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To Sever a Loveless Bond Chapter Eight
Read the fic by @zaebeecee HERE!
Welcome to Fletch doesn't know how to edit down, part seventy-five-thousand
But I also don't regret it
By the way here's your reminder that I am an NSFW creator, but since I do Hellaverse ANYTHING that should hopefully go without saying. anyway. you never know.
We love Alastor having an asexual panic. Been there buddy.
The assistant talking to Angel Dust is named Wire, she's got a bit part in this chapter and I like her, she was really fun to design~
I love Rocky, justice for Rocky <3
See the other chapter artwork here:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five pt. 1
Chapter Five pt. 2
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
#my art#to sever a loveless bond#radiodust#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin angel dust#hazbin alastor#hazbin vox#hazbin vaggie#hazbin rocky#asexual panic
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Made some đBullspiderđˇď¸/early V-Day art with Angel Dust & Rocky. Got a day off so they decided to leave the Veeâs Entertainment District & look for their own entertainment in the other districts of Hell, kinda havign their own version of Hellâs Belles! They decided to play a bit of dress up in Cannibal Town(probably will go somehwere else for food thođ¤Ł). Theyâre painting the town in even more redâ¤ď¸đď¸
Also brought Nuggies along toođđđ
What do u think? What other things could u see them get up to around Hell? Iâd love to knowđ
#hazbin hotel redesign#my art#hazbin hotel#angel dust#angel dust hazbin hotel#angel dust fanart#rocky#hazbin rocky#hazbin hotel rocky#Rocky hazbin hotel#Bullspider#hellaverse#Fat nuggets#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbin hotel redesigns#bull spider
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To Sever A Loveless Bond
â˘â˘RadioDust Soulmate AUâ˘â˘
Part 24/?
First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter
Read on AO3
â˘â˘â˘
This chapter is short and was always intended to be so; it wasn't supposed to take this long, but I've been incredibly sick lately. I'm so sorry.
â˘â˘â˘
The month after VoxTek: Outsider POV â˘â˘ ⢠Week One
âWhat the hell was that about?â
âI donât know,â Charlie said, her eyes still on the stairs as though she thought Angel might reappear after his obvious tactical retreat. Vaggie leaned harder on her arms, eye moving from what she could see of the upstairs hall to her girlfriend and back. Charlie didnât seem to notice. âMaybe I should go talk to him?â
âI wouldnât.â Vaggie turned to look at Husk, who had put his work down and was leaning one arm on the bar. âAngel went to talk to Alastor, and it clearly didnât go well. Iâd give him some space.â
âButâŚâ Charlie began helplessly, before she let out the rest of her breath in a soft huff. âMaybe. But isnât âgiving them spaceâ what caused the whole problem last week?â
âIt wonât get that bad, babe,â Vaggie assured her. âWe wonât let it. But Husk probably has a point. Theyâre both under a lot of stress, and what they went through is still pretty fresh. They still need rest, anyway.â
â...and if I start pushing either of them, they might stop being so agreeable about getting that rest,â Charlie concluded, crossing her arms. âI know, I know, I just donât like feeling so helpless.â
âYou need a hobby,â Husk said.
Vaggie snorted. âThis from you? What do you do besides tending bar and complaining about tending bar?â
Husk shrugged. âIâm not the one with so little to do that Iâm obsessing over the other residents. Look, Charl, Iâm not judging, Iâm serious. Your whole life has been this hotel ever since before it even opened, right? Might do you a bit of good to have something else to focus on besides what the other people in the hotel are doing.â
Charlie groaned, letting her head fall back. âIâm not good at hobbies. Iâm good at stressing.â She ran her hands over her face, then went back to the ledger, her face that one of concentration she got when she wasnât actually paying attention to her task, but was concentrating on trying to concentrate on said task.
Obviously unimpressed, Husk waved Vaggie over. When she reached the bar, he spoke to her in a low tone. âWhy donât you take her out somewhere this evening?â
Vaggie raised an eyebrow. â...like a date?â
âSheâs your girlfriend, isnât she?â Husk asked. âSheâs spent too long cooped up in this building. Sheâs driving herself crazy, and you have to have noticed sheâs driving everyone else crazy, too.â Vaggie wanted to be offended on Charlieâs behalf, but Husk had a point. âJust give her something to think about for a few hours thatâs not the hotel or Heaven or any of that bullshit. Niff and I will keep things under control here.â
âYeah?â Vaggie asked.
âIâm not going to say nothing will happen,â Husk said. âBut whatever does happen, the two of us can handle until you get back. And weâll keep an eye on Angel and Alastor, too. Alright?â
â...yeah,â Vaggie said on a sigh. âThatâs⌠thatâs a good idea. Thanks, Husk.â
âDonât thank me. Just get out of my hair for an evening.â
Vaggie smirked and pushed off the bar, heading over to Charlie and taking her hand. âOkay, babe. Book down.â
Charlie blinked, watching without protesting as Vaggie removed the ledger from her grip and placed it back on the counter. âBook down?â she asked.
âBook down. Youâre coming with me.â
��
Husk watched Vaggie pull Charlie away from the desk and up towards their room, waiting until she was out of sight before he came out from around the bar and went off in search of Niffty. She was always either quite easy to find, or completely impossible, and it took him nearly half an hour of tedious searching before he finally heard the familiar sounds of her scurrying around in the ventilation on the third floor.
Raising his hand, Husk knocked his knuckles on the wall. âNiffty,â he called.
Another rattle answered him before a grate in the ceiling opened, several dead bugs falling onto the carpet. Husk grimaced, backing away (even though they were several feet from him already), and instead focused on the ceiling again as Niffty poked her head out and stared at him upside down. âHusk,â she answered, her mouth splitting into a wide grin.
âI wanna ask you something,â he said. âCould you keep an eye on Alastor for me?â
Immediately, Nifftyâs face changed. Husk wasnât one to express concern of any kind about Alastor, much less go out of his way to get someone to look after him. âWhy?â Niffty asked suspiciously.
Husk frowned at her. âIâm not being shifty,â he said; the accusation was clear in her eye. âI just wanna make sure he doesnât pull any shit or do anything weâll regret while heâs in recovery. Besides, Vaggie and Charlie are gonna be out for a while and I said weâd keep an eye on things here.â
That made Niffty gasp. âOfficial business!â she chirped, before she dropped out of the grate (and onto the bugs, fucking gross) and scurried over to Husk. âI will be the best Alastor babysitter,â she said, with way more enthusiasm than Husk thought the situation called for.
âIâm sure you will,â he said dryly. âJust⌠bugs first.â
âOh, yes, Iâm making funeral preparations for them right now,â Niffty said, looking back over her shoulder at the small pile of insects. âIâm going to make quite the example of them. I think now the bugs will finally realize whoâs in control here.â She giggled.
ââŚyou do that. Iâm leaving,â Husk said, turning on his heel and leaving her to her deranged little Vlad the Impaler playacting. He hesitated at the second floor landing, then stepped into the hallway, glancing down towards Angelâs door. It was closed, and he could hear music coming from inside; he was half tempted to go check on the kid, but knew Angel would probably see it as hovering, so he decided to leave it be for the night. He started turning back towards the stairs when movement in the shadows caught his eye, and he hesitated, focusing to try and catch it again.
It wasnât in the shadows, it was the shadows. Husk had long ago gotten used to Alastorâs shadow, a thing that was (in some ways) more mischievous and dangerous than Alastor was himself. While the Sinner possessed the ability to mask and control himself, the shadow was always blatantly projecting thought and intention, as indecipherable as those thoughts and intentions were. At the moment, Alastorâs shadow was across the hall from Angelâs door, and it appeared to be⌠pacing, in a sense, flitting back and forth as though feeling indecisive.
Husk had seen the shadow wear many expressions in the past, but he had never seen it look worried.
I donât need to get involved with this. Husk backed away before the shadow could notice him and headed back downstairs. This was all above his pay grade, and besides⌠whatever bullshit Angel and Alastor had between them, they were going to need to work it out themselves.
Somehow, he doubted either of them would.
â˘â˘â˘
⢠Week Two
The Hazbin Hotel looked a lot cuter and more inviting when approaching it as a guest, rather than as a spy or an infiltrator. In many ways, Millie could understand the princessâs vision just by looking at the place, even if it was meant to appeal to human souls and just wasnât her personal cup of whiskey as far as aesthetics went. As she drove up to the door and parked the car, killing the engine, she wondered if the place really would work.
Would Sinners really be better off in Heaven?
She didnât see how, but she supposed that a Hellborn couldnât really understand the human desire for redemption, so⌠if that was really what they wanted, she hoped it worked, for their sake.
Millie stepped out of the car and took what had to have been her three hundredth calming breath since leaving IMP headquarters. Sheâd been fit to be tied when sheâd set off, and while she was still mad, the drive had calmed her down enough that she wasnât about to go in swinging and get her block knocked off two seconds in.
Not for the first time, she wondered what she was thinking, charging in to lecture the Radio Demon on⌠love? Relationships? She wasnât sure what, exactly, she just knew it wasnât her place to do this kind of thing. Of course, she also knew that no one else was gonna do it, and that was why she hadnât turned back.
The door to the hotel had been fixed quite expertly since their last visit, and the hinges didnât even creak as she pushed her way in and headed through the lobby. It was a little sad to see that the hotel still didnât seem to have attracted any new residents. It wasnât like she had reason to expect it toâall of the recent attention had, after all, been more focused on the residents and less on the hotel itselfâbut she couldnât help feeling awful for the princess, working so hard with comparatively little to show for it.
Of course, we didnât think itâd work, either.
That was a gentle way of putting it.
âOh! Millie!â Charlie looked up when she heard hoofsteps on the tile, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. She smiled in that unique way people had when they were deeply stressed but still genuinely meant that smile. Millie was very familiar with that expression.
âHi, Princess,â Millie said, clasping her hands behind her back and stepping up to the desk. âDonât worry, I ainât here cuzâa any trouble. Just wanted tâ know if yâmight be able tâ point me to Alastorâs room.â
Charlieâs eyes widened. âAlastor?â she echoed. âAh⌠I could,â she hedged. âCan I ask why?â
âJust wanted tâ talk,â Millie said. âIâll make sure no damage comes tâ thâ place. Promise.â
The princess still looked hesitant, but Millie could also see something else in her expression. Was it relief? âI⌠sure,â Charlie said, pointing down a hallway off the lobby, just past the main stairway. âRight down that way, third door on your left. He almost never lets anyone in, though, so donât be surprised if he doesnât answer.â
âOh, heâll answer,â Millie said confidently. She waved, heading off. âThanks!â
âGood luck!â
As Millie passed out of the lobby and into the hallway, she was immediately struck by a different sort of feeling that seemed to permeate the corridor, or perhaps just this entire area of the hotel. The air was heavy, but not quite stale; there was something almost abandoned about the atmosphere, as though almost no one ever actually came down this way. Of course, from what sheâd been told, everyone else lived up on the second floor. Why was Alastor so far away from everyone else?
The door in question wasnât hard to find. It didnât exactly look different from every other door in the building, but it also did, somehow; it even felt a little colder as she stepped closer and raised her hand to knock firmly on the wood. There was no response at all, but Millie didnât let it deter her, just knocking again. âAlastor?â she called out, still feeling a little strange about calling the Radio Demon his name to his face (or door). âAlastor, itâs Millie. Yâknow, from IMP?â Still no answer. She just⌠presumed he was listening and continued. âI got some stuff I wanna say tâ you. And I can either say it in yer room or say it out here in thâ hallway where I know you can hear me.â Apparently, even that threat wasnât enough, so she took a deep breath. â...okay. I just came from our offices, and I was talkinâ tâ Angel Dust, and heâ!â
The moment she said that name, she heard a click from inside the wood. The door remained closed, but when Millie turned the handle, the door creaked open. There was a fleeting moment of reminding herself that she still had time to turn around and leaveâgood to know her sense of self-preservation was still working, anywayâbut she squared her shoulders and let herself inside.
She wasnât sure what sheâd been expecting, but it sure wasnât a combination sitting room, office, and bedroom that opened up into what looked like a whole-ass swamp from somewhere on Earth. Alastor was standing at the edge of the platform that ended his room and turned into marshland, turned away from the door with one hand behind his back.
Oh, right. His only hand now, huh?
His other sleeve was folded, pinned to itself, probably to keep the fabric from flapping around while he was working. He didnât turn when he spoke, but Millie could hear him quite well, his voice masked in a thick layer of radio static. âYou truly are quite brave, coming here on your own,â he said. âDonât you remember what almost happened to your employer, the last time he was alone with me?â
Millie didnât let herself feel fear, just holding onto the quiet anger that was the simmered remains of her hot rage. She put her hands on her hips, glaring. âYeah, well, Blitzøâs a dumbass,â she said. âBesides, it ainât bravery, Iâm here tâ ask you what thâ fuck you think youâre doinâ.â
Alastor tilted his head curiously, then turned it without turning his body, looking at her over his shoulder. It was much easier to see that his eyes were glowing in the dim light of his room. âI fail to see what you mean, my dear.â
She scoffed, gesturing with one hand. âYeah, right,â she said. âIf yâdidnât know what I meant, yâwouldnâtâa let me in when I said Angelâs name.â
He squinted at her, then pivoted his body to match the angle of his head. He then vanished into a shadowy mist on the floor, emerging in one of the chairs before the fireplace. He gestured to the other. âI suppose Iâll admit to feeling intrigued. Please, sit.â
It was phrased as a request, but Millie knew it wasnât. She refused to let any fear show on her face as she plopped herself down, knees together and hands braced on her thighs. Alastor was watching her expectantly, so Millie asked, âWhyâre you avoidinâ him?â
Alastorâs eyebrow arched. âIs that what he said?â
âNo,â Millie said. âBut he told me what happened. Yâknow, with yer mark and all.â
Something flashed in Alastorâs eyes for the briefest instant, nowhere near long enough for Millie to determine what it was. âThen I should think everything self-evident,â he said, his voice light and airy in a way she would absolutely have believed if she hadnât known someone like Blitzø as long as she had. âWe had an arrangement, which came to its conclusion. I fail to understand why everyone is making such a fuss over all of this.â
Millie frowned at him. âYâreally care that much about thâ mark?â she asked disbelievingly.
He laughed. It was a little too loud. âOh, my dear Millie, I have never thought that thing to be any more than a potential inconvenience. I hardly put any stock in what some unseen force has decided as my fate.â
â...thenâŚâ Millie squinted at him. â...yâknow yer contradictinâ yerself, doncha?â
âWhatever do you mean?â Alastor sounded uninterested and dismissive, but he was way too focused on her for that to be true.
âWell⌠yâsaid you donât think that thâ mark means nothinâ,â Millie said. âBut you were willinâ to nearly get yerself killed goinâ after Angel Dust just a coupleâa weeks ago, and now yer actinâ like you ainât even thought about him in days.â Alastor didnât answer, just kept watching her. â...okay, lemme just⌠ask you this. How dâyou feel about him?â
âAbout Angel Dust?â Alastor asked with a raised eyebrow. âNo different than I felt before the markâs activation, before this whole affair⌠beganâŚâ He trailed off, his eyes widening slightly, but almost instantly schooled his expression and tilted his head at her. âWhy so keenly interested in this topic, anyway? You hardly know either one of us, yet you came in here with pure Hellfire in your eyes.â
Millie clenched her fists against her thighs. â...Moxxie and I ainât soulmates,â she said. âIâve never met mine, and hisâŚâ She trailed off, cold anger filling her at the simple memory of the broken soulmate mark on her husbandâs skin. âAnd ever since thâ two of us started datinâ, the people who know give us shit for it. His dad fuckinâ despises me, anâ my parents wonât even give him a chance. Fuck, my siblings pretend he doesnât exist. My brother tried settinâ me up on a date, last time I went home.â
Alastor tilted his head a little. âBut you married him anyway, didnât you? So, clearly, you donât care.â
âNo, I donât, but that donât make it no less exhaustinâ to deal with,â Millie said. âI had to convince him that I wanted tâ go out with him, anâ just âcause I donât care what anybody thinks donât make it easy to put up with people makinâ⌠remarks.â She looked away. On top of the other reasons people think we shouldnât be together, of course. âAnd I almost listened tâ all the shit they were sayinâ. I thought about it. And it⌠it wouldâve been thâ worst mistake I ever made.â
Alastor didnât answer right away. The silence was thick and weighted; Millie didnât need to look at him to know he was thinking. Finally, he said, âIs that what this is? An intervention because you think Iâm making some kind of mistake?â
âNo, I ainât tryinâ tâ tell you what to do,â Millie said, shaking her head. âBut I saw how people act around you. I know how scared they are of you. And Iâm pretty sure none of âem are gonna tell you this shit.â
âDo you know why theyâre scared of me?â Alastor asked. When Millie looked up at him again, his eyes were glowing. âBecause Iâve killed for less than this. You saw what I did to Husker for challenging me. What makes you think youâll fair better?â
Millie shook her head. âI donât think youâll kill me. Besides, it ainât gonna make you feel no better if yâdo.â
Alastor stared at her. There was a lot he wasnât saying. Finally, he closed his eyes. âYou should leave.â
âOkay,â Millie said with a shrug, sliding out of the chair. âI said my piece. Your choice what tâdo with it.â
She crossed the room and opened the door, but before she could step out, Alastorâs voice gave her pause. âTell your boss⌠that I owe him a favor.â
Millie blinked, glancing back, but she didnât see Alastor anymore. She smiled a little. âOkay. Iâll do that. Bye, Alastor.â
As she closed the door behind her, she thought she could hear a voice that murmured, goodbye, Miss Millie.
â˘â˘â˘
⢠Week Three
âHeâs really not doinâ too hot, is he?â
Cherri turned her head and watched Mimzy slide into the bar seat next to her, but the shorter Sinner wasnât actually looking at her. Cherri followed Mimzyâs line of sight to where Angel had attracted a small group of admirers; it wasnât odd to see him surrounded by people, but it was weird that most of the little group seemed to be some variety of woman. It looked like Angel had been invited to join their table, and while he was happily answering questions and taking selfies with some of them, he didnât seem to be flirting with the two or three more male-looking Sinners.
âNo,â Cherri said, allowing a little of her worry to escape now that her best friend was fully occupied elsewhere. âIâve never seen him this bad. I mean, not this way, at least. âŚmakes me wanna go back to the hotel and blow Alastor up.â
Mimzy cackled. âItâd serve the little bastard right!â She sobered quickly, drawing Cherriâs gaze back to her. âHe was askinâ me about places for rent around the city. Sounds like heâs thinkinâ about a little cut and run.â
Cherri sighed. ââŚfuckâs sake,â she muttered, turning back to the bar. âWell, what am I supposed to do about it? Angie wants to go, thatâs his business. He should be allowed to make his own choices.â
âChill out, babydoll, you donât gotta do shit. Just thought youâd wanna know.â
Cherri drummed her fingernails against her glass. Mimzy wasnât the sharpest french fry in the crayon box, as the saying didnât go, but she still noticed a lot more than people thought. There was a heavy implication in Mimzyâs tone, one that said youâd know better than anyone why he wants to leave.
But that was fucking stupid. Sheâd left because she didnât want to be there anymore, full stop, and she didnât need anyone telling her different. If Angel leaving had anything to do with Alastor, then that would mean that her leaving had something to do with Husk.
And it didnât. It wasnât like she missed the crotchety old bastard; he drank too much, he always saw the negative in everything, he gave up too easily, he⌠well, he was kinda funny and charming, when he wanted to be, and he certainly wasnât hard on the eyes for a fuzzy sorta guy. And there was that little smile he got when heâ
But what, was Mimzy trying to suggest that Angel missed Alastor?
When Cherri left the bar, Angel told her he would stick around for a bit longer, so she made the trek back to her apartment by herself. As she walked, she let her mind wander to that afternoon that Angel had first told her about the mark. Heâd been so confused, so⌠scared? Was that the word for it?
I should have taken things more seriously.
And when Angel had been taken to VoxTek, Alastor had seemed so legitimately enraged. Cherri couldnât remember ever seeing him like that; usually, he played his cards so close to the chest, it was impossible to even guess at what he was thinking. So, what, was she supposed to believe Alastor actually cared about him?
That⌠was a really, really big ask.
Cherri stopped outside her apartment, freezing when she saw a note on the wood, a knife stabbed through it to keep it in place. She took hold of it and pulled, glancing over the single word of greeting, âMatiuâ.
Yeah, sure, deadname me twice, why donât you.
She let her eyes skim down the still-too-familiar curves and jagged edges of her fatherâs handwriting, but when she hit the words âno son of mine is going to be seen out withâ, she crumpled the paper up in both hands and ignited the ball with a loud bang and flash that quickly reduced the paper to nothing but ash. She then let it fall to the carpet in the hallway, dusting her hands off before she entered her apartment. No fucking way was that thing coming inside with her.
Door locked securely behind her, Cherri spun on her heel and flopped back onto her couch, her already dim mood soured considerably by the memory of her father hanging over her head once again. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, running her thumb across the black screen in thought.
Talking to Angel wouldnât do any good; if the stubborn bitch had made his mind up, heâd made it up, and that was it. And, obviously, she couldnât talk to Alastor. Charlie? No. Cherri liked the princess well enough, but she got the feeling that would only make matters worse.
She realized sheâd turned her phone on and gone to her contacts without thinking. Huskâs number was lit up, ready for her to call or text. Cherri stared at those four letters, wondering⌠would he help her? Would he even pick up if she called? There was a time she never would have asked that question; before the stupid spade on her left shoulder had ruined everything, sheâd had a friendship with Husk that would have weathered any number of late-night phone calls. He had always had time for her, and she always had time for him. She wasnât sure why she was so comfortable; it wasnât normal for a guy like that to put her so at ease, when that sort of rough-around-the-edges, gruff, unapproachable man had been the first to call her slurs and throw beer at her when she was alive. And before she could figure it out, the goddamn mark had gotten in the way and tried to tell her what she was supposed to be feeling, and it freaked her out, and it freaked him out, and now⌠now, sheâd never know.
Cherri was so frustrated she could scream. She had no one to call, because everyone at the Hotel wouldâ
Her eyes widened. Oh. Shit. I know.
Thirty seconds later, phone held to her ear and her hand rubbing a tear from her eye that she pretended not to feel, she listened to the rhythmic ringing before she heard the click and a deep, resonant voice filled her ears. âMiss Cherri Bomb?â
âIâve told you, Rocky, you donât have to call me that,â Cherri said as she walked towards her apartment window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer out onto the street below. âI didnât catch you at a bad time, did I?â
âHuh? Oh, no, weâre still on⌠hiatus,â he said after a careful pause. âNobody knows when the studioâll be running again. Uh, anyway, whatâs up?â
Cherri let out a long breath. ââŚokay, this might be a sensitive topic, but I really need you to stick with me. Itâs about Angel.â
âI figured,â Rocky said, and she could hear something sad in his tone. âHowâs he doing?â
âThatâs a complicated question. Heâs healed pretty well, physically.â
âThatâs good.â
Cherri nodded to herself. ââŚI just wanted to ask you⌠how he was at work, like⌠the last month before everything blew up.â
Rocky made a surprised noise, then lapsed into what sounded like thought. ââŚquiet, for Angel. I mean, he never really⌠Mr. Valentino didnât like him socializing with us too much, yâknow? But he always did as much as he could, especially once he didnât live in the building anymore. We figured getting out and into a new place⌠yâknow, made him braver. It was just the past few weeks that he got all thoughtful and shit, like he always had something on his mind. I mean, we all noticed the mark, but nobody said anything, since we knew Mr. Valentinoâd lose his shit if we did. I figured it was that. Wasnât it?â
Cherri sighed. âYeah. I mean, I guess.â She tapped her fingernails against her arm. âDid he seem⌠upset? About the mark.â
Rocky made a low sound, punctuated by some splashing and clinking; he must have been doing dishes or something. âNah. I wouldnât say that. He seemed like he was in a better mood than usual, especially those last couple of weeks. And one of the guys on the makeup team said he saw him running his fingers over it and smiling to himself. âŚwe figured, whoever it was, Angel mustâve been real happy about it.â
Resisting the urge to start cursing, Cherri let her head fall backwards and stared at the ceiling. âYou think so?â
âHe never said so, but⌠when you work with a guy for so many years, you get to figure out his tells, yâknow?â
âI guess youâd have to. âŚthanks, Rock, sorry to bother you.â
âNo bother. Was that helpful at all?â
âIt was⌠insightful, anyway. Iâll let you get back to your night.â
âIâve been standing these dishes up for a date for nearly a week. Theyâll break up with me if I take any longer.â
Cherri almost laughed as she said goodbye and hung up, her expression sobering as she folded her arms and leaned her shoulder against the window. This would have been so much easier if Angel had been miserable.
Then again, it was just like Alastor to go and actually make him happy before breaking his heart, wasnât it?
â˘â˘â˘
⢠Week Four
âPut the damn bottle down.â
Husk was difficult to startle. Maybe it was because he had spent way too long not letting anything catch him by surprise, or maybe he just wasnât jumpy, but he was difficult to consistently sneak up on⌠unless, of course, you were Niffty, and Niffty just so happened to be exactly that. The whiskey bottle hit the bar top before the bartender even registered lowering it, judging by the expression on his face, and his surprise morphed into a frown as he glared down at Niffty, watching her scramble up a stool and onto the bar itself.
âIâm off duty, I can drink if I want,â Husk grumbled. âWhat do you want?â
Niffty crossed her arms and glared up at Husk. âWeâre gonna go talk to Alastor.â
âPass.â
âWhy not?â Niffty demanded, stomping her foot. âYou know Angelâs leaving, and we need to do something about it!â
âNo, Niff, we donât.â Husk folded his arms and leaned back, looking away from her. âAngelâs a grown-ass man, no matter how he acts sometimes. If he wants to leaveââ
âBut he doesnât. You know he doesnât!â Niffty glared at him. âDonât make me play my trump card.â
Husk squinted at her. She could tell that he really wanted to dismiss her, but he was way, way too curious to just let it slide. â...the fuck are you talking about?â he asked after a long pause, his voice so reluctant, she could hear how much he hated that he was asking.
Niffty put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. âYouâre just scared that if you manage to keep Angel from leaving, you wonât be able to tell yourself that there was nothing you could have done about Cherri and youâll have to face the fact that maybe you could have gotten her to stay, too.â
Huskâs ears actually flattened at that. âYouâre crossing the line, Niff.â
âI donât care,â Niffty said. âAngelâs our family, Husk, and whether you wanna admit it or not, so is Alastor. And if we donât do anything, all the progress Alastorâs made since coming hereâs gonna be undone. Do you want to see that happen?â
He looked away, then closed his eyes. â...Alastor never listens to me.â
âBut he might.â Niffty let her voice soften. â...please, Husk? I wonât be able to convince him by myself. Just⌠please, can we try?â
He didnât answer. Instead, he dropped his rag on the bar and walked around it, heading for the side hallway. âCome on, letâs get this over with,â he said. Niffty squeaked and hopped down, scurrying along after him and following him down the hallway; she only stopped when she heard footsteps, and she glanced backwards just in time to catch a brief glimpse of Angel as he headed through the lobby and towards the front doors. She felt the urge to run after him, but she knew it wouldnât do any good. Not right now.
Alastorâs door was locked the same way it always was, and Niffty raised her small fist, knocking repeatedly. âAlastor, open up!â she called through the wood. âCome on, itâs us, let us in!â
With a heavy sigh, Husk took up knocking when her hand got tired. âNifftyâs pretty determined,â he called. âWe can stand here all night if we have to.â
The door didnât unlock, but a sudden shock of cold darkness from underneath the door made both of them back up quickly to give Alastorâs shadow room to manifest on the door. It looked distressed as it glanced between the two of them, and then seemed to deflate, like it thought they might be someone else.
â...will you let us in?â Husk asked the shadow. âItâs⌠pretty time sensitive.â
The shadow shook its head, body language obviously dejected.
âPlease,â Niffty said, clasping her hands together. âWe just wanna make everything better, okay? Canât you just let us try?â
A soft purring sound filled the air as the shadow rubbed its hands together, looking like it was debating something. Eventually, it vanished under the door again, and Niffty heard the lock click. She released a breath she didnât even know she was holding as Husk opened the door and ushered her in first.
Alastorâs room was an absolute wreck. It was worse than the broken desk had been; now, it looked like he had been on a mission to absolutely destroy everything he could get his hands on, furniture splintered and cracked and strewn everywhere. Niffty winced, tearing her eye from the disastrous mess (must clean must clean must clean) and forcing herself to look for Alastor.
âHeâs probably in the swamp,â Husk said, offering his arm out to Niffty. âCome on. Letâs go look for him.â She nodded, scurrying up his arm until she was on his shoulder. He then began walking, heading out into the seemingly infinite marshland that surrounded Alastorâs bedroom.
It wasnât long before they lost track of anything else, all semblance of the hotel falling away until Niffty could have believed they really were out in the middle of nowhere. Husk was quiet as he walked, so Niffty took up the mantle of calling for Alastor, cupping her hands around her mouth and pausing after each repetition of his name to see if she heard someone. Minutes passed, so long that Niffty started to feel lost, and she was about to suggest they retrace their steps when it suddenly started getting really, really dark.
âShit,â Husk muttered, falling still instantly.
âDonât say it,â Niffty hissed in admonishment; she already knew he was right, she didnât need an âI told you soâ to make herself feel worse. â...Alastor?â she called out carefully.
A creaking noise behind them made both of them fall silent. Neither of them dared turn around as they felt a presence approaching; Niffty could feel hot breath on the back of her neck, something that was at once terrifying and thrilling. âGet out,â Alastor hissed.
She could feel that Husk was shaking, just a little, as he drew a steadying breath. â...no,â he said.
âNo?â Alastor echoed. It was growing even darker, and Niffty could suddenly feel that Alastor was circling them. âHave you finally truly become in touch with your wish for death, Husker?â
âIf you want us to leave, throw us out,â Husk said, instead of answering. âNormally, Iâd be fine with letting you just ruin your own life, but Niffty really wants to talk to you, and Iâm not gonna let you bully her.â
Alastor seemed to hesitate at that. â...what do you want, Niffty?â
Niffty looked in the direction that his voice seemed to be coming from. âAngelâs leaving.â
There was a long silence. âI know,â Alastor said finally. She thought it sounded painful for him to admit.
Niffty frowned. âArenât you going to do anything?â
âNo.â
She heard him turn away and raised her voice before he could leave. âAlastor, come back!â she snapped. âWhy are you doing this?!â
âIâm not doing anything,â Alastor hissed, his voice distant, swallowed by shadow. âAngel Dust chose to leave. I had nothing to do with that.â
âAnd youâre just okay with that?!â
âNO!â The exclamation was so loud it hurt her ears, and out of the darkness, a figure swelled before them huge and imposing. His eyes were crazed, his smile strained and violent, his posture angular and sharp and standing over them like he had been broken and stitched together over and over again. Both Niffty and Husk shrank under his gaze, but to Huskâs credit, he didnât move away. âBut what am I supposed to do about it?! I have no right to speak to him! He probably has no desire to ever lay eyes on me again! I have never done anything except hurt him, and it will be better for him to leave! Heâll be happier without me around!â
âAlastorâŚâ Niffty whispered.
Husk drew a deep breath. â...Alastor,â he said, keeping his own voice level. âDo you really believe that?â
Alastor snarled, looking away, and didnât answer. He seemed to be shrinking into himself, as though his usual intimidation tactic was nothing more than posturing this time. It wasnât long before he was roughly the same size as he usually was, and his eyesâŚ
âŚis Alastor cryingâŚ?
Niffty placed her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping in shock. She felt Husk stiffen, but when he spoke, he kept from sounding like he had noticed. â...look,â Husk said, âI know I donât get it, not⌠not really. But I also do, better than you might think. And whatever you do now, thatâs completely up to you. Just remember itâs what you do right now thatâs going to matter, even if you change your mind one day. And⌠if you let Angel walk away right now, youâre never going to see him again. Not the same way, anyway.â Husk tilted his head a little. â...are you alright with that?â
Alastor opened his mouth. He slowly turned his head, looking between the two of them, his expression⌠confused. Lost, maybe. Niffty might have even gone so far as to say he looked scared, and he probably had no idea. â...no,â he said finally, his voice shaking.
âThen go,â Niffty said. âIf you really arenât okay with it, then go talk to him!â
Alastor shook his head. âHe doesnât⌠he doesnât want me toâŚâ
As he trailed off, Husk said, âIt doesnât fucking matter, Alastor. You have minutes to make a decision thatâs going to affect the rest of your life, and if youâre going to let your stubbornness lock you into something that will make you miserable, youâre going to have to deal with that. I know you donât like other things deciding your fate, but thatâs too damn bad, because when you have any kind of relationship with another person, what they decide matters, too. So do something.â
Alastor stared at Husk, and for a second, Niffty thought he might strike out at him.
Then, the shadows swallowed him, and he was gone.
Niffty blinked. â...did he go find him?â
âWho knows?â Husk asked, his voice suddenly drained. âWhatever he decided to do, itâs not our problem now. And as soon as we find our way out of this fucking place, youâre making dinner tonight.â
âUgh, fine, okay.â
â˘â˘â˘
Yeah, Cherri's a trans woman in my headcanon (and Maori!)
#my writing#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#radiodust#hazbin radiodust#hazbin husk#hazbin niffty#hazbin charlie#hazbin vaggie#hazbin cherri bomb#hazbin rocky#helluva millie#radiodust fanfic#hazbin fanfic
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#he will always be famous#the amazing digital circus#tadc jax#tadc#lackadaisy#lackadaisy rocky#rocky rickaby#murder drones#murder drones n#serial designation n#md n#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel angel dust#angel dust hazbin hotel#angel dust#jax tadc#n murder drones#rocky lackadaisy#jax the amazing digital circus#glitch productions#indie animation#meme#camiposts
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Human cherry bomb perhaps?
'Cherry Bomb' by The Runaways playing somewhere in the background. I tried to give her that punk(ish) 1980s look buuut she ended up a bit more chaotic I guess.
And I've collected all the Pokemons Hazbin sinners so far... I thinkđ¤. Perfect for the end of the year :D
#yep her boss tattoo is a rocky horror reference#ask#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbin hotel cherri bomb#hazbin cherri bomb#human cherri bomb#human au#myart
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#i love rocky#AND MICHAEL KOVACH VOICES HIM#I LOVE MICHAEL#i'll miss him so much in hazbin hotel my god#his angel dust was perfect#well high hopes for the new voice actor#ANYWAY#BACK TO ROCKY BECAUSE HE DESERVES ALL OF MY ATTENTION#THE VIOLIN??#THE FUCKED UP PART??#THE WAY HE FELL DOWN FROM THAT TOWER RIGHT ON HIS FACE LIKE A CARTOON CHARA... oh#LAUGHED A LOT AT THAT#AND HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH MITZI IS SO ADORABLE#LOVE THEM#LOVE HIM#LOVE THIS SHOW ALREADY#lackadaisy pilot#lackadaisy#lackadaisy animation#rocky rickaby
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Michael Kovach is the John Ratzenberger of indie animation.
#michael kovach#hazbin hotel#angel dust#murder drones#n murder drones#the amazing digital circus#jax#tadc jax#lackadaisy#rocky lackadaisy#indie animation#voice acting#he's gonna go far in the industry
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My favorite drawings 1/2
#hazbin hotel#Lackadaisy#Steven Universe#Cherri Bomb#padparadscha#pearl#amethyst#Pearlmethyst#niffty#velvette#alastor#rocky lackadaisy#angel dust#husk#Huskerdust#angelhusk#art
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ăđđžđ đđđ đđđşđ | đđžđ đđđ whimperă
ⳠRocky Rickababy ⌠Husk ⌠Lucifer Morningstar ⌠Sedgewick Sable ⌠Vox ⌠Dorian Zibowski ⌠Gale Waterdeep Sokka ⌠Leon s. Kennedy ⌠Cloud Strife
#sedgewick sable#dorian zibowski#hazbin hotel vox#lucifer morningstar#husk#husker#gale waterdeep#sokka#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#cloud strife#rocky rickaby#rocky rickaby x reader#husk x reader#husker x reader#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#hazbin hotel#lackadaisy#final fantasy vii#resident evil 4#vox x reader#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3 x reader#avatar the last airbender#avatar the last airbender x reader#zib x reader#sedgewick x reader
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A messy drawing that I didnât finish, I found it when I was looking through my iPad. I feel like these three would get together and go out and cause trouble, but they wouldnât invite any of Kovachâs other characters. There was originally a part two to the drawing where Rocky is drunk and crying while the others pretend not to know who he is.
#lackadaisy#rocky rickaby#lackadaisy cats#lackadaisy rocky#lackadaisy fanart#angel dust#angel dust fanart#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanart#jax#tadc jax#jax fanart#tadc#tadc fanart#the amazing digital circus#micheal kovach
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I wanna see Fanfics about a female reader whoâs a tomboy, isnât scared of horror movies, I see that a lot for some reason, favorite music genre is rock, literally the most chill, BASICALLY THE WHOLE NINE OF ALL THAT⌠I never see any of that.
Iâve seen, like, TWO fanfics of technically tomboy readers, but even so, it was never really mentioned, and they didnât really get into it. Plus considering the amount of Fanfics I read, two is literally next to nothing, and both are William Afton series⌠one of them not being updated for 11 months
#hazbin hotel#fnaf#tua#scream 1996#psychocuties#toh#demon slayer#adventure time#fiona and cake#fantastic beasts#lackadaisy#heathers#colby brock x reader#mdhm#creepypasta#alastor x reader#william afton x reader#five hargreaves x reader#stu macher x reader#dr masacrik x reader#toh hunter x reader#tanjiro x reader#marshall lee x reader#newt scamander x reader#rocky rickaby x reader#jason dean x reader#alan orion x reader#ticci toby x reader#notes
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My Little Black Heart Day 1
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
I've loved this movie since I was waaaaay too young to have seen it! Props to @zaebeecee for suggesting the scene for this one~
e l b o w s e x
#my art#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanart#radiodust#my little black heart#drawing challenge#spooky month#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#alastor#angel dust#rocky horror#rocky horror picture show#riff raff#magenta#elbow sex
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I hate drawing violins.
TRIGGER WARNING: FLASHING LIGHTS
#angel dust#angel dust hazbin hotel#hazbin angel dust#hazbin hotel#jax#jax tadc#tadc jax#tadc#the amazing digital circus#rocky#rocky lackadaisy#lackadaisy#N#n murder drones#murder drones#kinxart53#TRIGGER WARNING: FLASHING LIGHTS#multifandom madness
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To Sever a Loveless Bond
â˘â˘RadioDust Soulmate AUâ˘â˘
Part 8/?
First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter
Read on AO3
Chapter 8 art by @fletchingbrilliant
â˘â˘â˘
Iâm sorry this took forever, yâall, my autoimmune bullshit has been kicking my ass the last few days. But itâs long (lol)
CW for discussion of racism, homophobia, and medical abuse/trauma. Mild CW for the beginnings of the promised developing smut. It isnât graphic (yet). Alastorâs POV is wordy and meandering.
My beautiful and perfect husband designed and did art of Angel Dustâs ritual outfit, and itâs right here and you should go give him love.
â˘â˘â˘
Angel Dust arrived at Alastorâs room at precisely eight, just as instructed. Despite the fact that Alastor himself was the one who set the time, and the fact that he was aware Angel Dust had noticed his fondness for punctuality, he was still caught off guard when he heard the gentle knock on his door.
It wasnât normal, how often the spider was able to surprise him by doing nothing more than being himself. Alastor chalked up his own altered state to the conversation with Rosie earlier that afternoon, because if his fellow overlord had only one talent, it would be pushing him off balance with very little trouble. It wasnât really Angel Dust having some sort of profound effect on him. It was just Rosie, and the cursed mark on his arm.
Alastor knew that he could have just bade the door open on its own with his magic, or sent his shadow to do it, but he found himself crossing the room to welcome in his guest. Angel Dust stood on the other side of the wood, one set of hands clasped in front of his torso and the other set behind his back, looking⌠was he on edge? Nervous, perhaps? How odd.
It was common knowledge among the hotelâs residents that Angel Dust possessed the best fashion sense among them, but Alastor always found himself struck when he saw the other sinner in something he had never seen him wear before. The sheer aesthetic mastery he achieved with so little effort was frankly offensive. Tonight, it was a dress that was likely intended for galas or other evening events, elegant in its simplicity; it was a white dressâconforming perfectly to every curve on his bodyâwith a square neckline that revealed the entire length of his clavacles and dipped low enough to expose his chest fluff, long sleeves that extended to the middle of his hands, and one slit that went all the way up to his hip. His makeup was understated, and the necklace was a simple teardrop diamond on a short, fine chain. So feminine, and yet, it would be impossible to mistake him for a woman.
Angel Dust simply lookedâŚ
âCome right in, my dear,â Alastor said, taking a step back and motioning for Angel Dust to enter, promptly silencing that line of thinking. He shut the door, locked it, and then (for good measure) cast a quick seal to double up on the usual sound proofing he kept on his personal sanctuary, should Charlie or Niffty discover what was happening and get any bright ideas about finding out more.
âLettinâ me in yourself?â Angel Dust asked with a teasing edge to his voice, smiling at Alastor over his shoulder before he looked around the room.
âI thought you said I let you in last time.â
âYou did,â Angel Dust said slowly. âBut now you canât argue with me.â
Alastor couldnât help his soft laugh at the spiderâs sheer cheek. He never passed up an opportunity to give a fellow sass, did he? âAnd you have no one but yourself to blame for whatever might befall you for stepping into the Radio Demonâs domain with the knowledge that he let you in himself.â
Angel Dust opened his mouth, then closed it. ââŚyeah. Thatâs fair.â
Alastor led him to the edge of the wooden flooring that had once led to nothing but a wall, but now opened into the thick and humid expanse of Louisiana bayou that he liked to bring with him wherever he went. There were two tables present: one smaller with two chairs and two place settings, and a larger one that bore the dishes he had toiled away preparing that afternoon.
âOh! Right.â Angel Dust pulled a bottle of wine from behind his back and offered it to Alastor, his lips quirking. âHope this is okay.â
âItâs lovely,â Alastor assured him, pulling out one of the chairs for him to sit. Angel Dust did so, looking a little proud of himself, and Alastor watched his face for a brief moment before turning away to open the wine and let it breathe. âSo! I do hope you took my warning to heart, dear fellow. Iâm fairly certain that many of these dishes are like nothing youâve ever had before.â
âIt smells good,â Angel Dust said, and Alastor felt those magenta eyes following him as he went to the other table. âYou gonna tell me what you made?â
âAfter youâve tried it.â
The meal went much better than Alastor had anticipated (even better still than he had planned). Many people had such limited palates, so often by their own choice, but Angel Dust showed a real eagerness to try things heâd never had before: Oysters Bienville with shrimp remoulade, crawfish and langoustine bisque, pompano en papillote with stuffed Mirliton, veal grillades and grits, dirty rice, and chocolate and lemon Doberge cake with cafĂŠ brĂťlot. He didnât balk at a single offering, no matter how unfamiliar he was with any particular dishâhe even giggled and applauded when Alastor lit the cafĂŠ brĂťlot on fireâand he gave a genuine compliment for each one that came only after careful consideration of a few bites. Alastor was very nearly charmed by the deep and thoughtful nature Angel Dust was revealing.
Iâm afraid I truly did misjudge you, sha.
It was only over dessert and their coffee that conversation shifted from the foodâwhat each dish was, what was in it, how it was made, when Alastor had learned to make itâwhen Angel Dust leaned two elbows on the table to tuck his hands under his chin and tilt his head at Alastor in curiosity.
âHm?â Alastor picked up the bottle of wine and poured more for both of them; it didnât exactly go with the food anymore, but Hellâs wine was strong and he wasnât feeling particularly picky now that the presentation was over. âWhat is it?â
âWhatâs what?â
âYou have something running around through that tricky little mind of yours. Donât think I canât see it.â
âJust thinking,â Angel Dust said thoughtfully. âYâknow⌠weâve been livinâ in this hotel for a while. By now I know a fair bit of dirt on everybody who lives here⌠âcept you.â
Alastor raised an eyebrow at him. âI could easily say you know as much about me as most anyone else does.â Probably more. âI could also say there isnât much to know.â
âI believe the first one.â
âHah. Alright, Iâll play along. Why so curious?â
Angel Dust thought about it for a second before he picked up his wine in a third hand. âI dunno, really. I guess I find you interestinâ.â Apparently, Alastor made some kind of face at that, because Angel Dust immediately laughed. âOh, come on, you canât think itâs that weird.â
âInteresting isnât usually the word people use.â Alastor took a small sip of his wine, but it seemed like his dinner companion was waiting for him to elaborate, so he tilted his head and squinted his eyes. âWhat, precisely, would you like to know?â
âHm. âŚI have an idea,â Angel Dust said, somewhat quixotically. âYâlike games, right, Smiles?â
âI donât think I like where this is going,â Alastor said, his eyes only narrowing further.
âYou will, you will,â Angel Dust said, waving one hand at him. âI know you like knowinâ shit. I donât talk much about myself neither. So, how about this: Iâll ask you a question, and you can either answer it or refuse to. For every question you answer, Iâll answer somethinâ about me, no matter what it is. Sound fair?â
Alastor had to admit that he found himself intrigued. He was by means no expert when it came to interpersonal interactions and relationships, but he knew a proverbial brick wall when he saw one, and Angel Dust was impenetrable with his snark and his sarcasm and his deeply inappropriate comments. ââŚvery well, Iâll accept, with the understanding that I donât have to explain my refusal to answer.â
âNah, yâdonât have to explain nothinâ. So⌠you said your mother taught you how to cook, right? What was that like? I know you were born before me.â
Alastor contemplated before he set his glass down. ââŚit would have been⌠1909 or 1910, I suppose,â he said. âMy maman and I lived alone, just the two of us.â
âIn⌠New Orleans,â Angel Dust said, like he was guessing.
Alastor was surprised to hear him pronounce it correctly, close enough to how a proper native would. âMore specifically, a little village on the outside, but yes. I had no siblings and my father was⌠well. I have no idea!â Alastor said with a sharp and humorless grin. âNever met the man, very fortunate for him. In any case, she informed me she had no intention of doing all of the work, my âman of the houseâ status be damned, and if I was going to be helping her with the housework then I might as well do it properly. She began teaching me how to cook her way. Quite the punishing taskmaster, I must say, but straight to the point. It was particularly fortunate, since she accurately predicted that I would never marry and I would have been quite helpless once I was on my own without her instruction.â Angel Dust was smiling at him. It was strange. Alastor took particular note of the way his cheeks pushed his eyes into the shape of a pleased catâs. âWhat about you, sha? What was your little homestead like?â
Angel Dust made an irritated sound, rolling his eyes. âI was the youngest of three. My father was a mob boss, but he wasnât, yâknow, big league or anythinâ. He and my mom were fuckinâ awful, always screaminâ at each other and us. And my older brother was a tool our whole childhood, up until he figured out how much our parents sucked. Only one I got along with in a regular way was my twin sister. It's no wonder I ran away from home.â
âOh?â Alastor raised one eyebrow. âWhat spurred that on?â
âPops found out I was a queer and decided the best place for me was an asylum. Yâknow, to âget betterâ,â he said, making air quotes with his fingers and rolling his eyes. âAnd I said fuck that, so I left the state. Ended up goinâ back a year later, tho. How old were you when you started killinâ people?â
Alastor tilted his head, debating whether or not to answer. And then, to figure out which event truly qualified for the specific inquiry. ââŚthirteen, but that time, it was an accident. âŚmostly,â he amended with a wide grin. âFifteen, the first time I did it with true intention. It was just so much fun that I kept it up until the day I died.â
âWhat, didja get caught?â
âAh ah, thatâs two questions,â Alastor said, shaking a finger at him. âThis is your game, you know.â
âYeah, youâre right, dammit.â
âDid your father send you to the asylum when you returned to New York?â
Angel Dust sighed. âYeah,â he said, full of resignation. He picked up his fork and stabbed lightly at his piece of cake. âHe was furious, sent me there straight away. Ended up beinâ stuck in thereâŚâ He hesitated, thinking, going a little cross-eyed in the effort. ââŚshit, sorry, I donât remember it too good. Four years? Five? It was⌠â33 when I went in, and luckily theyâd just discovered insulin shock therapy, so that was fun. Only had to put up with that for a bit, because they figured out cardiazol shock therapy pretty soon after.â
Alastor winced, feeling the alien pang of genuine sympathy. âHow barbaric.â
Angel Dust smiled. âWell, I got released a couplea months after they heard about a fun new procedure cominâ outta Portugal.â He held his hands up and made an arc with them, like he was demonstrating a marquee. âThe prefrontal lobotomy. Of course, they didnât know what they were doinâ, and they fucked it up. Went in gay, left gay and with a hole in my head, and a helluva lot meaner than I was goinâ in.â
âI see,â Alastor said thoughtfully. âThat explains theâŚâ He touched the spot under his own left eye.
âYeah.â Angel Dust shrugged. âIt was a long time ago, Iâm over it. So didja get caught or what?â
Alastor sighed. âI was hoping you had forgotten your question.â
âYâdonât have to answer, yâknow.â
âIâm well aware.â Alastor contemplated just refusing, but something compelled him to speak. âFrankly it was much worse than that. I never was caught in my activities, not incarcerated once. My undoing was nothing more or less than dumb luck on the part of some buffoon of a hunter. He likely had no idea that I was there, and I doubt he ever suffered any sort of consequence.â
He bid the sound of the barking dogs to leave him be, the bitter shock that lasted less than a moment, and the desperation for a reason, rather than the suggestion that in the end, it did not matter how fiercely he took hold of his own fate.
Angel Dust tilted his head. ââŚIâd think even huntinâ accidents were takinâ seriously in the South.â
âNot when the one holding the gun was white.â
âOh.â Angel Dust thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. âOhhh. Shit. Creole. Right.â
Alastorâs smile was humorless. âJust another day in the shining utopia that is the home of the free.â
âStill bullshit.â
âI couldnât agree more. You were Italian, you said? It must have been complicated for you, too, I remember hearing about the David Hennessy case.â
Angel Dust shrugged. âIt was New York, it was⌠complicated. But I woulda stood out no matter my heritage. I was born with albinism, straight through. White hair, pale eyes, the whole thing. Woulda ended up in the circus if my family wasnât rich.â
âSo⌠youâre saying you havenât changed much. Physically, I mean.â
âYou got no clue how hard it was, adjusting to having four whole new arms.â
They kept on this wayâAlastor granting Angel Dust comparatively minor details of his own life, and receiving something of a rant in exchange that made it sound like the spider had been dying to talk to someone about all of thisâuntil it was surprisingly late indeed. They had moved to the chairs in front of the fireplace, Angel Dust curled up in a way that was somehow still remarkably elegant, even in that dress.
Both chairs were meant to be occupied, werenât they? Or was the other always just a symbol, a reminder of what I may never have?
ââŚthis isnât related to the game, but⌠There is something else I am curious about,â Alastor said after a stretch of surprisingly comfortable silence. âYou may, of course, refuse to answer.â
âHm?â Angel Dust focused on him. ââŚokay. Hit me.â
âItâs about your work.â He saw Angel Dust stiffen, just a little, but continued on anyway. âI was wondering how someone like you, fiercely independent and outspoken as you are, ended up working for someone like Valentino, of all sinners.â
Angel Dust sighed, tilting his head against the curve of the chair and looking at the fireplace. His gaze carried them far away, the empty green glow casting his companion in an eerie light that made Alastorâs stomach turn. ââŚa series of bad decisions that didnât seem unreasonable at the time,â he said. âI mostly made my way in Hell hookinâ or performinâ in skeezy clubs, when I could get gigs. Sometimes I managed to get drag shows, those were my favorite. And I always liked beinâ on stage, it wasnât somethinâ I really got to do in life.â
He stopped for a moment, and Alastor let him think. He couldnât help wondering if anyone else had ever spoken to him about his earliest days in Hell⌠besides his friend Cherri Bomb, most likely. That was the sort of thing close chums discussed, right? Or did they focus solely on the party life? Perhaps he could inquire about that later.
ââŚVal saw one of my shows pretty soon after he joined Vox, before they were actually the Vees. Dunno what he was even doinâ there, he was an overlord and somethinâ of a celebrity in the sex work circuit. Everybody wanted to impress him, yâknow? If Valentino thinks youâre worth somethinâ, you could find yourself with real, steady work, maybe even in his new porn industry. And we all wanted that, yâknow? It wasâŚâ Angel Dust contemplated his words. ââŚit felt safer,â he amended, and though he didnât elaborate, Alastor couldnât begin to imagine what sort of dangers and indignities could befall someone in that career. If Valentino felt like a safer option, it had to be more foul than even Alastor had imagined. âHe stayed for my show, and he wanted to talk to me after. Said it wasnât the first time heâd seen me. Said he liked me.â
Alastor could picture it quite viscerally: Valentino using his power and influence to manipulate a weaker sinner, Angel Dust hopeful and desperate and comparatively naive. He found his dislike of the moth growing more targeted, and steadily more intense as he listened.
âHe offered me a job, and it was a good offer⌠or, at least, better than any Iâd ever had before. And I was⌠taken with him,â Angel Dust said, his tone caught somewhere between wistful and disgusted with himself. âHe was very charminâ in those days. I guess he knew I could have left at any time, and he wanted to make sure I didnât do that. He bought me clothes, he gave me a beautiful bedroom, he got Fat Nuggets for me⌠I guess I thought I was in love with him.â
Alastorâs claws sank into the arm of his chair, popping through the cloth to dig into the stuffing and the wooden frame beneath. Angel Dust didnât appear to notice, even as Alastorâs teeth gritted hard enough for the Radio Demon to hear it.
âI still dunno why, exactly, I signed my soul over. Thought it was a good idea at the time, but I couldnât have given you a real reason, even back then. After that, I guess Val didnât feel he had to behave himself anymore. I mean, he was still charminâ as long as he was happy with me, but he didnât have to be nice when I wasnât doinâ what he wanted like he did before. And by the time I figured out I didnât have a choice no more, it was way too fuckinâ late.â
Angel Dustâs silence was more final than before, and far more contemplative. He had his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in his hand as he stared at the fireplace; Alastor couldnât remember ever seeing him so melancholy, and he was struck by the image for two reasons. First, he found it hard to believe that Angel Dust was comfortable showing that level of emotional vulnerability in front of him, of all people⌠and second, he didnât like seeing Angel Dustâs sadness, and it made something deep inside him want to rip whatever was causing that sadness into a thousand bloody pieces.
âYou deserve far better than him,â Alastor said quietly, his usual crackle vanishing from his voice. âYou always did.â
Angel Dust exhaled sharply, the ghost of a derisive laugh. âDo I?â he asked, glancing at Alastor. Something that he saw in the Radio Demonâs face gave him pause, and he sat up a little. ââŚthanks. For sayinâ that, I mean,â he said in a more serious tone. âI guess you donât know anythinâ about breakinâ out of a soul contract, do you, Smiles?â
Alastorâs smile felt more ironic on his face than it usually did. âNo, sha, I do not.â
âI was afraid of that.â Angel Dust sighed, then smiled. âItâs okay. It is,â he said insistently when Alastor opened his mouth. âI donât believe itâll last forever. I canât. And one day, I wonât have to worry about Val anymore.â
âI think youâre right.â
Their conversation redirected, but the topic cast a heaviness over the last few minutes before Angel Dust left. Despite the air, he thanked Alastor for the evening in a manner so sincere that Alastor couldnât question it, and when the spider smiled, there was a gentle glow in the magenta of his eyes that told the Radio Demon that he wasâŚ
âŚhappy?
Was Angel Dust somehow happy, even now, even after talking at such length about his boss⌠even while alone with Alastor in his room?
He couldnât imagine such a thing to be possible, and he would have dismissed it as ridiculous⌠if not for that soft, warm glow in his eyes.
Alastor went back to his chair and sent his shadow after Angel Dust; it followed him to his door, then stopped right outside it once the spider had gone in. Through the strange channels that connected him to the shadowy form, he heard Angel Dust walking around his room, humming softly to himselfâDream A Little Dream, an old standard Alastor knew wellâand telling his hellpig that he had a good time.
âDammit, Nuggs,â Angel Dust whispered beyond the door, âwhat am I gonna do? Heâs soââ
Alastor dismissed the shadow before he lost his self control and sent it in to properly spy on the other sinner⌠or worse, found out what Angel Dust was about to say he âwas soâ. Once the shadow was back where it belonged, firmly attached to his feet, he sat and picked at the loose, torn threads in the arm of his chair and wondered when it was that he started wanting so fervently to add Valentinoâs voice to his unearthly radio chorus.
â˘â˘â˘
Angel couldnât put his finger on exactly what it was, but something had shifted between him and Alastor after their dinner together.
He couldnât tell if it was positive or negative, either, because Alastor seemed to be wrestling with how he felt about their interactions at all. Over the next two days, Angel saw Alastor three times: every single one of them, Alastor greeted him with undue enthusiasm, and then promptly remembered that he had something pressing to handle and excused himself. Even with that, Angel couldnât believe that Alastor was mad at him, mostly because he wasnât behaving like he was angry or even annoyed.
He also wasnât acting like nothing had changed, so Angel didnât know what to make of it.
âOff to work, Angel?â Vaggie asked as Angel picked up the pen to sign out in the ledger on the hotel counter. She was focused on what looked like the hotelâs books, flipping slowly through them as though she was less working and more reading.
âYep. What can I say, it was a nice few days off,â Angel said casually, trying not to let it show just how uncomfortable he was with the idea of seeing Valentino again.
The harpy angel glanced up at him, her expression serious. Angel blinked twice, wondering if he was about to get beaten up; he and Vaggie had never really gotten along, and despite the fact that they rarely fought anymore, he never knew what to expect from her. âAre youâŚâ She stopped herself, thought for a moment, and he could actually see her decide to go through with it. âAre you getting yourself into trouble, chico?â
âWhat?â Angel blinked twice at her. âAbsolutely not! I ainât doinâ shit.â
âYeah,â Vaggie said flatly, her one eye half lidded. âDonât think I havenât noticed that something is going on. Youâre acting weird. So is Alastor. So are Husk and Niffty. And yeah, fine, youâre all always weird, but this is different.â
Angel felt his mask dropping, and fought to keep it on. âDonât worry about me, Vags, Iâm fine. I ainât gettinâ myself into anythinâ I canât handle.â
Vaggie rolled her eye. âI donât think thatâs ever been true, but fine. Whatever. JustâŚâ She exhaled on a frustrated huff, stirring her bangs. ââŚif you need anything, or whatever⌠you can come talk to me.â
Angel frowned at the offer. âIâm not gonna compromise Charlieâs project. Donât worry.â
âThat isnât why Iâm offering.â Vaggie didnât elaborate, going back to the books. âTry to have a good time at work.â
ââŚuh. Yeah. Right. âŚthanks.â Angel stared at her for another few seconds, but she didnât look up, so he was left to wonder what the fuck that was all about as he headed out of the hotel and made his way to VoxTek.
Nothing felt different as he passed through the lobby and into a door marked âEmployees Onlyâ, and Angel wondered if that was proof that he was just being paranoid, or if there really was something legitimately wrong. Nobody spoke differently to him, and he returned the friendly greetings he got as he headed for the elevators and took one up to the 17th floor, which was entirely devoted to Valentinoâs pornography department.
âOh, thank fuck, youâre here,â Wire, Travisâs PA, said the instant he walked into the studio. Her depressed and âweight of the worldâ hunch was more pronounced than usual, white hair curtained haphazardly around her face, her obsidian skin greyed from exhaustion and her white eyes somehow looking bloodshot, even with their black sclera. âToday is going to be weird and I need you, and everyone else, to please not act like itâs weird.â
âOh, goodie,â Angel said flatly, removing his sunglasses and gesturing loosely with them. âVal in a mood today?â
âI⌠have no idea.â Wire tapped all fourteen of her fingers on the back of her clipboard with a rattling click like an overexcited centipede. âI⌠none of us have seen him today. He isnât going to be here.â
Angel stared at her, his mind blanking for just a moment. âHeâs⌠why?â Valentino had never not been present for one of Angelâs shoots in his entire career.
Wire shrugged, peering up through her curtain of hair. âWe werenât told. Just that Vox is standing in for him today.â
âWhaâ Vox?!â Angel squeaked. âWhat the fuck?â
âThat was our question. I have your scripts for tonight,â she said, pulling some papers off her clipboard and holding them out. âWardrobeâs already got your stuff laid out in your dressing room, and hair and makeup is ready whenever you are. Try to make it fifteen, weâre sticking as close to schedule today as we can.â
ââŚyeah. Okay.â
Angel headed for his dressing room and picked up the first costume that had been laid out for him. It was very particularly placed, and immediately, Angel saw why; the black and deep crimson material was about eighty percent straps, black leather that wound up both legs to his hips and up all four arms from the middle of his hands to a few inches from his shoulders, as well as his waist. The dress wasnât a dress, but material that went over his head and hung down his front and back with absolutely no attachments at the sides, instead held in place by the waist wrapping. Chains hung from his wrists, from a choker around his neck, and around his exposed hips, the look completed with a wide hood that hung across his exposed shoulders and held an inverted pentagram at the top that hung across his forehead.
Angel carefully pulled the black and crimson attire onâit wasnât often that he got to wear black, let alone something this interesting, which he had to attribute to Vox and his obsession with aestheticsâand tried not to think of Alastor as he picked up the three props that had been left for him: a grimoire that contained what seemed to be his most significant lines and some fake seals and sigils with obvious sex imagery, a wicked-looking dagger with a long, curved blade, and a black dildo with a fairly simple shape. Stepping into black heeled boots, Angel picked up his script pages in his free hand and headed back into the main part of the studio.
It was colder than it usually was; Valentino insisted on keeping the studio almost sweltering for his own personal comfort, but⌠thinking about it, Angel wasnât positive Vox could feel temperature. Or perhaps his machine parts would overheat? He sat in the chair that had been prepped for him and said hello to the hair and makeup team before going over the script while they worked.
It wasnât too unusual of a scenario: sexy cultist summons otherworldly entity, uses it for his own pleasure until he loses control, entity takes over, quickest mind break in history. The dialogue was better than the usual scripts, and Angel begrudgingly attributed that to Vox as well, though he wouldnât tell the CEO that; then again, Vox did serve as scriptwriting consultant on basically all of the companyâs best-rated shows, so he supposed he shouldnât have been surprised.
âAh, hello, Angel Dust! How are you this evening?â
Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.
âHey, Vox,â Angel said, turning his head enough to look up at the man himself, standing only a short distance away, wearing that smile that made him so popular among Hellâs housewife demographic. Recognizing immediately that they were playing this as chill and normal as was necessary for the company image, Angel favored him with a lazy, seductive smile. âJust goinâ over the pages for the first shoot. Yours, I take it? Itâs gonna be a nice change, workinâ with one of your scripts. We donât get to do that much here.â
âSo glad to hear you approve!â Vox said with that telecaster brightness, placing his hands on his waist. âItâs been a while since Iâve been on this end of production. Iâm very much looking forward to seeing Valentinoâs department at work.â
Angel turned his head and tipped his face up slightly, opening his eyes and rolling them back as one of the team (he couldnât tell who in this position) applied eyeliner to his waterline, enough that it would definitely run when he cried. âI was surprised when I heard Val wasnât gonna be here today,â he said; he knew Vox could tell he was fishing, but he kept his flirtatious voice firmly in place regardless. âI hope heâs okay?â
âOh, you know Val,â Vox said, which told Angel nothing. A few moments later, his hair and makeup were done, and Vox continued, âWould you ladies excuse us for a moment? I need to speak with Angel.â
The team scattered immediately, clearly glad to be out of the immediate range of Voxâs awareness. Angel didnât blame themâhe would have really liked to follow them to the other side of the studioâbut he kept his seat, raising his eyes to meet Voxâs in the mirror when he felt the other sinner step up behind him.
Again.
âWhatâs up, Mister Boss Man?â Angel asked, glad his voice came out steady.
Vox considered him in the mirror, silently, and once again Angel was struck with the idea that Vox was evaluating him the same way he would do to a piece of art or furniture he was considering purchasing or, more accurately, one his spouse had chosen to decorate with and he hadnât decided if he liked it or not yet. Valentino terrified Angel more than anyone had ever met, but no oneâno oneâhad ever made Angel feel like an object more than Vox.
Voxâs face was strange in the mirror. When just looking at Vox, it was sometimes hard to remember that his face was a magical digital projection and not an actual, tangible thing; but in the reflection, Angel could see the minor artifacting on his screen, tiny pixels that flickered at the corners of his eyes when he blinked or the edge of his mouth when it moved. It was unnerving.
Vox leaned over him, placing his hands on the arm rests of his chair and functionally trapping him against the makeup station vanity. His smile was still in place, but his words and tone no longer matched it. Overhead, a fluorescent light flickered with an electric buzz, casting the two of them into odd shadows for a moment. âIâm not sure what, precisely, you did to Valentino,â he said quietly, âbut I suggest you donât do it again.â
Angel suddenly felt cold. âI⌠whaddya mean?â
âI mean, Valentino is currently not allowed to be in the studio with you, because Iâm not positive he wonât kill you next time he sees you. He was very angry the last few times Iâve spoken with him.â
The light flickered again, more violently, and Angel swallowed painfully as he racked his brain to try and come up with what, exactly, it was that he had done wrong. âI⌠I donâtâŚâ
âAt the moment, my presence here is currently protection for you. If you give me a reason, any reason at all, I will rescind that protection and leave you to deal with Valentino alone. Am I clear, Angel Dust?â
âY⌠yes, Vox,â Angel said weakly, tearing his eyes from the mirror to stare at the vanityâs table top. âI wonât. I promise.â
âGood.â Vox straightened, and out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw his hand moving to grab Angelâs shoulder with threatening, electric blue claws. Just before he made contact, the light that had been flickering on and off burst with a loud, sharp pop that sent glass and filament to the floor where it shattered further against the wood. Nearby, at the same moment, a camera short-circuited with a buzz and a few smaller pops that preceded a thin trail of smoke leaking from the metal seams of the casing.
âOh, what the fuck,â Vox muttered under his breath, withdrawing to find someone to sweep up and fix the camera. Angel didnât wait, sliding out of the chair and grabbing his props and script before he hurried towards the set. He only got a few steps away before he hesitated, then turned, looking back to where the camera was still smoking and a stagehand was hurriedly sweeping up the broken light.
There wasnât anything else there, butâŚ
Angel shook the feeling off and turned again. He needed to focus. He needed to work. He needed to make sure Vox stayed happy with him, because if whatever had soured Valentinoâs mood to the point that Vox himself felt the need to intervene⌠well, then, their CEO was right. Valentino probably would kill him.
â˘â˘â˘
This had been a very bad idea.
Calm down.
There was nothing for it now, of course. He had already committed, and he wasnât about to leave now that he knew the situation.
Of course, Alastor was notâstrictly speakingâactually inside VoxTekâs studio. It wasnât that he had any compunctions about going into Voxâs territory, nor did he have any fear, but Charlie had made it quite clear what had happened the last time a resident of the hotel had shown up at Angel Dustâs place of employment and attempted to meddle with his work. Alastor had no intention of making things more difficult for the little spider; he was simply⌠curious.
Their conversation from two nights earlier had been going through Alastorâs mind in a way that the words of others usually didnât. Typically, Alastor simply filed things he learned about others in the annals of his exceptional memory, only bringing those details up when they were relevant. Angel Dust, however, was proving himself to be something of a persistent little⌠irritant? He supposed that was the right word, because for some reason, he found himself concerned with the other sinner returning to his place of employment alone and unattended. Of course, it wasnât completely nonsensical; the Vees were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, yes, but they were very determined, and even Alastor couldnât deny that their methodology had become shockingly effective and efficient. If they said they would âfix a problemâ, Alastor had no doubt that they would do their level best to be a pain in his neck, and that was an amusing little distraction that sounded neither little nor amusing.
Besides, they possessed the contract for Angel Dustâs soul, and what kind of hotelier would he be if he left the spider to fend for himself in such exceptionally unfair circumstances?
That was, in short, how Alastor found himself bidding his shadow to depart from the Hazbin Hotel and make its way to VoxTek. His physical form stayed comfortable and warm in his room, seated before his fireplace, but his mind and awareness was entirely placed within the tenebrous form that slipped from shadow to shadow until it reached the studio where Angel Dust made the lionâs share of his money.
Seeing Vox was⌠a surprise, to say the least; he assumed this would be beneath him, but then, assuming anything was beneath Vox was giving the other overlord too much credit. But seeing how he interacted with Angel DustâŚ
Alastor had thought many things about Angel Dust over the time they had known each other, but never once had he thought he would see the spider so⌠cowed. He looked small and frightened as Vox imposed himself over his chair with that poisoned smile and his murmured threats, and Alastor wondered: if this was the effect Vox had on him, how much worse was the hand of the one who held his leash?
Normally, such an open display of weakness would anger Alastor or, at the absolute least, frustrate him. But knowing Angel Dust the way he was beginning to, and knowing that he only feared those he had been given true reason to fearâŚ
Alastor felt anger, yes. But it was not at Angel Dust.
The light exploding was an unfortunate mishap. The camera was slightly more intentional, mostly because it would probably be annoying and expensive to fix, but when he saw Vox about to lay his hand on the spiderâs shoulder, he felt a spike of rage that he couldnât contain. It did, at least, have the positive side effect of separating them, but the way Angel Dust turned to look back at the shadows made Alastor wonder if heâd been caught out. He briefly considered aborting this mission and returning his awareness to himself, because in truth, he wasnât sure why he was here at all.
Then, the other sinner went to his set, and Alastor stayed. He wondered if he would regret not taking the opportunity to leave when he presented it to himself.
Stagehands scuttled about the set, getting everything ready for the shoot, and despite Alastorâs utter disdain for anything related to picture shows he could not deny an interest in the process of their creation. Most of those who made them were, after all, artists; the fact that their product was worthless did not change their capacity for creativity or their skill. When Alastor had first been getting to know the hotelâs residents, he had examined quite a number of Angel Dustâs pornographic films, and heâd found them almost unbearably dull⌠save one detail that seemed consistent throughout the entire catalogue: Angel Dust could act, and he could act well. Even when the script was unbearable garbage, he sold the scenario through either commitment or through playing up how absolutely absurd it was, and Alastor could tell when he was adlibbing because the dialogue suddenly improved dramatically.
Alastor wanted to see his working process. He wanted to watch him at his craft, no matter how pathetic the final product was. That was the way you got to know an artist, after all, and maybe⌠maybe through knowing his art, Alastor would begin to understand why Angel Dust had burrowed his way into the Radio Demonâs mind.
âAlright, everyone, letâs get focused,â Vox called to the room at large, cutting through Alastorâs thoughts in the most unpleasant way possible. He let his shadow drift closer to where Vox sat beside an avian-like sinner with black feathers and a heart-shaped iris; Travis, likely, if Alastor was remembering Angel Dustâs complaints accurately. Vox leaned closer to Travis, speaking in a low voice. âLetâs try to keep this to one take, wardrobe says the costume isnât designed to be torn up more than once.â
Travis gave his boss the nod of the sycophant and raised his bullhorn, calling out over the studio in a strange and tinny voice. âWeâre on single take mode, people! Weâre down a camera, so you other three, keep that in mind when youâre covering shots! And I swear to fuck, Lars, if that boom mic shows up in one more shot I am shoving it up yer ass. Quiet on set!â
It was, admittedly, a bit fascinating to be on this side of the proceedings. The actual set seemed small for something that Alastor knew, logically, would look enough like a real outdoor location on film. The rest of the room was cast in darkness, the floor covered in heavy cables and so many people holding cameras or sound equipment, positioning lights, or just standing and watching.
The set itself looked like a night scene in the middle of a forest clearing. A large stone altar dominated the centerâfor the requisite fornication, Alastor presumedâwith an actual fire lit in the foreground. Angel Dust knelt between the fire and the altar, the yellow-orange light of the flame casting shadows across his face and body that seemed even starker from the false silvery-blue moonlight cast by the can lights overhead. They had even managed to cast the illusion of shadowy tree branches across the floor, lending the scene an eerie sort of atmosphere that Alastor could appreciate.
âOkay, Angel baby,â Travis said, and Angel Dust looked up from the open book he held in two hands. âThe lines ya got in yer book are the most important. Feel free to improv around whatever else, just give the deal-makers what they wanna see. Rocky, you ready?â
As Angel Dust nodded his acknowledgment, Alastor saw a large and furry paw rise up from behind the altar and give a thumbs up. âReady!â a deep voice called.
âGood. Alright, people, weâre on in ten!â
As Travis counted down, Alastor watched Angel Dust close his eyes, roll his head, then let it hang, his hood covering his face with fabric and shadow. When the director called action, everything went silent in the room, save for the ambient noise of a gentle breeze rustling through tree leaves and the occasional sound of some animal out in the night.
Angel Dust kept his head down for several seconds, then slowly raised his face, his expression the somber and serious look of one who knewâor, at least, thought they knewâhow dangerous the task they were about to undertake was. When he spoke, his Brooklyn accent had all but disappeared, temporarily abandoned in favor of a neutral tone that was softer and rounder but somehow still quintessentially him.
âTo the Air of the North, I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the breath of Azazel in the domain of Egyn.â
The chains around Angel Dustâs wrists jingled softly, ominously, as he reached up with one hand and delicately twisted his fingers through a few strands of the hair-like fur at his crown. He pulled the strands free with a small gasp that was likely intended to spark the idea of eroticism, and Alastor could appreciate that, coupled with the brief and tiniest pinch at the corners of his eyes. He dropped the fur into the fire, where it caught with a bright blue spark and disappeared almost as quickly.
A summoning, Alastor thought, the scenario reminding him of a time quite long ago. The shadow was not his body, but even so, the realization made him feel as though a shiver passed across his skin.
âTo the Fire of the South, I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the flames of Samael in the domain of Amaymon.â
Angel Dust reached into the fluff at his chest, which was apparently much thicker than Alastor had guessed, as he produced a small leather pouch tied with a cord from somewhere within it. With two hands, he opened the pouch, then tossed a pinch of whatever was inside into the fire; it caught with a spark and a loud hiss, and through the shadow, Alastor could smell saffron and ginseng.
âTo the Earth of the East, I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the ground of Mahazael in the domain of Oriens.â
Now, Angel Dustâs voice was trembling, and his breath shook as he held one hand out. Slowly, he raised a curved, sharp dagger, one that looked specially designed for ritual work, and placed the blade against his open palm. He closed his fingers around it, his face losing its confidence in favor of trepidation and fear. Alastor could hear the rate of his breath increasing as he worked himself up, and then all at once, he truly did slice his hand open with a cry that was almost a high pitched moan. The black blood of the sinner, glittering with a red sheen in the firelight, poured from the wound on his palm and into the fire for a brief moment before it began to taper off. The only sounds Alastor could hear were the small, whispered hisses of the blood splattering the burning wood, and the shaken breath of the sinner as he gathered himself to finish his ritual. Angel Dust clenched his bloody hand into a fist and pressed it to his chest, smearing his chest fluff with black that gleamed red, and Alastor could not look away.
âTo⌠the Water of the West⌠I call upon thee: a sacrifice for the rivers of Azrael⌠in the domain⌠of Paimon.â
Angel Dust swallowed with an audible click, then closed his eyes as he unclenched his bloody hand and held it out, his fingers wet and trembling. Alastor could see the fear and determination on his face as he braced himself, then thrust his hand into the fire. Angel Dustâs scream was a howl of pain that married with ecstasy, his fangs bared as he threw his head back and cried out to the false sky for relief that would not be granted.
It was the most beautiful sound Alastor had ever heard.
The fire turned a bright purple, then it seemed to dissipate upwards, swirling from the firewood and into the air before it vanished in a cloud of pale smoke.
Gasping with pain and the exertion of his ritual, Angel Dust clasped his now burned hand to his chestâwas it an effect, or had he really hurt himself for authenticity?âand looked around with wide eyes that glowed a deep magenta in the loss of the firelight. He swallowed again, slowly gaining control over his breathing, and waited, but nothing appeared to be happening.
ââŚfuck,â Angel Dust whispered, turning to his book and flipping frantically through it. âFuck, fuck, fuckâŚ! No, it was right, I know it was rightâŚ!â His voice slowly raised until he got to his feet, still holding his injured hand close to himself as he looked around with a manic sort of desperation. âWhere are youâŚ?!â he shouted at nothing. âI know youâre there, I know you can hear me! I paid your price, and you will obey me!!â His voice pitched into a scream, cracking just a little, and echoed through the studio so much the same as it would through a forest clearing.
For a moment, there was nothing but Angel Dustâs breath. Then, there was a crack, like a bone or the branch of a tree snapping, and the spider tensed. Another cracking followed, and then another, as a deep red light slowly illuminated the space behind the altar from the ground. A figure began rising up behind Angel Dust, clawed hands grabbing hold of the altar to pull a body broader and taller than the spider up from what seemed like a deep pit.
Angel Dust began turning with wide, terrified eyes as the figure continued to rise, standing to his full height and towering over the one that had summoned him. The demon stood in sharp silhouette, furred and muscular with great horns and a deep, growling pant as he stared down at Angel Dust.
âWho dares to summon me?â he asked in a deep, guttural voice, one that seemed to rattle through Angel Dustâs body by the way he shuddered.
âYour new master,â Angel Dust said, his voice gaining a confidence and bravado that began to carry into his posture. âYou are now bound to me, creature, as a slave to his goddess, and you will do as I command.â
The demon laughed, a low and unnerving chuckle that would have made the fur along Alastorâs spine stand up if he truly stood in the same space. âYou presume to command me?â He was slowly walking around the altar, but Angel Dust met him at the foot of it and placed his bloody and burned hand on the demonâs chest. He froze with a startled gasp, and Angel Dust smirked wide and sharp as his glowing eyes narrowed. Then, with a motion that looked graceful and delicate, he pushed the creature backwards onto the altar.
As the large demon landed on his back, Angel Dust used all the arachnid grace his body possessed to climb up onto the stone and crawl over the supine figure. His smile was growing into something different, something at once crazed and enticing and perhaps what was known as erotic, his legs spreading to straddle the larger creatureâs hips and his two lower hands pressing against his chest to keep him down.
Alastor felt a sudden and alien sort of desperation to know what sort of action or word or dance could draw that smile out of Angel Dust without the compulsion of performance.
The spider leaned forward on his lower hands, arcing his back and stretching his upper set of arms over his head in a display slow and languid, his hand smearing blood along the leather strapping that hid so much of his skin and fur. âI paid your price,â Angel Dust repeated, his voice no longer a panicked scream, but a low purr that sent a strange sort of pulsing sensation along the memory of Alastorâs skin. âAnd now, you will service me, creature.â
Angel Dust rolled his hips in a manner that seemed too rough and violent to be typical of pornography, and the creature grunted with equal pain and pleasure. He moved as though he was going to sit up, but Angel Dust was quicker, and like a spider hunting its prey, he grabbed the creature by his horns and forced his head back down onto the stone as he bore over him in a beautiful and lithe arch. Alastor could feel the flesh around his own antlers tingling as Angel Dust, with that same smile, opened his mouth and ran his tongue along the ridges of the striped horn.
It was here that Alastor had expected to lose interest and planned to take his leave, but the sight of Angel Dust, masking such obvious fear with a guise of control and power, burned and bleeding and armed with that dagger, transfixed him. The spider rolled his hips against the beastâs pelvis again, his head falling back and his breath leaving in a slow hiss, as though he was content to take his pleasure at his own leisure.
But the demon beneath him had other plans, and Alastorâs own breath shuddered as a large and clawed hand suddenly grabbed the chain around Angel Dustâs throat and yanked. With a fluidity he should not have possessed, the creature switched their positions, now kneeling between the spiderâs spread legs as he lay sprawled on the altar.
âWhatâ?! No!â Angel Dust shouted, a note of panic in his voice as his eyes widened. âYou canât do this!â
âThen stop me, little one,â the creature growled with a low laugh. Angel Dust bared his teeth and raised his hand with the dagger, but before he could stab the beast, his wrist was caught in one of those powerful hands and slammed down onto the stone top of the altar above his head. Angel Dust cried out in unmistakable arousal, his fingers dropping the dagger over the side of the stone where it fell to the ground out of reach.
âNo, stop itâŚ!â Angel Dustâs protests were weaker now; it should have been enough to take Alastor out of the moment, and yet, he could do nothing but stare as the beast somehow attached the chains around his wrists to the altar, spreading his arms and leaving his body vulnerable. âRelease me!â
âYou and I both know you donât want that.â The beast grabbed the front of Angel Dustâs robe and ripped, claws tearing the fabric to ribbons as he pulled most of it free from his body. Angel Dust cried out as he was exposed, his back arching off the stone and his head turning to the side. âYou will not escape me.â
Panting, Angel Dust narrowed those glowing eyes at him, cheek still pressed to the stone. At the same time, his lips curved into that sharp, crazed smirk again.
âDo your worst.â
Alastor paid no more attention to the beast. He could not look away from Angel Dustâs face, every twitch of pain and every cry of pleasure, the way he grimaced with gritted teeth and the way he exhaled so breathily as his lips spread into a wide and wanton smile, his body shuddering with barely-controlled ecstasy as he was thrust into again and again. His cries, his screams of âyesâ and âmoreâ and âfuck meâ, his desperate and agonized beggingâŚ
Alastor was barely aware that he was losing control of his grasp on his shadow until he found himself staring at the floor of his own bedroom, his claws digging new grooves into the arms of his chair and his teeth clenched so hard he could hear his jaw creak. His antlers had grown and were heavy on his hanging head, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and his entire body trembling as his shadow spasmed erratically on the floor and the wall, stretched long and misshapen, just too far from his own body to be called attached.
Alastorâs mind was a blank sheet of radio static that echoed through his bedroom, the pitch shifting wildly and sharply, one particularly high and powerful screech cracking the glass face of the clock on his mantle. Those sounds stayed on the periphery of his awareness, his mind focused on nothing but the image of Angel Dust, crazed and bloody and lost in the throes of violent passion that felt so, so much different in reality than it had on celluloid.
It took what seemed to be a small eternity for him to calm himself, his claws slowly pulling themselves from the wood frame of the chair, his antlers gradually receding to their normal size. His breathing was heavy, labored, like he had just been running for hours, his body exhausted from the foreign pressure of a restraint that he hadnât shown in nearly a century, a thin bead of sweat running from his hairline just above his temple and trailing along his jaw.
Alastor was aware, on some level, that he had an erection. It was the third heâd ever had in his existence, and the first ever caused by anything besides a strictly physiological hormone shift.
He couldnât think about it.
If he thought about it, he would lose himself again.
Angel Dust.
Strange little spider. Foolish, undisciplined, crude, clever, bright, silly, strange little spider.
Who are you, really?
What have you done to me?
â˘â˘â˘
#my writing#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#radiodust#alastor x angel dust#hazbin vaggie#hazbin vox#hazbin travis#hazbin rocky#hazbin oc#hazbin fanfic#fanfic
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Michael Fourvach
#tadc#lackadaisy#hazbin hotel#murder drones#tadc jax#hazbin angel dust#hazbin hotel angel dust#murder drones n#lackadaisy rocky#rocky rickaby#michael kovach
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"Enter the Kovach-Verse!"
Day 8 of drawing whatever the hell I want because this year's Inktober prompts suck.
#michael kovach#angel dust#hazbin angel dust#angel dust hazbin hotel#the amazing digital circus jax#tadc jax#jax fanart#jax#digital fanart#digital illustration#lackadaisy#rocky rickaby#lackadaisy fanart#inktober day 8#inktober 2024#cartoon art#cartoon
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