering how best to explain. "She believed that every soul, no matter how tainted, could find redemption," he explained slowly. "That by showing them kindness, understanding, and forgiveness, she could help them change their ways. She wanted to prove that even in Hell, there was hope for salvation."

I nodded slowly, processing his words. The idea seemed idealistic, almost naive, given the harsh realities of Hell. "Did you… believe in that?" I asked cautiously, unsure of what his answer might be.

Seviathan hesitated, his gaze distant as if reflecting on his own beliefs. "I... I wanted to," he admitted finally, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I've seen too much, Valeria. I've seen the depths to which some souls can sink, the darkness that can consume them. Redemption... it's a beautiful idea, but I'm not sure it's possible for everyone. Some demons and sinners... they revel in their sins, their darkness. It's all they know, all they want."

As Seviathan spoke, his words resonated with a profound truth that stirred memories and thoughts.

The mention of sinners reveling in their darkness brought to mind the depths of depravity that my father, Valentino, not only engaged in but exploited. His actions were not just about power and control; they were calculated maneuvers designed to manipulate and inflict pain. It wasn't merely about sins; it was about reveling in the chaos he created, relishing the fear and suffering he instilled in others.

My thoughts drifted to the countless times I witnessed his abuse unfold, the way he twisted situations to his advantage without a hint of remorse. It wasn't just darkness within him—it was a deliberate choice to embrace and perpetuate that darkness.

"I've seen it too," I murmured softly, almost to myself, but Seviathan's attentive gaze told me he heard every word. "Some... they don't just revel in their sins. They thrive on it. It's as if the darkness is their refuge, their source of strength."

Seviathan nodded slowly, understanding etched in his expression. "It's a different kind of existence," he replied, his voice tinged with empathy. "One that's difficult to comprehend unless you've faced it firsthand."

"Yeah," I whispered, a shiver running down my spine as memories of my father's actions flashed before my eyes. The exploitation, the manipulation—all of it driven by a desire to control and dominate.

"In a place like this," Seviathan continued, his voice thoughtful, "where darkness is so pervasive, where souls are tested and twisted... redemption feels like a distant dream. Some may yearn for it, but whether they can truly attain it... that's a question with no easy answer."

I nodded slowly, my mind swirling with conflicting emotions. The concept of redemption in Hell seemed almost laughable, a naive hope in a realm where survival often trumped morality.

"It's like trying to hold onto a flicker of light in an endless abyss," I murmured, my words carrying a weight of resignation. "A flicker that might fade away before it can ever truly illuminate the darkness."

Seviathan reached out, his hand resting gently on mine, a gesture of understanding and solidarity. "We can only do our best to navigate this place," he said softly. "To find our own path amidst the chaos."

As we sat together, I felt a strange sense of comfort in Seviathan's presence. In his understanding, I found a brief respite from the harsh realities of Hell—a moment of connection amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf us both.

I could sense the weight of Seviathan experiences, the doubts that clouded his beliefs. "It must have been hard," I murmured sympathetically, squeezing his hand gently.

Seviathan managed a faint smile, though it held a touch of sadness. "It was," he admitted quietly. "And it ultimately drove a wedge between us. She wanted to change the world, to make it better. But I... I couldn't follow her down that path."

I nodded understandingly, feeling a sense of empathy for him. "Sometimes, our beliefs can lead us in different directions," I offered softly.

He nodded in agreement, his gaze meeting mine with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "Thank you for listening, Valeria," he said sincerely. "Not many people understand."

I nodded in understanding, feeling a sense of connection with Seviathan as he shared his story. In that moment, it felt like we were the only ones in the world, sharing our vulnerabilities beneath the glow of the neon lights. I realized that meeting Seviathan was the most unexpected and pleasant surprise of my night.

As our conversation lulled, Seviathan glanced at my almost empty plate and smiled gently. "Would you like dessert?" he asked.

I hesitated for a moment, weighing the decision. It wasn't alcohol, so logically, nothing bad could happen. "Sure," I replied with a small smile, trying to push away the slight unease that fluttered in the pit of my stomach.

Seviathan signaled to the waitress, ordering two ice cream floats. The waitress returned promptly, placing the drinks before us with a polite smile. The sweet aroma of vanilla and soda mingled in the air, adding a comforting touch to the atmosphere around us.

For a brief moment bullets were shot outside, I didn't notice as Seviathan subtly poured a pink liquid into my drink when I looked away.

We continued talking as we drank, the discussion flowing easily between us as we shared anecdotes and thoughts about life in Hell

However, as minutes passed, I began to feel strangely light-headed. My heart raced inexplicably, and a flush of warmth spread through me whenever I caught Seviathan's gaze. It was as if I was falling under some kind of spell, emotions heightened beyond reason.

Excusing myself with a nervous laugh, I hurried to the bathroom, needing a moment to compose myself. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to dispel the dizzying sensation, but it lingered stubbornly. I took a few deep breaths, telling myself it was just the rush of emotions from the night and the connection I felt with Seviathan.

Returning to my stool, I found Seviathan waiting with a concerned expression. "Is everything alright?" he asked softly, his eyes searching mine.

"Yeah, I just needed a quick break," I replied, forcing a smile. But as I spoke, my vision began to blur slightly, colors merging into heart shapes around me.

Suddenly, the lights in the diner flickered and went out completely. Panic erupted around us as voices rose in confusion and fear. Before I could react, I felt a pair of hands grip my waist from behind and a cloth pressed over my mouth before I could scream. Darkness closed in, and everything went black.

*****************************************************************

I woke up with a violent retch, the taste of bile burning my throat as I threw up onto what felt like a leather seat. Disoriented and groggy, I struggled to make sense of my surroundings. Blinking rapidly, I realized I was in the backseat of a car. As my vision cleared, I recognized Vox behind the wheel, his screen illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard.

Panic surged through me, and I sat up abruptly. "Vox! What’s happening? Where am I?"

Vox glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. "You were drugged, Valeria. You’re in my car.”

Betrayal and confusion crashed over me like a tidal wave. Seviathan... he did this? But how? I felt a lump form in my throat as I struggled to process the betrayal.

But then I panic. “Vox, where are you taking me?”

In an apathetic voice Vox says, “I'm taking you back to the mansion."

I began to hyperventilate, my mind racing with the implications. "No, please, Vox. Don’t take me back there. I can’t go back. Please."

He shook his head, his tone firm but not unkind. "I can’t do that, Valeria. Your father had a rough day today, and what you did was very foolish."

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening with fear. "But I can’t face him. Please, Vox, you have to help me."

Vox sighed, his metallic voice softening slightly. "I understand your fear, but running away won’t solve anything. You need to face this. Your father may be cruel, but he wants what’s best for you, even if it doesn’t seem that way."

I continued to plead, my voice trembling. "Vox, please. He’ll... he’ll hurt me. I can’t go back there."

"Valeria," Vox said firmly, "don't make things worse for yourself. When you get home, keep your head down and don't talk back. The last thing you need is to make him angrier."

Tears streamed down my face as we drove in silence. The car's hum and the city's distant chaos were the only sounds, echoing the dread building in my chest. As we neared the mansion, my heart pounded louder with each passing moment. The front lights of Vox's car cut through the darkness of the forest path.

We finally arrive at the mansion and the lights illuminate my father's terrifying presence waiting at the entrance of the gates. His eyes, glowing with fury, locked onto the car, piercing through the windshield and sending shivers down my spine. His imposing stance, with shoulders squared and fists clenched, radiated a dangerous intensity that seemed to suffocate the air around him. The harsh light exaggerated the sharp angles of his face, casting deep shadows that accentuated his scowl, making his presence even more terrifying. As the car rolled to a stop, the engine’s low rumble seemed to echo his seething rage, amplifying the dread that churned within me.

My father stormed over to the car, his fury palpable. He yanked open the door with such force it almost broke. Vox, feeling a rare pang of pity, tried to intervene. "Valentino, don't go too hard on her."

But my father didn't listen. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me out of the car. I screamed in pain, the world blurring through my tears. He pulled me towards the mansion, his grip unrelenting.

The mansion doors slammed shut behind us, Vox’s car disappearing into the night. My father threw me inside with a force that knocked the wind out of me. Before I could react, his hand connected with my face in a brutal slap. "What were you thinking!?"

I crumpled to the floor, crying in pain, trying to crawl away. My father’s footsteps echoed ominously as he approached me.

"Do you know how many whores I had to fuck over just for you to have a comfortable life, you malcriada?" He said as he crushed a tiny white spider that crawled into his path.

Horror surged through me as he took off his belt. "No, please, no..." I begged, my voice a broken whisper.

He ignored my pleas, his face contorted with rage, and began beating me savagely. Each strike was merciless, sending waves of excruciating pain through my body. I felt the sharp sting of his blows resonate deep within my bones, leaving a trail of bruises that blossomed across my skin like dark, angry flowers. His fury was unrestrained, each hit landing with a sickening force that made my vision blur and my screams echo in the dimly lit room. My pleas for mercy were swallowed by the relentless onslaught, leaving me gasping for breath and writhing in agony.

Before I blacked out from the pain, his final words echoed in my mind.

"I’ll make sure you never get out again."

His hand struck my neck, and everything went dark.

*********************************************************

Several hours later, I awoke to the dim, flickering light of the fireplace, the only source of illumination in my dark, cold room. Every inch of my body throbbed with excruciating pain, and as I tried to move, a sharp agony pierced through my shoulder blades, forcing me to collapse back onto the bed.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I gritted my teeth and tried again, slowly and painfully pushing myself upright. Each movement sent waves of torment through my body, but I managed to stand, swaying unsteadily on my feet.

With trembling steps, I made my way to the floor mirror. The dim light cast eerie shadows on my battered reflection. My face and body were covered in bruises, vivid reminders of my father’s savage beating. Around my neck was an electric collar, its cold metal pressing against my skin. But what truly shattered me was the sight of my back: my once moth wings were now nothing more than torn remnants, shattered and ripped away.

A guttural cry of despair escaped my lips as I fell to the floor, sobbing in hopeless agony.

Through my tears, I noticed the Fizzarolli plushie my father had gifted me years ago, sitting in the corner of the room. Driven by a surge of raw emotion, I pushed myself to my feet again and staggered over to the plushie. I picked it up, my hands shaking with a mix of pain and fury. Without hesitation, I hurled it into the fireplace.

I watched as the plushie was consumed by the flames, its cheerful face melting away. The fire crackled and hissed, reflecting the torment within me. Tears streamed down my face as I cried silently, the plushie’s destruction a small, hollow act of defiance against the overwhelming despair that now consumed my soul.

*********************************************************

Story available on AO3

Chapter Ten: The Infernal Quacker

#hazbin hotel #zestial x oc #zestial #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin lucifer #angel ocs #valentino #vox #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #seviathan von eldritch #hazbin hotel seviathan #valentino's daughter #the vees #voxval #hazbin hotel vox #valentino hazbin hotel #staticmoth

2 notes · View notes