#hazbin travis
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Imagine working for the Vees. They need a raise.
Also be cursed by catgirl Valentino
#hazbin hotel#hazbin valentino#voxâs assistant#hazbin Melissa#hazbin travis#my art#Travis is half cat half owl#can fit anywhere and get stuck after#and do a 180 with his head#they play dnd ever Saturday to forget about what they saw at work
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-*-*Please do not repost without my permission*-*-
surprise part 2 to that one comic i did that one time XD
btw they've been on a private jet the entire time. it was only suppose to be a 20 minute flight ;P
#strabi art#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel valentino#valentino hazbin hotel#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel val#val hazbin hotel#hazbin val#hazbin hotel travis#travis hazbin hotel#hazbin travis#vox assistant#vox employee#papermint#staticmoth#voxval
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HellSerVants Au comic pt1! In this they are reversed Elliot, Melissa and Travis are overlords! ^^ original idea by veru_din and design inspo from Frootlafroot on Twitterđ
If youâd like to support me to make more comics please tip me on kofi đ
#hazbinhotelfanart#cute#fanart#hazbinhotel#hazbinhotelvox#procreate#hazbinhotelvalentino#voxval#illustration#digitalart#Swapau#Hazbinhotelfanart#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbinhotelvelvette#Hazbin travis#hazbin Melissa#Hazbin Elliot#comic#original comic
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Dusky can't stand Travis for a LOT of reasons. One of said reason is his CRAPPY SCRIPT writing. They will be work shopping this sucker for hours because Dusky ain't about sub par
Hehe, old man specs
More things from my Huskerdust AU, Leatherbound Lovers! Where Husk is the Porn star and Angel is the Bartender UuU
#huskerdust#huskerdust au#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin hotel travis#hazbin hotel#hazbin husk#hazbin travis#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbin fanart#albo art
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uh oh!! I forgot this account existed!! (ăăťĎăťă) here's some art I've been doing!
#my art#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbin hotel self insert#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel niffty#hazbin niffty#hazbin hotel travis#hazbin travis#hazbin hotel valentino#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin velvette#helluva boss moxxie#moxxie knolastname#helluva moxxie
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i was rewatching hazbin hotel, as one does, and i noticed in the poison music video that valentino throws the cigarette he'd been smoking at kitty
it's a pretty simple gesture, nothing surprising coming from valentino, but it just makes me thing of all the other shit valentino must do to kitty.
imagine kitty completely destroyed by valentino during one of his fits and having to be put back together, or like shown in this scene, he throws other- except much heavier- objects at her.
also- look at travisâ face. is it just me or does he almost look amused? again, this makes me thing this is a common thing valentino does.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel valentino#valentino#kitty#hazbin kitty#hazbin hotel kitty#travis#hazbin travis#hazbin hotel travis
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What if they kissed?
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Inktober day 6: Favourite background character
I couldnt choose between Travis or Vox's assistant, so I did both.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin fanart#helluverse#hazbin art#hellaverse#fanart#demon#inktober 2024#hazbin hotel inktober#inktober#travis#hazbin travis#vox assistant#papermint#as some people have named him
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��� Oh Travis~. I thought I told you to stay at the studio. â
Valentino was clearly unpleased. Leaning over Travis and putting a hand on Travis' chin. Making him look at Valentino.
â Don't worry, I'll make you stay over time then~. â
"Y-Yes sir..Sorry my family just..I had to take care y'know, im still the man of the house! i cant just leave..I rpomise I'll work overtime.."
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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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I heard a Rumor that Voxs Assistant Peppermint and Velvettes Model Melissa are dating in their Lunchbreak. Travis played Match maker to help this cuties do the first step. Thoughts?
I don't fucking give a dogshit and I don't remember any of our employee's names. You don't name a slaughterhouse cow, do you?
*Vigorously noting this down to potentially use as a blackmail*
#hazbin hotel#valentino#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel rp#hazbin hotel valentino#hazbin rp#staticmoth#rp blog#hazbin velvet#hazbin hotel velvette#hazbin velvette#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox the tv demon#hazbin travis#hazbin hotel travis#papermint
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Dont Pause Hazbin Hotel! Whats your fav image part 2?
#hazbin hotel#hazbin#hazbin hotel 2024#don't Pause Hazbin hotel#hazbin vaggie#hazbin adam#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#charlie hazbin hotel#hazbin lute#lute#lute hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lute#hazbin travis
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fuckn travis
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THEORY: TRAVIS HAZBIN HOTEL
So I'm back. Yes, yes, after all this time, I returned, but not without content. I'll probably hang out here again. It depends on how the days go.
Undoubtedly, many of the drains from the episodes of the 2nd season of the Khazbin Hotel caused a very big stir among fans of this project. And yet, I dare to lay out one theory here, which may be in the series itself.
So. Let's go.
⢠TRAVIS â TRAITOR?
⢠AN ADDITIONAL FIGHT WITH VALENTINO?
⢠TRINITY VEE?
⢠HOW WILL THIS AFFECT THE PLOT OF THE KHAZBIN HOTEL?
There is a small theory that Travis, although he got his favorite job in the adult film industry, could still sometimes get slapped by Valentino. The same incorrectly written scripts, video editing, etc. â Valentino will not like them, especially when he is in a bad mood. Although Travis is not an actor, he tries to sit "lower than grass, quieter than water." Travis may not have much imagination, but it's not hard for him to imagine what would happen if he contradicted Valentino. Even Travis would serve him by framing someone for Valentino's benefit.
Or even for THEIR own benefit.
About this in more detail.
Angel Dast in the series, presumably, will continue to build a relationship with Husk. If Travis finds out about this, he will have something to tell Valentino, considering how touchy and rude this owl is. I can't tell you exactly how much Travis adores Angel. However, Travis himself is known to be an insane fanatic and a regular customer of Angel Dust. Maybe he'll get jealous, start envying Angel's happiness, and even demand from him that he belongs only to him and the studio. I don't care if Valentino owns Angel. Travis can get so crazy that he'll do anything to keep Angel Dast in Valentino's studio. And this is really inevitable, in the case of Angel and his friends. A new test, so to speak, will be for them.
As for Travis' wife, I'm not sure. It is unknown whether Travis broke up with her or not, whether he lives with his wife in Hell or not. The fact that he is cheating on his wife was confirmed at the beginning of the pilot episode of the Khazbin Hotel. One can only start from the theory that Travis clearly does not live "in chocolate" under the rule of Valentino. Considering that the owl demon is a comical character, he is pathetic and cunning at the same time, like a typical, mean-spirited antagonist and villain. However, it would be interesting to observe that, for example, Travis is so mired in lust and at the mercy of a cruel demon moth, still does not have much family and friends, that he can really envy Angel, who is still under the power of Valentino, but was able not to break down and find friends, family, a home and an opportunity to atone for sins. And Travis couldn't get it all, under any pretext. He will start trying, but in the end he will simply fail, suffer mentally and physically, break his heart â but who likes such a rude, lustful, cruel and cynical demon? To nobody.
At first, Travis will start doing nasty things and tell Valentino everything about Angel and friends â what they planned, what they did, and so on. This will be handy for both the pimp and the Trio. Wow, such a valuable spy comes across! All that remains is to ingratiate yourself with Charlie and break everything under the power of Vee.
I don't know if Travis will actually be shown acting against Angel Dust in season 2 of the Hazbin Hotel (or in the rest of the others). Or both. Since there is a chance that V will be defeated at the end of season 2, Travis will use his unique "spy" abilities more than once in future seasons just to annoy Angel.
That's all.
#travis hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel travis#my post#fan theory#character analysis#hazbin hotel fanart#hazbin spoilers#hazbin hotel#hazbin angel dust#hazbin valentino#hazbin travis#travis
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Was inspired by @lilivae to draw a little Hazbin sceneâŚ.and used it as an excuse to draw Travis again âĽď¸
#hazbin hotel#angel dust#hazbin travis#hazbin hotel pilot#surprisingly it was a lot of fun though I struggled not just doing my own style but#I ended up making mine with some of lilvaeâs#oh well I think it is very cute and who knows might make it a sticker when I table at a con in a couple months#also for my irl friends who hate Travis but like my enthusiasm for him#I did write a fic to accompany this but it is between me and god đ#also please appreciate how hard it is for me to draw the steering wheel on the left hand side I struggled so hard doing that#tw blood
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