#heavenbound hotel

[heavenboundhotel]

✨"HUSKER"✨

Name: Leon Banks

Species/Origin: Sinner, Cat Demon

Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/Him

Sexuality: Grey-Ace, Gay

Year of Birth: 1900

Year of Death: 1974

Appearance:

Personality:

Leon is a grumpy, sharp-witted old soul, with a dry humor and a rough, sarcastic exterior. Though he seems detached, he’s highly perceptive and often catches things others miss, though he usually keeps his insights to himself. He prefers to keep people at arm’s length, largely out of self-preservation and a desire to avoid his own painful past. Despite his cynicism, Leon has a hidden empathy for others who have been through hard times and occasionally offers advice or a helping hand—though he’d claim it’s just to keep the peace.

Since becoming a cat demon in Hell, Leon’s picked up some cat-like quirks that annoy him to no end: his ears twitch when he’s annoyed, he occasionally “kneads” surfaces without realizing it, and he’s acquired a habit of curling up to nap wherever he can find a quiet spot—only to be embarrassed if someone catches him doing it. Worst of all, he even purrs under his breath when content, which he tries desperately to hide.

Though he doesn’t believe in Heaven’s Gate Hotel’s mission, he finds himself admiring Lithop’s optimism, even if he worries it’ll get her hurt. His years as an ex-overlord and con artist give him a knack for reading people and maneuvering through Hell’s dangers. Deep down, he’d like to live quietly, but his complicated ties to powerful figures like Alistair keep him reluctantly drawn into the messes of others.

Backstory:

Leon Banks was born in 1900 in Chicago, Illinois. Leon's was a family of swindlers and back-room dealers. His parents ran a bar that also served as a front to run con games and schemes on patrons for taking their money. Leon grew up surrounded by deceit and quickly learned the ropes; he developed a good sense of sleight of hand and took an interest in stage magic. He dreamed of becoming a magician, taking influence from the traveling acts he caught glimpses of from time to time, and would practice tricks on the customers of the bar when he could get away with it. But his parents had other ideas; more often than not, they'd be pushing him into their schemes and training him to be as sharp and cunning as they were.

Leon's ambition was cut short as he was summoned for service in the First World War. He had very little time in the war, but that time was life-changing. He incurred a serious injury at the beginning of his time in the war, resulting in the loss of his leg. Back in Chicago, he was discharged and struggled to adapt to both the experiences of trauma from his occurrences and the loss of his mobility. His dreams of doing magic dissipated and in their place came a purposeless bitterness that handed him over to the darker paths. Leon turned to alcohol to take the sting off his pain and developed a dependence on it that would plague him for the rest of his life.

During the 1920s, Leon drifted to New Orleans, where he was drawn into the vibrant atmosphere of the city and its underground scene. Here, he found the new thrill of gambling and facility to exercise his skill of deception and sleight of hand. Card games, dice, and trickery were the main preoccupation of his life, and soon he became a gambler. While at first he may have enjoyed the chaotic nature of the world of gambling, it actually perpetuated his aimlessness and isolation. By the 1930s, he took this ambition west to Las Vegas in hopes of finally turning his talents into something more lucrative.

Leon opened his casino in Las Vegas, continuing the family tradition of scamming others. He built a reputation as a smooth-talking, sharp-eyed casino owner who could read anyone who walked through his doors. But he was still as lonely as always, his life a constant round of drinking, gambling, and cheating others. Leon died alone in 1974 after he had spent his life attempting to "blow off" repression through constant thrilling actions; running away from his pain in life, leaving him with few close connections and not much to show.

Leon soon settled into Hell and rose through the ranks within the ring of Greed as one who could manipulate with mastery and gamble as easily. He picked up the nickname "Hustler" in next to no time. That would be his name, as he built up his strength through gambling with the souls of others, or through schemes and gained deals until he was a somewhat low-ranking but decently powerful overlord. Yet, his own pride proved to be his undoing when he challenged the wrong opponent- The Radio Demon - and lost his own soul. Now mocked as "Husk" or "Husker" by Alistair, serving as a constant reminder of all that he gambled away in life and death.

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU Masterpost

Alastor Redesign

I've spent an absurd amount of time researching deer, microphones, and 1920s-30s fashion for this. I'm by no means an expert of any of it, but I'm decently confident enough for some fictional depictions.

I'll include some notes under the cut, which does get a little long. I doubt other characters will get this detailed, but Alastor has a lot of design themes and motifs that were a bit too ingrained to remove. Everyone else is either simple in comparison, or much easier to simplify.

Alastor also just catches my interest in ways the others don't.

Design notes (I'll add edits notes as they come, should it be necessary)

My goal was to design him in a way that still felt like the same character, just altering the aspects I thought could be better. So a radical change wasn't what I was going for. That said, I had a logical reason for most of the changes I made.

--Deer-- Quickly, there's some regional terminology to clear up. In Europe, elk often refers to what North Americans call moose. And the NA Elk is sometimes called by an alternate name, "wapiti". I had never heard the term wapiti before researching this. And since I live where NA Elk are native (Rocky Mountain region), I think my terminology takes priority. Alastor would call them elk too. Before anyone says Elk aren't deer; yes they are. The word 'elk' basically means "big deer." They look similar to the Red Deer (Similar looking antlers, but elk are bigger, second only to moose, which are also a species of deer). It used to be believed that elk was a subspecies of Red Deer, but that's apparently been proven false. In NA, there are five main species in the deer/cervid family(listed from smallest to largest): Whitetail, mule deer, caribou/reindeer, elk, and moose.

Deer Sounds If you haven't heard deer sounds, I promise they aren't what you'd expect. Fanfics authors like to describe him making deer noises, but I'm not sure they realize what the sounds are actually like. I'll describe some noises, but search for them on Youtube, for both males and females separately. Using these terms will help you find specific examples. I listened to so many just trying to figure out how to describe them. Snort-They make a huffy blowing sound when alerted or alarmed. Often sounds like a bark. It's basically sounding the alarm. Does often make it when they're being harassed by bucks. Grunts- sounds like a croaky or clicky groan. Sorta like a frog or a pig. Sometimes sounds like cattle's moo. There are casual grunts, curious grunts, frustrated grunts, submissive grunts, low-drawn-out dominance grunts. Bleat- sounds more whiny, sheep-like, and higher pitched than a grunt. But it doesn't sound like a goat or sheep. It's used more by does and fawns. The younger it is, the higher the pitch. Really young fawns will sound like a little meep or maa. Snort Wheeze- sounds like a sniffy huff, followed by extended "F" sound. "sniff sniff Fffffff" There's a lot of air to it. It's basically an insult or challenge. Elk Bugle- much higher pitched than you'd expect from such a large animal. More so than a deer. It's an eerie, high pitched screech. They're basically broadcasting their location, looking for cows. Bulls will bugle back and forth, competing for attention. Elk chuckles and grunts- shorter versions of the bugle. Sounds kinda like monkey hoots. Elk Bark- alarmed or irritated. Sounds like a small dog's bark. Elk Chirps and mews- It reminds me of the curious sounds the dilophosaurus from Jurassic Park made. Or seagulls. They're just chatting.

What deer is he? Based on what I've observed, I don't think he was designed with any specific species in mind. I've seen others say his antler growth is most like elk, but I've found it inconsistent at best. Elk noises are used in the show, but that's because they make a distinct and eerie sound. More impressive than a deer's grunt or snort and wheeze. Personally, I think whitetail makes the most sense for him, since that's the species that would be most prevalent in Louisiana. While I'm basing him primarily off whitetail deer, he is a fictional deer-looking demon man, and doesn't have to perfectly resemble any single species of deer. His bright red color is clearly not realistic, for example. So I will incorporate some aspects of whitetail, mule deer, and elk, since those are the prevalent species in North America. I've given him a whitetail deer tail, but with the white swapped to black. That doesn't make him a blacktail deer, because that is supposedly a subspecies of Mule deer, and the tail does not look like what I am going for. Mule deer have proportionately large ears, and so does Alastor. Fans like to think they're soft and fluffy, but they aren't. I have felt deer hide, and it is NOT soft. I doubt it would be significantly different on live deer. Especially if it's anything like goats or cows(not even sheep are as soft as you'd expect). Deer ears are not positioned as low on the head as domestic livestock, but they aren't directly on top either. I wanted to maintain the upright position, because he didn't quite look right otherwise. I think I managed to get a decent balance. When he's particularly relaxed, his ears aren't as upright, but he rarely lets himself put his guard down like that. So it's basically just when he sleeps that they relax. His antler growth will vary based on a few different factors. When he is feeling confident and composed, the growth will be more typical to either of the three species. Whitetail or mule deer antlers will be more elegant, while elk antlers will be more intimidating due to the sheer size. But the more emotionally/mentally unhinged he gets(anger, fear, desperation, etc), the more nontypical his antlers will become. Which means there will be extra points in abnormal patterns. It's basically an indicator that he's not quite in control. He hates how it basically announces that, but very few people know that detail.

Anyway, here are a few references

--Life and Death-- For simplicity and easy math, I'm putting his birthday around 1900, give or take a year. He died 1933, which means he was around 32-34. Not very old, but not super young either. Lots of fans headcanon that he's biracial. Usually with a black Creole mom and white dad. His dad is often portrayed as abusive. Alastor is often thought to be fluent in French(Creole French). I want to propose an alternative. His mom is half-black half-white, his dad is white, and Alastor is consequently a quarter black. He is distinctly white-passing. He knows some Creole French, but is not fluent. I just think this could make for some interesting dynamics. Just to shake things up, his parents cared about each other and his dad wasn't abusive. But his father died in WW1, when Alastor was a teen. Instead, his uncle(father's brother) was racist and abusive towards them. Without his dad around to fend off the abuse, Alastor ended up killing his uncle in self defense and dumped the body in the woods/swamp/bayou. He had no remorse, and was rather enamored by the experience. Alastor always struggled with empathy. He was the type of kid to kill animals out of curiosity, and was fascinated by it. He felt more alive when watching the life fade from their eyes. His dad taught him to hunt, and he enjoyed the thrill of catching prey. A big part of hunting is understanding the prey's behavior and manipulating them. His parents taught him not to hurt other people, but after killing his uncle that went out the window. He justified it by "hunting" people he decided deserved it, in some twisted sense of vigilante justice. Really, he was just looking for an excuse. He primarily used guns(rifles for a clean kill, shotgun for efficiency, pistols "just in case" an unexpected opportunity presents itself) and knives for a real hands on experience. But in the end, if it got the job done, it could be used. He dabbled in magic and demonic deals while he was alive. He has a pop-culture-voodoo aesthetic, such as dolls that are connected to people and such. But I won't refer to it as voodoo, because I don't want to misrepresent actual voodoo. I will just call it shadow magic and be making up my own rules. More on it later. Radio was a comparatively mundane part of his life. It was his more relaxing pastime. He'd broadcast anything he liked. News, gossip, music, jokes, whatever. He could talk for hours, and his charisma was captivating to listeners. He did live shows too. An open mic was free game. While not aiming to be a musician, he was a decent pianist. He liked saxophone too. He preferred to dance though, and not many could keep up with him, even after some whiskey or rye. He died after being attacked by a rabid dog. He survived the attack, but contracted rabies, which there is no cure for. It attacks the central nervous system and fries the brain. Once symptoms appear, it's a death sentence. He went mad, and a fellow hunter put him out of his misery by shooting him in the head. He thinks it's an embarrassing way to die, so he's told a few alternate stories, sometimes with a grain of truth. He's amused by the gossip and speculation. Nobody knows the true story. These stories include the usual headcanons floating around. Let me explain why I don't like the usual death headcanons Mauled by hunting dogs- Hunting dogs are not supposed to kill the prey, just help the hunter find and catch them. A hunting dog that bites the prey might spoil the meat. To have a whole pack do that means those are horribly trained dogs. I don't buy it. Mistaken for a deer and shot by a hunter- Hunters should not shoot anything if they aren't certain of what it is. Otherwise they risk shooting something they don't have a permit for. At minimum, they should be checking to be sure they are aiming at a buck or a doe. To mistakenly kill a person is absurd. Also, to hit perfectly in the center of the forehead?? That had to have been intentional.

He started killing overlords partly because he could, and partly because they meet his criteria for "deserving it". He remained anonymous about it at first for a few reasons: 1. it was how he worked as a serial killer in life. 2. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and getting away without getting caught. 3. Watching everyone panic about the mysterious overlord killer while totally unaware it was him(seemingly unassuming) was amusing. Eventually, the novelty of anonymity wore off(partly because there weren't many consequences to getting caught like there would be in life) and he revealed himself as the mystery killer. Then he enjoyed the reputation and Overlord status. Eventually, being feared bored him too. So now he has to find some new games to play, which is where the Hazbin Hotel comes in.

--Fashion:1920s-30s-- Clothes: Men's outfits typically consisted of a shirt, waistcoat/vest, jacket, trousers with belt or suspenders, and potentially an overcoat if weather permits. If it was cold, I think he'd wear a black overcoat, to reference his earlier designs. I had to shorten the jacket a smidge, because they usually wouldn't be as long as in canon. Unless that's supposed to be his overcoat(in which case it shouldn't be so form fitting) The jacket lapels would generally be pretty wide. The pant legs would also be wide. Some of the pant styles could get rather absurd by todays standards. The basic idea was loose and boxy. The jacket, vest, and pants would be the same color if it could be afforded. But for the sake of visual interest, I've decided to ignore that. Neckties were more common than bowties. But that's more just an excuse for me to reduce the ridiculous number of bowties the show has. Belts were starting to become prevalent, especially in America. Since my research indicated that hunting clothes would use belts, never suspenders, I figured Alastor would favor belts. While hunting, he'd were a buffalo plaid shirt, a hunting cap, and some silly looking pants that were wide at the thighs, reinforcement around the seat and knees, and tight from the knee down, with either boots, gaiters(a shoe/calf cover to help keep clothes clean, similar to spats), or puttees(leg wraps that do the same thing, as well as provide support).

Monocles were used as a portable option for reading glasses, and not worn constantly. They were used to correct farsightedness, not nearsightedness. But they were fading in popularity, in part due to the association with prominent German leaders during WW1. Basically, I don't think the monocle suited Alastor.

Hair: I headcanon that his hair is actually fur. And as I said earlier, deer fur is not soft. It's pretty coarse and wiry. He probably sheds a lot too. His canon haircut is atrocious, so I had to fix it. The look of the time was short sides, long top, and slicked with styling wax. I've styled his hair in what I think would be the closest approximation to 1920s-30s fashion he could manage. Since it's fur, I don't think the wax would do a whole lot for him. He makes do with an approximation of a tousle top, which is basically minimal wax and slightly disheveled. Facial hair was not really in style in the 20s, partly due to the availability of razors. Cleanshaven was the ideal, especially in America. If a man did sport a mustache, it would be something neatly trimmed, like a pencil mustache.

(Dec 18, 2024- updated human design) He has moderately curly hair, more of a wave, really. Left is his typical outfit, Right is his hunting clothes.

--Microphones-- I think Alastor would actually stay pretty up to date with a lot of things. But most people don't really realize it because he commits to his aesthetic. In regards to technology, if it has improved functionality, and fits his vintage style, he'll go for it. For microphones, he can summon whatever kind he wants. There are a variety of styles and types to choose from. I don't have any practical experience, but I did try to figure it out to a degree. There are three basic types he'd use, and they can look vintage just fine. Dynamic/moving coil: these are durable and less sensitive to background noise. It's the only one you can trust to survive a mic drop. Good for stage. Probably what he'd take out and about, because of the durability. Condenser: sensitive to sounds and capturing detail. Good for recording. Requires some extra equipment to prevent self-noise. Ribbon: Produces natural, smooth, warm sounds. Common in vintage mics. Probably Alastor's favorite, but they're fragile. Pop filters and wind guards help protect it from pressure changes.

--Color-- I tweaked the colors so he wasn't so overwhelmingly bright red. Overall just darkened his palette. His hair is a warmer shade of red than his suit. I also didn't think the green magic suited him. So his magic is more in the red to yellow range, because it matches his eyes and teeth(which glow, btw). Green will be an indication of either something "poisoning" his magic, or it's a borrowed power. I haven't fully committed to just one, and it might depend on what direction canon takes with his soul owner.

--Magic-- His stitching is an indicator that he's not really as composed as he seems. He's always a few threads away from tearing apart, but when he does he can always pull himself together again. He's in constant pain, but has also become so accustomed to it that he hardly notices anymore. I think he stitched his smile on himself. He wants to be smiling, and sewing it in place is how he can assure it never slips. It's part of his pseudo-voodoo aesthetic. Alastor was known to make overlords disappear, which shouldn't be possible without angelic weapons. But few people knew about angelic weapons before the show(himself included, I'm pretty sure). So I was left to ponder what he could have done to make victims disappear. I'm thinking the little shadow puppet gremlin creatures are the tattered remains of souls he's torn apart. I don't want to refer to them as voodoo dolls, so they will either be called variations of shadow puppets or gremlins. He usually offers fair deals, with or without a soul contract. Souls he owns--like Husk and Niffty--are added to his collection of minions, each minion has a gremlin that represents their contracts with him. But there are some that Alastor feels don't deserve fair treatment, so he tears those souls apart to broadcast their screams of eternal torment, then claims the remains of the tattered souls(whether he had a contract with them or not) and stitches them up into the shadow puppets. That way, they don't regenerate. Husk was lucky Alastor liked him, and offered a deal instead of just tearing him apart. Again, I don't want to misrepresent actual voodoo. So at most, it would be a corrupt version mixed with various pagan witchcrafts. It will just be referred to as either generic magic or shadow magic. If I need spooky symbols, I'll just make up my own. It will probably involve X shapes, to match his death mark. He became a powerful demon so quickly because he's clever, ruthless, and dabbled in magic in life, and was making demonic deals in life. Already having deals and practicing shadow magic gave him a significant boost once he died.

Some examples of his shadow puppet gremlins, plus his personal shadow buddy, which may or may not be the gremlin that represents himself:

--Wendigo-- No, I don't think he's a wendigo. I personally don't think he was a cannibal while he was alive. He was a hunter who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and liked venison(deer meat). The people he killed would be those he found disgusting, so I doubt he would have wanted to eat them even if he was so inclined. After death, he became venison himself, which can be perceived as cannibalism, I guess. He was cursed with insatiable hunger, which prompted him to branch out to more cannibalism from desperation. He still favors venison, which gets the closest to satisfying his hunger. Being dead has made him less concerned about cleanliness and hygiene, except when it affects the image he wants to portray. Then he became acquainted with Rosie, who was a cannibal in life. None of this makes him a wendigo. The concept of a man-eating monster or cannibalism isn't exactly unique, and I don't see a reason to apply that specific term to him. The original mythology of the wendigo does not include an antlered creature. I'm pretty sure that was more of a pop-culture addition during the 1900s. They're also more common further north where there are colder winters. Most descriptions say they are essentially ashen-skinned, emaciated-looking people(look at the game Until Dawn for a good example of that). Coincidentally more similar to the people of Cannibal Town. I doubt that was intentional, but the resemblance is still there. If any character was a wendigo, it would be Rosie. But I don't intend to explicitly make her one either.

(Dec 18, 2024- Updated human design, typo corrections)

[radio-of-death]

Michael is far to smug for his own good most of the time. Lucifer may be the sin of pride, but if Micheal was to fall he'd have likely have competition for that title

Someone on my latest Azrael!Alastor au fic asked about the other archangels, so i figured I'd Draw out some designs. First up is the Archangel Micheal.

Clean version under the cut

[azlan-snow]

Humble Beginnings(Radiobelle)

Chapter Seventeen: A Worried Mother

(Told from Lilith’s POV)

As I sit on the edge of my bed, I begin to thinks about Alastor’s warning. “Beware of the one who did, your Majesty. She won’t take this lightly , I’m afraid.” Who owned his soul, and why was he so afraid of them? Then, suddenly, my telephone rings, pulling me back into reality. I read the headline, and it says ‘Heavenbound’. With haste, I pick it up and hear Saint Peter’s voice on the other side. 

“Hello?” He says hesitantly and soft-spokenly.

“Hello, Saint Peter. How may I help you?”

“Your presence is requested at the Heaven Embassy, Queen Lilith,” he formally says, addressing me by my title. 

“Very well. I will be there momentarily.”

“Thank you. Have a nice day.”

“You as well.” I place the phone down and shadow out of the room and head towards the church-like building in the middle of the Pentagram. Upon entering, I ring a small bell on the desk and wait, in the empty building, in front of an empty desk. But as soon as that paper appears, I yelp in surprise at it, startling me. ��Every time.”

I enter the meeting space, and am greeted by the battle ready angel, Michael, better known as my husband’s twin brother. “Hello, Michael,” I dragged out, steeling my expression to deal with him.

“Lili! So lovely to see you again! How have you been?”

“Just fine, Michael. What are your reasons for summoning me?”

“Straight to business, are we? Well, then,” his face straightens and becomes stern, preparing to talk business. “I want to come down to Hell.”

"What ?! Why? We have done nothing but try to work with you!”

“Not for that, Lili. I want to meet my niece. And see her hotel. From what Emily tells me, young Morningstar is quite kind and willing to cooperate with Heaven.”

“I don’t think this is the best course of action, Michael. An Archangel in Hell is likely to draw attention. Attention Charlie doesn’t need.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Charlie’s just woke up from the coma she’s been for a month and a half, and has a lot of shit on her plate to deal with. Plus the exterminations drawing attention away from the hotel.”

“What? How come no one told me?” He was confused at my answer, misunderstanding emitting off of him. “Hold on, Lilith. I’ll be right back.” He walks away, leaving me to my own devices, and a couple minutes later, he returns, saying he’ll be down shortly and nothing else, hanging upt the call. I begin to leave when a portal opens in front of me, revealing Michael and his assistant. 

“Hello again!”

“Who’s this?”

“This is my assistant! His name’s Roe!”

“He-he-llo Yo-your Maj-jes-ty,” Roe says, stuttering and stammering.

“Lovely to meet you, Roe. I’m assuming you’re here to relay information about the hotel to the other Archangels?” He nods in agreement, hiding behind Michael in fear of the new environment. “Very well. Follow me. I’ll take you to your niece.” I summon a portal of shadows, pitch black and glitchy, for us to walk through. “After you two.” They looked skeptically at the portal before walking  through, arriving in front of my husband, Charlie, and her boyfriend, Alastor. To their surprise and not to minem, Lucifer was enraged at his brother’s sudden appearance, so much so that he was at his throat as soon as he came through the portal. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Hello, Brother. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Answer the damn question, Michael. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to meet Princess Charlotte Morningstar, my niece, about the Hazbin Hotel.”

Everyone turns to Charlie, Lucifer in frustration, Alastor in annoyance and astonishment, and me with a supportive smile.

“Are you Princess Morningstar?” Michael asks, staring directly at her.

“I am. But who’re you?”

“I am Archangel Michael, Luci’s twin brother.”

“You don’t look like His Majesty, if I may point out,” Alastor comments. Michael changes his expression to match Lucifer’s signature smile, and everyone’s convinced. “Nevermind. I withdraw my statement.”

“The reason for my visit is to see if the Hotel is suitable to partner with Heaven’s Committee. My assistant’s here to take notes about it to report to the other Archangels. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. Thank you for coming.”

“I also want to give my condolences, Charlotte, for your pain.” He reaches out towards her and Alastor steps in between the two, radio symbols glowing prominently around the room.

“ I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” He says, shis voice laced with aggressive static.  

“It’s fine, Al,” Charlie says, smiling softly.

“I must say, we have been watching you for a while now. Your hotel shows promise, though we don’t know if it is possible. Nonetheless, tell me about this hotel you’ve created.”

Charlie beams at the request, looks at Alastor, who nods, summons a piano and begins playing. I hadn’t heard her sing since she was a little girl, and I listen and am drawn into the music, which she inherited from me. I’ll have to tell her voice’s effect later. When the two finished their duet, I turned to Michael to see his expression, and he was in utter shock. 

“Can I get that in English?” We all look at him, confused about what he meant.

“I wasn’t kidding. I’m confused. You lost me about halfway through.”

“Oh. My bad!” Charlie smiles, while Al looks frustrated.

“She said that everyone’s welcome, no matter who they are, as long as they want to give redemption a shot,” I explain, sparing Charlie the over-explanation.

“Oh, okay.” He turns to Charlie, looks her dead in the eyes, surprising her but doesn’t waiver her confidence. “I will partner Heaven with the Hazbin Hotel. But I wish to meet a resident who you believe is capable of redemption, if you don’t mind.” Then, his stomach growls loudly, echoing his hunger. 

“Do you want to eat lunch with us, sir? Al can cook for us!”

“Excuse me?” Al and Michael say, synchronized. 

“Yeah! Al’s a great cook!”

“Who is this ‘Al’?”

“That would be me, good sir. Alastor, sir.”

“Alastor, huh? You’re the one who stepped in between us, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Not many are willing to do that out of fear, even in Heaven. Do you know why?”

“Do enlighten me, because the people who are scared of the twin of Lucifer are cowards .”

“You have some nerve, sinner.”

“That’s good, knowing I love to agitate people. But if you want, we can settle it like men.”

“It that a challenge?”

“No!” Charlie says, separating the two from each other’s throats. “Let’s all work together! Please?”

“Of course, mon cher. If you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“I shall meet you at this hotel. I must return Roe to Heaven.”

“Okay! See you there!”

He leaves through a portal, and we head to the hotel.

[hisui555]

Hazbin Hotel Thoughts : Foils 6

Masterpost here

On that one, I've been honored to receive a request. Which, despite my best attempts at playing it off with coolness and apathy, brightened up my day like nobody's business. Even my cynism shut up. Well played, @phoenixlionme, well-played. I see your dastardly plan is working.

So as per said request, we'll be perusing Vaggie VS Lute as foils, with maybe a sidedash of Charlie VS Vaggie as well, and sprinkled over with the teams Charlie & Vaggie VS Lute & Adam.

Starting with the beginning, both Vaggie and Lute are angels, both were in the Exorcist ranks, with quite the similar haircut and haircolor - white, short-cut in a straight bob, and both were under Adam's command, and noticed by him : Lute is clearly Adam's bestie of sorts (given the lot of fistbumps, also they're always seen together, and while she calls him "Sir", that little smile he has to her at the end implies the friendship is genuine) at the very least - while Vaggie was noted by Adam to be "one of my top girls", and so skilled at skewering people apparently that he named her "after the best thing ever". Sadly, it wasn't "lasagna".

However, their paths diverge completely the moment then-Exorcist Vaggie spares a demon child (a kid from Cannibal Town) and the two find out : Lute is even the one to personally mutilate Vaggie, ripping out one eye and her wings (by hand for the last one instead of with angel steel) while Adam takes her halo, making her a Fallen angel by definition. Even as an angel, Vaggie showed compassion, despite an apparently very high kill-score, while Lute is a complete zealot fanatic hellbent (...hah) on killing every demon she can - she has sheer, pure hatred for them, and is very bigoted towards them : her comment on Charlie and Vaggie's love being "vile and blasphemous" ? While it does echo homophobia, it's also, from Lute's POV, an angel in love with a demon. Miss Monochromatic over there is discriminating in either case, be it on gender or species, if not both. And a hypocrite to boot : angels don't make mistakes and shouldn't be killed by demons ? They literally left Vaggie to die in Hell, either by her injuries or getting offed by a demon at her weakest state.

Also, how in the hell didn't they manage to clock in that their own weapons can harm themselves at that moment ? Lute literally slashed and tore Vaggie's eye out with her goddamn angel steeled SWORD, and it didn't grew back. Boy when smarts rained upon the world these guys were the only ones with an umbrella.

But Vaggie ? From the get-go, she's more open-minded, and while her flinching at Charlie's glowing red eyes in the shadow - which all but spells "demon" - was out of fear and having just been hurt, yet immediately accepted her compassion and kindness (and even more, given their body languages at that moment. Awww). Her having been an Exorcist might have been more out of a sense of duty and thinking protecting Heavenbound souls against Hell was her job, instead of Lute who does it out of absolute zealotry and Adam doing that for shit and giggles. It's possible that (warning, speculating here) Lute might have been the very first Exorcist, or at least in the first wave of them, given her golden eyes - like Adam, who's the first human soul in Heaven but has been confirmed human, I mean, duh - while Vaggie might have been a more recent arrival and given her supposed backstory, might also have been an ascended human : she is Hispanic (supposedly Salvadoran) and speaks Spanish both in the pilot and in Ep 5 when the Loan Sharks attack the Hotel, also hinted by the afterlife-grey skin she and another Hispanic character, Carmilla, sport. Which would mean that as a human, she had more sympathy for others than a possibly-born angel, Lute.

Vaggie meets Charlie, and from then on, is heavily implied to be the sole person in Hell at that moment that actually took Charlie's ideas about redemption seriously. She just has been disgraced, Fallen (a common point with Lucifer), but seeing the Princess of Hell having plans and devotion to save her own people, the ones Vaggie used to participate in killing every year ? While there might be guilt and a will to pay back the favor attached to this, she genuinely believed in and supported Charlie's project, even playing bodyguard, advisor, and manager, as well as being her partner and girlfriend. She's Charlie's steady support at her side, just like Lute is Adam's : both teams genuinely care about each other, but unlike Lute who lets Adam be his fratbro cretin self, Charlie and Vaggie both communicate, exchange (well, on almost everything), on equal grounds. Which is why Vaggie not telling Charlie her secret deeply hurt the latter, and to boot, given that absolutely NO ONE gave Vaggie any shit for having been an angel or an Exorcist as demonstrated in Ep 7 (the worst they do is mocking her chest-size), Charlie's feelings are quite founded : Miss Understanding and all that. Not to invalidate Vaggie's either, she must not have been proud of what she did, and needed time.

But funnily enough, they both act as the hype-woman to someone with proefficiency in singing : Charlie is known to randomly burst into song and literally uses that to pitch her Hotel (also per lore her mother's singing empowers demonkind), Adam is a flat-out rocker that mentions also playing in a band. However Lute acts like a stern, stone-faced groupie enabling Adam's worst traits and relishing in living them too, while Vaggie is more of a safety net for Charlie and will tell her what she thinks is doing wrong ("Life isn't a musical hon." Jokes on you sweetheart, the show you live in pretty much is.), and actually be there as an equal and partner, a crutch, a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear when Charlie needs it (Ep 5 when she calls Lucifer for help), which Charlie is more than happy to reciprocate (Ep 3 when Vaggie feels bad about her trust exercise failing). Their reprise of "More Than Anything" pretty much spells it out.

Lute and Vaggie also play the sterner, more down to earth one to their respective partner's sillier personality. An interesting thing is that Vaggie also knows how to accept mercy, and kindness, having picked herself up with Charlie's help three years ago, and steadfastly been on her side ever since. Lute however reacts to mercy with total disgust, and her answer is to literally tell her assailant to finish her off, or ripping her arm out in an attempt to fight back. Adam when shown mercy has a full blown tantrum about how better he is than anyone. I mean, true, Lucifer and Vaggie both spared them to 1 : hammer the nail down (Lucifer : "How does mercy taste you little bitch ?" Vaggie : "Live and remember it's only because I've let you.") and 2 : because someone else intervened in Lucifer's case (Charlie : "Wow, dad. He's had enough.") but fact is, it's two people - funnily enough fallen angels - on the supposedly wrong side of the cosmic existential afterlife elevator doing it to actual angels. I repeat, ANGELS. From Heaven. Seriously these guys couldn't pour water out of a boot even with the instructions glued to the heel.

Lute shows what Vaggie could have been if she had let the murderous tendencies get to her - both are surprisingly quick to resort to violence, but Vaggie does it out of wariness and annoyance, and a will to protect her loved ones. Lute is flat-out self-righteous and bloodthirsty. Lute could've been Vaggie in a less toxic and holier-than-thou environment. Vaggie has always been humble from the start, seemingly taking no pleasure in the annual killings, and saw it as a duty in a different way than Lute : possibly without hatred, and without all-consuming rage and want for violence. They're both utterly loyal to their loved ones, but Lute is the darker side of that loyalty - letting it happen, enjoying the carnage. They have lots of qualities and flaws that makes them mirrors to each other.

On Charlie VS Vaggie, it's kinda obvious, but hey, might as well while we're at it : one is the dreamer, the other the down to earth one. Charlie is very energetic, highly dynamic, basically a big friendly dog in the shape of a demonic young woman acting like a Disney princess with the very wrong kind of kingdom, also a literal fire user and affiliated to fire in general. But her usual anger is restrained, colder (especially in Ep 7 at Vaggie), with semi-controlled bursts : she may turn into her demon form, but it takes a LOT to make her pass on the actual offensive - Valentino is lucky Angel was there to deviate it, and even when Pentious got vaporized, Charlie may have entered her demon form, and skewered Adam's shoulder with her pitchfork, but she's still holding back, as seen when she transforms her arm further to protect her dad from Adam's sneak punch. Vaggie on her side is calmer, sterner, pragmatic, more no-nonsense though she does know how to have fun ("this is gonna be your whole day !" [clap]), yet is more hot-blooded and quicker to anger (given the shenanigans around her, I'm not blaming her). It's also amusing to see them in combat (cute as they are) : Vaggie wields the spear, the more powerful Charlie wields the shield - up to when she decides some KFC rejects should get hurt for killing her friends and that's when she pulls out the pitchfork.

Vaggie has also sharper features in her design (the eye, the chin, the nose and facial structure, her hair is mostly sharp angles) while Charlie's are rounder (down to the bubble braid), despite being respectively angel and demon. Lute and Adam in their uniforms look more demonic than both of them, to boot, with their masks on. This also shows how they complete each other very well, underscoring how their personalities are a nice match, but also how much work they both put in their relationship - they are actively seen talking to each other, exchanging ideas, telling what happens (again, mostly) and most of all caring about each other, both in a giving and a taking way, mutually. Is it any wonder they're one of the sweetest and most functional couples in Hell ? (We have Ozzie & Fizz and Millie & Moxxie on the same list, so, yeah).

I hope you enjoyed, especially you @phoenixlionme, hope this filled what you wanted to read. If you have any requests, I'll be happy to see what I can do with them !

Again, Masterpost here.

[ckret2]

Everyone Arrives In Hell Naked sounds so so terrifying

It's like that dream where you're giving a presentation in class and you realize you're naked except instead of being in class you're arriving in hell and instead of giving a presentation you just died.

[hellshire-harlot]

important detail

I was watching Episode 2 of Helluva Boss for the five-hundredth second time and I noticed something.

In the scene with Millie pointing out that terrifying dinosaur animatronic, you can see a Boardwalk game in the background called the Extermination, with an Exterminator Angel motif.  Then in another scene, where Blitzo is scaring away Stolas’ would-be kidnappers, you can see a shooting game called Stop That Soul, which appears to be a game about stopping Heavenbound souls from ascending.

During Charlie’s ‘‘Always Chasing Rainbows” number in the pilot of Hazbin Hotel, you can see a poster that says ‘fuck you Heaven’.

It seems like a hatred of Heaven as a whole (and not just the Exterminators) is a widespread phenomenon among Hell’s denizens, including young children who are likely the target audience of the games in Loo-Loo Land.

[shinsoukokuvalentine]

Heavenbound (2)

(Chapter 2 of Heavenbound! Let me know what you all think of this fic, it’s something I’m very proud of and passionate about.

Read the first chapter on Ao3!)

236/365: Let Me Be Surprised

Ryuu feels as if he’s drowning and flying at the same time. No, not flying. It’s like he’s been thrown, thrown somehow upwards and downwards and sideways and in all directions at the same time. His head feels as if it’s spinning as the world around him rapidly changes from darkness to blinding light.

Just as suddenly as he was thrown, he lands. He lands face-first on cold, smooth marble, skidding across it until he grinds to a halt.

For a moment, he lays there. He pants, his chest rising and falling quickly, and it strikes him as odd that, for the first time, he isn’t coughing when he breathes that fast.

With a groan, limbs shaking, Ryuu manages to pull himself onto his knees. He frowns a bit in confusion when he notices that the black suit he had worn all night has somehow changed to white. Everything seems white, he notices, his gaze traveling around the enormous hallway he’s found himself in, with its pillars reaching so high that the ceiling can’t be seen. It all shines white, nearly to the point of being blinding.

“Ahem.”

Ryuu whips around. Against the wall to his right, behind a large desk as white as the rest of the hall, a redheaded woman in a white kimono smiles.

“Hello, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke-san,” she says. “I’m Ozaki Kouyou, and I’ll be your host today.”

Ryuu blinks, staring at the woman in a daze. She conspicuously clears her throat again, and looking down at himself and realizing he’s still sprawled on the floor, Ryuu quickly scrambles to his feet, his white shoes slipping on the marble.

“How,” Ryuu begins, searching for his composure as he walks to the desk, “how did I get here?” All he remembers from last night is getting too drunk to stand.

Ozaki smiles gently. “It was your friend, Fitzgerald-san,” she explains, pulling a large file out from under her desk. “Let me just get you checked in before we get started.”

All Ryuu can do is nod. So this is Fitzgerald’s doing, he thinks, looking around again. Could this be a hotel? Or his new casino? Both seem elaborate, even for Fitzgerald.

Ryuu then notices that, to his left, at the end of the hall, two large, golden doors stand tall. They seem to radiate power, and even Ryuu shies back a bit from them.

“Ah, here you are,” Ozaki says, drawing Ryuu’s attention back to her. “Yes, you’re on the list. A questionable decision, in my opinion, but who am I to question the higher-ups?” She continues with her sweet smile. “Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, welcome to Heaven.”

Ryuu stares at her. “Just… Heaven?” He asks. Ozaki nods, and he frowns. “Is that the casino’s name?”

Ozaki stares at him as if he’s grown another head. But as if realization hits her, she quickly bursts into laughter. Ryuu scowls a bit.

“I don’t find it funny.”

Ozaki wipes a tear from her eye, still laughing. “Oh, Akutagawa-san,” she says when she’s able to speak, “You seem confused. This is Heaven. You’re dead.”

Her words don’t sink in for a few seconds. But suddenly, Akutagawa feels as if the floor is falling out from under him. The hall sways, his vision blurs, and nausea hits his stomach as if he had just swallowed a gallon of sour milk.

“Well, to be specific, Heaven is beyond those doors,” Ozaki says, pointing her pen towards the golden doors. “This is just your lobby. Everyone gets their own to decrease traffic.”

Ryuu gasps for breath, gripping the desk with shaking hands.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Ozaki coos, giving a motherly pat to Ryuu’s head, “all that sickness and pain will be gone once you go in.”

Ryuu gasps, searching for the strength to speak, mouth dry, eyes wide. “I… I’m not dead,” he manages to breathe.

Ozaki clicks her tongue. “I assure you that you are. Take a look at this.”

Ryuu looks up at her, watching as Ozaki takes a small box out from under her desk.

“This will be stored with your report, of course,” she says, though her explanations continue to make Ryuu’s head spin. With gloved hands, she removes the lid from the box, and its contents instantly cause Ryuu to stiffen.

“That’s my watch,” he says as Ozaki holds it up, dangling it from its gold chain. She nods.

“The one Fitzgerald-san gave you,” she smiles as if the sight before Ryuu is perfectly normal. “Or at least, a perfect replica. Your Clock represents your life,” she murmurs. Clicking the button on the watch’s top, she opens it, holding it out to Ryuu in her palms. None of the hands move. “And it stopped.”

Ryuu squints at it, still trying to wrap his head around everything. He had thought, before, that he wouldn’t fear death. He had believed it to simply be the end, and he would be gone too quickly to be aware of his own death.

But this. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want the horrible realization that he died, that he’s dead. He didn’t want to feel anything.

And there were so many things he never got to do, Ryuu realizes as his worldview twists more and more out of control. He never traveled, he never wrote that poem always itching to be told in the back of his mind, he never met someone special. He never met that perfect man, the one that would complete him and hold him and let him forget every awful thing for just a short time while Ryuu rested in his arms. He never gave that love, never received it.

“... Can’t you wind it back up?” He manages to speak, voice dry and desperate as more and more images of what could’ve been claw at his mind, taunting him with the impossible. He grasps for the watch, but Ozaki yanks it away.

“And send you back?” She asks incredulously. “Of course not; no one’s ever allowed to go back.”

Back.

The word repeats in Ryuu’s mind, over and over. Back. He can go back.

His mind races, a flurry of questions, of possibilities.

“Why,” he speaks, asking the only question he can think of that won’t cause him to break down, “why does it look like the watch Fitzgerald-san gave me?”

Ozaki gives that sweet smile again - the one Ryuu’s getting tired of - and says in a casual voice, “Everyone’s clock is tied to their deaths.”

It’s as if a switch is flipped. Ryuu’s shaking stops, as well as his panting, his dizziness.

“... Fitzgerald-san,” He says, staring down at the floor. Its pristine surface reflects his new scowl right back at him.

“Yes,” Ozaki says, leaning back into her desk chair from the sound of it. “He gave you the watch, then he killed you. Overkilled, in my opinion, but I’m not an angel that’s allowed to intervene.”

Ryuu’s shaking returns. He grips the counter again, dragging his nails across the marble. He opens his mouth, but for a moment, no words form.

“... I’ll kill him.”

Ozaki freezes. “You’ll what?” She snaps for the first time, pausing from putting the watch back in its box. It’s all Ryuu sees, glittering gold among a sea of white; his golden ticket.

“I said,” Ryuu growls, face red and contorted with rage. Without warning, he lunges forward, seizing the watch.

“I’LL KILL HIM!” He screams, and in one motion, with one turn of the dial, before Ozaki can stop him-

The watch clicks.

-

Ryuu feels as if he’s drowning and falling at the same time. No, not falling. It’s like he’s been thrown, thrown somehow upwards and downwards and sideways and in all directions at the same time. His head feels as if it’s spinning as the world around him rapidly changes from blinding light to darkness.

Just as suddenly as he was thrown, he lands. He lands in the ocean, salt water filling his mouth with he tries to scream.

Frantically, he swims to the surface. Moonlight casts the shadow of a pier into the water below, and he swims towards it, grasping for it.

With a gasp, he breaks the surface. He coughs, grabbing onto the splintered remains of a dock that looks as if it burst, hoisting himself onto it.

Shaking, panting, he looks down at himself. His suit’s black, his lungs burn, and he can feel a hangover headache splitting his skull. Everything seems to be normal.

But he feels an unfamiliar weight around his neck. Ryuu reaches up to it, grasping cold metal.

His eyes widen. The water. His watch.

Quickly, he scrambles to hold it to his ear, sighing with relief when he hears it ticking.

He holds the watch in front of him, examining it. It appears normal, if not expensive, so no one would be surprised if he kept a close eye on it. Satisfied, he pops open the lid.

“You can never come back.”

Ryuu nearly falls off the pier again with a start. A solemn, ethereal voice comes from the watch’s face, which glows with every syllable.

“You can never come back,” Ozaki’s voice calls again. “You can nev-!”

Ryuu slams the watch shut.

With a small glare at the sky - where he assumes Heaven lies - Ryuu stands, groaning at his soaking-wet suit, his socks squishing in his shoes as he walks down the pier.

He tucks the watch under his shirt, and the metal feels cold against his chest.

-

He had been too late. He had got there too late.

Chuuya thrashes in bed, eyes squeezed shut, covers pulled around his shoulders. Once Hirotsu found him and let him out of the closet, Chuuya had gathered as many leads as he could, racing after Fitzgerald.

But he had been too late.

Over and over, he sees the explosion. Over and over, he hears his own voice scream itself hoarse. Over and over, he dreams he sees Fitzgerald, the barrel of a gun pointed straight at Chuuya’s head, grinning.

“You’re next, Chuuya-san,” he smirks. “Chuuya-san. Chuuya-san.”

In his dream, Chuuya shakes, gripping his hat down over his ears.

“Stop it!” He cries, even as Fitzgerald says his name over and over, reaching forward to grab his neck, shaking it.

“Chuuya-san. Chuuya-san!”

His eyes snap open.

Chuuya lurches awake. Hands shake his shoulders, not his neck, and their owner looks down at him, as much worry in his eyes as he can muster.

“Chuuya-san?” Ryuunosuke says, taking his hands from his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Every once of breath seems to have left Chuuya’s body. He feels himself freeze up, staring into cold, dark eyes.

“Y-you’re dead,” he stammers, shaking. “You’re d-dead.”

Ryuunosuke narrows his eyes. “I’m not dead,” he snaps.

Chuuya struggles to form words in his dry mouth. “You’re a ghost,” he whispers. Ryuunosuke rolls his eyes, and he suddenly grabs Chuuya by the lapels of his nightshirt, hoisting him into a loose sitting position.

“I’m not a ghost,” he growls, “and I’m not dead. Fitzgerald-sa… Fitzgerald,” he corrects himself, spitting out his former boss’ name with no honorifics at all, “tried to kill me, but he failed, Chuuya-san. I’m alive.”

Chuuya gulps. He watches Ryuunosuke, watches the intensity in his eyes, noticing the complete opacity of his body. Slowly, he relaxes.

“It’s really you, then?” He says. Ryuunosuke nods, letting him back down onto his bed, and Chuuya feels himself relax.

“I thought you were gone,” he murmurs. Ryuunosuke huffs, sliding off the bed and straightening out his suit.

“That much was obvious.”

Chuuya sighs, leaning back in his bed, head supported by his crossed arms. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Ryuunosuke pauses mid-step, his back to Chuuya. But he quickly moves again, clearing his throat, opening Chuuya’s chest of drawers.

“So what’s the plan?” Chuuya asks. “I mean, Fitzgerald thinks you’re dead. Now would be the perfect time to run, get a new identity somewhere, and start all over.” He sits up again, watching Ryuunosuke as he carefully unlocks a hidden drawer, and he can’t help the small smirk that creeps onto his lips. “What do you think?”

Ryuunosuke huffs. “I had something a little different in mind,” he says, and when he turns around, he holds the drawer’s contents in his hands. Chuuya grins as Ryuunosuke tosses one of them to him.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Brandishing his handgun, even Ryuunosuke gives a small smirk, and Chuuya lets out a low, content sigh. Even near death doesn’t seem to have phased his partner.

But most importantly, Chuuya thinks as his smirk settles into a smile, he’s alive. Ryuunosuke’s alive, he’s okay, and Chuuya wasn’t too late.

He can’t say all he’d like to say; it would be embarrassing, and Ryuunosuke would never tolerate it. But pure relief filled him when he saw his friend alive, and part of him wishes he could express that.

Chuuya opens his mouth, but he stops. He could’ve said something - maybe not enough to upset Ryuunosuke, but something - but he didn’t. For another thought entered his mind, one that instantly caused his enthusiasm to wane, his gun to drop to his side.

“We can’t go,” he says.

Already standing in Chuuya’s bedroom doorway, Ryuunosuke frowns and turns around to face him. “What?”

“I said,” Chuuya mutters, “we can’t go.” He turns his gaze to the floor, unable to look Ryuunosuke in the eye.

“And why not?”

Ryuunosuke’s voice comes across as harsh, angered. Of course he’d want revenge, Chuuya thinks. He wants it too. But more than that, he doesn’t want to lose his friend again.

“He’s got a monster,” he murmurs.

He anticipates Ryuunosuke’s scoff, but that doesn’t make it any less painful when it comes.

“A monster?” Ryuunosuke says, and when Chuuya looks up at him, his eyes hold a faraway look as he watches his reflection in his gun’s barrel. “I was once Fitzgerald’s monster,” he says. He blinks, and just like that, his eyes focus intensely on Chuuya, black storm clouds festering within them.

“The only monsters are human, and humans-”

Chuuya ducks instinctively when Ryuunosuke points his gun in his direction.

“-Can be killed,” growls Ryuunosuke. “Now get dressed,” he says, waving his gun at the suit hanging on Chuuya’s closet door, “We’re taking that monster out of the picture.”

Reassured, but not content, Chuuya follows his orders. Because he’s not going to be too late twice.

-

“I told you, there’s nothing.”

“Ryuunosuke-!”

“Keep watch,” Ryuu hisses, pushing around crates. “That’s all I need you to do.”

From his spot near the door, Chuuya rolls his eyes, and Ryuu scowls a bit to himself as he searches the warehouse. His last time visiting this place had been with Fitzgerald, months ago, taking his guns out of storage for a larger job. Fitzgerald said he had them put away, but the more Ryuu searches, the more he starts to think that his former boss pawned them off somewhere.

Ryuu growls, shoving another useless crate to the side. It wouldn’t make sense for Fitzgerald to have sold his weapons, though; if he replaced Ryuu, wouldn’t he have given his guns to the new monster? But they’re gone, and in the corner where they should have been, chains have been bolted to the concrete floor. Ryuu can’t fathom a reason for them other than torture.

“Ryuunosuke!”

Chuuya’s harsh whisper cuts through his thoughts, and he nearly snaps at him before his partner rushes to him, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him down to a crouch. With his lips tight and his gun raised, Chuuya tilts his head towards the warehouse’s only door. Ryuu understands immediately and nods.

The large doors creak open. Carefully, staying as hidden as they can, Ryuu and Chuuya watch from shadows as guards step inside, guns held ready.

Chuuya tenses when the next group steps inside, and Ryuu watches with wide eyes. Someone stands between the guards, chained by their wrists, a black bag covering their face and black robes hiding every inch of their skin.

“The monster,” Chuuya breathes.

Ryuu doesn’t bother correcting him. He only feels his blood boil as his murderer’s familiar face steps into the warehouse’s dim light.

“Chain him tightly,” Fitzgerald says sternly, at the back of the group aside from the two guards behind him. “We don’t want a repeat of last week.”

“Yes sir,” a monotonous chorus rises from the guards. Ryuu and Chuuya follow silently as they make their way towards one of the building’s back corners, and Ryuu suddenly realizes what the chains he found there are for.

Before the figure is chained, guards remove their robes. It appears to be a man, pale and thin, who is pushed to his knees as his ankles are chained to the floor. Fitzgerald appears to have tried to dress him up, but holes and rips litter his suit, which must have been worth millions of yen.

“I had them reinforced,” Fitzgerald says, seemingly to the monster himself, as he points at the chains and stands at the edge of their reach. “Last time was a fiasco.”

The guards take off the man’s hood. Ryuu instantly freezes.

Crouched on the floor, bound by chains, one man dares to scowl at Fitzgerald, rage in his bicolor eyes, sweat causing his ragged silver hair to stick to his forehead. He pants, shoulders rising and falling with every breath. 

And he’s beautiful.

“Don’t try anything,” Fitzgerald mutters. He doesn’t smile. The monster bares fangs longer than any humans’.

“Let me go,” he growls. Fitzgerald smirks a little.

“Or what?”

He doesn’t even jump back as the monster lunges forward, snarling and biting at the air like an animal. His chains keep his ankles bound in place, and his handcuffs have been secured by another chain to the floor, yet he still throws himself around and howls as if he could do something.

“Idiot,” Chuuya mutters. Ryuu frowns.

“Like you wouldn’t fight too,” he shoots back. From the corner of his eye, Chuuya gives him an odd look.

“Since when are you defending him?”

Glaring at him a little, Ryuu says nothing, turning back to the monster just as Fitzgerald appears to get bored with the display. He raises a remote in his hand, pressing a single button on its surface.

With a clang and the whirr of machinery, the covers blocking out all natural light begin to move aside. Suddenly, the monster stops. His eyes go wide. Above the noise, Ryuu can’t hear what he says, but he moves his lips repeatedly, the same word over and over.

Moonlight begins flowing down through the windows. Though their noise grows louder, so does the monster’s voice, until Ryuu can hear it above everything else.

“NO! NO!” The monster wails, gnashing his teeth again, but not as a threat this time. Pain squeezes his eyes shut and pushes tears down his cheeks as moonlight hits his skin. He thrashes back and forth, screaming in pain as his body seems to convulse and writhe, fur sprouting on his arms as the muscles beneath them grow, an odd blue glow covering his body.

The monster throws his head back. His nose elongates until it’s practically a snout, and when he cries, Ryuu can see long, sharp fangs pulling at his gums. His eyes flash open, revealing slitted, feline pupils.

Just as quickly as the noise from the windows stops, it starts again, and the covers slide back into place. The monster collapses, body shaking, slowly reverting back to normal, blue glow fading. Lying on the cold floor, he doesn’t move except to breathe.

“Don’t try anything,” Fitzgerald repeats, now walking right up to the monster, kicking him with his shoe. The monster flinches and curls in on itself, but otherwise does nothing, and Fitzgerald scoffs as he turns to walk away.

“... I hate you.”

At the monster’s whisper, Fitzgerald lets out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t expect any less, Atsushi-kun,” he grins. Ryuu doesn’t see them leave, only watching the monster as he hears the warehouse doors close. Atsushi remains still.

The building might as well have dissolved around Ryuu. His focus has shifted, and suddenly, revenge seems a lot sweeter.

“Wow,” Chuuya whispers. He turns to Ryuu, eyes wide. “Is that a real werewolf?!”

“Weretiger.”

Chuuya’s jump sends him toppling backwards. Ryuu instantly stands, now in plain sight.

“I could hear you the whole time,” Atsushi adds. “I could’ve told Fitzgerald about you, but I don’t feel like doing him any favors, so you’re welcome.” He lies with his back to them, knees pulled to his chest, face buried in his arms.

Chuuya stares but Ryuu steps forward, emerging from the shadows to stand under the warehouse’s dim ceiling lights.

“I have the tiger’s hearing, sight, and sense of smell. That doesn’t make up for everything else it makes me deal with, though,” Atsushi continues to mutter.

Chuuya tenses, reaching to grab Ryuu’s sleeve, hissing his name, but Ryuu jerks away.

Trust me, he mouths, hoping that Chuuya will understand.

“So what are you doing here?” Atsushi snaps. “Here to kill me? Whatever you’re going to try, it won’t work. Bullets bounce right off and I regenerate too fast to be cut or stabbed.”

Ryuu raises one eyebrow. So he’s even difficult to kill; his luck keeps getting better and better.

“We’re not here to kill you,” Ryuu says. Still ducked behind crates, Chuuya’s eyebrows knit together.

We’re not? He mouths at Ryuu, who nods and holds a finger to his lips. He comes to a halt next to Atsushi, standing above him, able to see his eyes once again, which glare at the floor silently. Ryuu’s expression remains cold.

“I’m Akutagawa, and that’s my business partner, Nakahara-san,” he says, motioning towards Chuuya. “He said your name was Atsushi?’

Some of the ice seems to fall from Atsushi’s face. His eyes move to look at Ryuu, his glare subsiding, and he nods.

“... Nakajima Atsushi,” he says, softer and quieter than before. He looks so harmless, lying there, curled up like a child. Aside from the single black stripe in his silver hair, he bears no resemblance to the tiger that lurks beneath his skin.

Ryuu frowns a little. A familiar, lonely feeling pricks at him, and for a moment, an image flashes before his eyes of Atsushi, smiling, holding Ryuu close and whispering three elusive words into his ear.

He pushes the thought away with an inward scowl. He can’t do that. He can’t allow Atsushi’s appearance to be a distraction, and he can’t continue to allow his own loneliness to let him act irrationally. He’s not that desperate.

“What if I told you that I have unsettled business with Fitzgerald,” Ryuu says, pushing himself back on track, walking around Atsushi until he’s facing his front, kneeling down beside him, “and that freeing you is the first order of that unsettled business?”

Atsushi’s eyes widen. He picks his head up, staring at Ryuu.

“You mean it?” He breathes, but his eyes quickly narrow again, and he settles back down. “What’s the catch?”

Ryuu shakes his head. “There’s no catch,” he says. “Letting you free would put Fitzgerald as a disadvantage, would it not?”

Atsushi watches him, seemingly searching his face and eyes. After a moment, he nods, sitting up. Ryuu stands and turns to Chuuya.

“Pick the locks,” he says, and Chuuya, incredulousness still written all over his face, moves to comply. Looking back to Atsushi, Ryuu tilts his head. “You won’t have a problem staying with me for now, will you?” He asks. Atsushi quickly shakes his head, barely glancing at Chuuya as his chains come undone. Instead, he watches Ryuu, staring up at him as if he’s found a savior.

“Done,” Chuuya grunts, and Atsushi finally pulls his gaze away from Ryuu as the cuffs fall from his wrists. With his hands, he rubs the red marks left behind by the tight bands. He almost seems to flinch at first when Ryuu holds his hand out to him.

“We should get out of here as soon as we can,” Ryuu says. Atsushi hesitates for a moment, but he then nods feebly, taking Ryuu’s hand with soft, lithe fingers. Ryuu pulls him to his feet, and for a moment, they stand inches apart.

But Ryuu turns, releasing Atsushi’s hand. “Keep up,” he calls over his shoulder. Shoes tap on the floor behind him, one pair he recognizes to be Chuuya’s, and the other new.

And Ryuu allows himself a small smirk.

[heavenboundhotel]

✨"NANCY"✨

Disclaimer: This character in particular covers a lot of heavy subject matter including eating disorders, severe mental illness, abuse, suicide, misogyny, and systemic racism. While other characters do and will have similar themes she's the one I'm most concerned about - everything about this rewrite is done in good faith and with understanding of some of the connotations of things Viv ignores in her writing, but if anyone finds this portrayal offensive genuinely please let me know and I will take it into account going forward.

Name: Aikawa Nami

Species/Origin: Sinner, Bug Demon

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/Her

Sexuality: Unsure/Questioning

Year of Birth: 1933

Year of Death: 1957

Appearance:

Personality:

Nami is, at first glance, cheerful and friendly. She tends to try to tone herself down but does sometimes have difficulty controlling her energy and emotions - easily excited and easily overstimulated. She can be scatterbrained but does her best to appear put-together, a chronic people-pleaser with a fear of being seen as "too much". She has a deep discomfort and fear of uncleanliness, contamination OCD leading to extreme sanitation and avoidance behaviors and overwhelming anxiety. She soothes herself through things like collecting dolls, drawing, and singing to herself - compensating for a childhood she never got to experience. Because of ideals she was raised with, she holds a lot of internalized misogyny and a fixation on men due to the pressure to find a husband and be a proper housewife - easily opening herself up to mistreatment due to what she views as her "place" or role as a woman.

Backstory:

Nami Aikawa was born in 1933 in Los Angeles, California, to Japanese-American immigrants. From an early age, her boundless energy and vivid imagination set her apart, often frustrating her parents and teachers. Unbeknownst to her, these were early signs of ADHD—a condition poorly understood and heavily stigmatized in her community. Her struggles with focus and impulsivity frequently led to punishment at school and at home, reinforcing a growing belief that something was inherently wrong with her.

As World War II escalated, prejudice against Japanese-Americans intensified. At the age of nine, Nami and her family were forcibly relocated to a Japanese internment camp. The conditions were harsh: overcrowding, poor sanitation, and a constant atmosphere of fear and persecution. It was during this time that Nami developed severe contamination OCD, fixating on cleanliness as a way to assert control in an environment that felt overwhelmingly dirty and unsafe. Even after the war ended and her family was released, these compulsions lingered, shaping much of her daily life.

In the years that followed, Nami faced relentless societal pressure to conform to rigid gender roles, further compounded by her experience as a woman of color. To better assimilate into white American society, she began going by “Nancy,” distancing herself from her Japanese heritage in a desperate bid for acceptance. Embracing the ideals of 1950s domesticity, she became obsessed with the notion of being the perfect housewife, despite not yet being married. Nami meticulously maintained her appearance, convinced that beauty, thinness, and subservience were the only ways she could compensate for her perceived shortcomings. Her contamination OCD fueled a growing struggle with anorexia, as she began associating food with uncleanliness.

By her early twenties, Nami was deeply lonely and desperate for validation. She gravitated toward abusive men, mistaking their cruelty for love and believing it was her duty as a woman to endure it. One such relationship ultimately led to her demise. When her boyfriend fell ill, her contamination OCD spiraled out of control. Terrified of contracting his sickness, she began poisoning his food with cleaning products, convinced it would "cleanse" him. Overwhelmed by guilt and consumed by fear that she had also been infected, Nami ingested the same cleaning products in a desperate attempt to "purify" herself.

Nami’s arrival in Hell was marked by confusion and despair. Aimlessly wandering through Hell, she desperately tried to maintain her compulsive habits of order and cleanliness in a world that thrived on chaos.

It was during one of Alistair’s rare strolls outside his domain that he discovered her. Recognizing an opportunity, Alistair offered her a soul contract—promising her a semblance of purpose and security in exchange for managing parts of his operations.

Eager for stability and prone to interpreting male attention as romantic interest, Nami immediately misconstrued Alistair’s offer as an act of love. She agreed to the contract under the firm belief that he was infatuated with her, despite his repeated and dry assurances to the contrary. To this day, she playfully “rejects” his supposed advances, much to his bemusement, while remaining fiercely loyal to him. She often refers to him as her “dashing benefactor,” which he is somewhat charmed by. He holds affection towards her of his own, though purely platonic and somewhat condescending.

[heavenboundhotel]

✨VARIEL✨


Alias: Vera

Species/Origin: Fallen Angel

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/Her

Sexuality: Lesbian


Appearance:

Personality:

Vera is a soldier, first and foremost. At least, that's how she views herself. She does genuinely love Lithop, but she can't help but see herself as indebted to her in a way. All Vera knows is violence, she's never been more than a weapon, a part of a machine. She is happier no longer being an exorcist, even if she is now stuck in Hell, but is struggling to acclimate to its environment, and her newfound freedom. She has a habit of sticking to a strict schedule, even if its usually unnecessary, out of pure familiarity and comfort. She's very protective of Lithop, deeply admiring her compassion and enthusiasm but fearing that her naivety and stubborness will get her hurt, and she'll lose the only person who has ever cared about her. Vera can come off as very standoffish and doesn't easily get comfortable with others, but is extremely loyal once she does.

Backstory:

Variel was created after Heaven’s shift from guardianship to militant exorcism - her true purpose as a guardian angel trained out of her to be replaced with violence, trained from the beginning to view demons and sinners as irredeemable threats. As one of the younger angels molded exclusively in this hardened role, Variel had a reputation as a skilled and relentless exorcist. She was among the most efficient of her peers despite her young age, partially due to her ability to channel her buried guardian instincts into an intense focus on “protecting” Heaven from Hell’s sinners, even if it’s through destruction.

Variel's guardian origins occasionally stirred beneath her disciplined exterior, though, surfacing in ways that troubled her. She tried to suppress these feelings as "weakness," not wanting to disappoint her superiors or her comrades. Over time, she became skilled at ignoring her guardian instincts, even as they subtly influenced her. She showed mercy by giving swift ends to her targets.

The defining moment came during an extermination one year when Variel encountered a young sinner, a child. She'd never questioned her orders before, but the innocence and fear in the child’s eyes ignited her buried guardian nature, triggering a powerful urge to protect rather than destroy. Despite the risks, Variel defied her mission, taking a protective stance in front of the child. This act of compassion went against everything she’s been trained for, but her instinctual need to shield the helpless overrode her loyalty to her duty.

After her defiance, Variel faced judgment at the hands of her fellow exorcist, Lute. Seeing Vera’s betrayal as intolerable, she decided to mete out “divine punishment” herself. She violently gouged out Variel's eye, and cut her wings off - marking her as fallen and trapping her in Hell. The brutal act was both physically and spiritually devastating for Variel. The pain of her injuries solidified the gravity of her decision, as she was officially exiled from Heaven.

Severely injured, Variel was found by Lithop, who brought her back from the brink. Variel's initial instincts were to distrust Lithop, even as she was too weakened to resist. As Lithop tended to her wounds and protected her from being discovered, Variel's guarded heart began to soften, not used to someone so caring in Hell. Over time, she found herself inexplicably drawn to Lithop’s innocence and fierce belief in redemption, emotions she struggles to reconcile with her hardened worldview.

Knowing she couldn't return to her old life, Variel embraced her fall by shedding her old name, adopting “Vera” as a symbol of her new identity. While the change is largely practical (hiding her status as a fallen angel), it also reflects her internal shift. Vera is no longer tied to Heaven’s mission; she’s forging her own path, albeit skeptically. She agrees to support Lithop’s goal, not out of faith in the plan but because she believes Lithop’s heart is in the right place. Her love for Lithop becomes her new guiding force, though she remains wary of Hell’s dangers and the naivety of Lithop’s vision.

[heavenboundhotel]

✨CHERRY✨

Name: Cherry Kelly

Species/Origin: Sinner, Cycloptic/Mostly Humanoid

Gender/Pronouns: Trans woman, She/Her

Sexuality: Lesbian

Year of Birth: 1961

Year of Death: 1988

Appearance:

Personality:

Cherry Kelly is a spunky, rebellious firebrand who thrives on chaos and destruction. As a trans woman in the 1980s, she grew up knowing society would never accept her for who she was—relegating her existence to stereotypes of crossdressers or perverts. Rather than conform to an oppressive status quo, Cherry embraced her outcast status with gusto, crafting her own identity built on defiance, indulgence, and unapologetic self-expression.

Cherry is a punk rock aficionado, drawn to the raw energy and anarchy of the genre, but her true passion lies in destruction. A pyromaniac and self-proclaimed "artist," she views fire and explosions as her creative medium, capable of turning oppressive structures into her personal masterpieces. Cherry isn’t just a thrill seeker—she’s a crusader for chaos, reveling in the adrenaline rush of rebellion and the statement her destruction makes.

Unfiltered and fiercely opinionated, Cherry never hesitates to speak her mind or stir up trouble. She’s a natural anarchist, eager to tear down systems she deems corrupt, and finds Hell the perfect stage for her incendiary antics. Her explosive personality makes her hard to ignore and even harder to control, but beneath her destructive tendencies lies a sharp wit, a creative spirit, and a refusal to let anyone define her.

Backstory:

Cherry Kelly was born in 1961 in England, the eldest child of a wealthy, influential family steeped in tradition and rigid expectations. From an early age, she was molded to fulfill her role as the heir—despite feeling stifled by the suffocating constraints placed on her. Cherry (assigned male at birth) was naturally loud, curious, and disruptive, traits her parents dismissed as embarrassing at first but later met with escalating anger. Her fascination with her mother’s makeup, her love of wearing her sister’s clothes, and her refusal to conform were treated as personal affronts to her family’s name.

By her teenage years, Cherry’s defiance was impossible to contain. She flouted the strict rules at her prestigious private school, donning skirts and piercings, skipping classes, and even engaging in acts of vandalism. But the worst clashes were always at home, where her father’s obsession with appearances turned into outright cruelty. He berated her as a freak and a disgrace, hurling slurs in an attempt to shame her into submission. That night, after enduring one final tirade, Cherry waited until the house was silent. She set her father’s prized car ablaze, stole a motorcycle, and disappeared into the night—leaving her family name and their suffocating expectations in flames.

Cherry fled to London, immersing herself in the burgeoning punk and queer scenes. There, she found a haven among outcasts like herself, drawn to the raw energy and defiance of punk rock. It was in these chaotic spaces that she took the name Cherry and crafted an identity built on rebellion and self-expression. A regular at underground clubs, squats, and protests, Cherry quickly gained a reputation as a troublemaker with a love for destruction.

While Cherry dabbled in music, playing guitar in a small, raucous punk band, her true passion lay in rebellion. She fell in love with graffiti, scrawling bold, provocative messages across London’s walls, and became a fixture in riots and acts of civil disobedience. Her knack for avoiding arrest became legendary—she always seemed to vanish just before the authorities closed in, a stroke of luck that only fueled her daring escapades.

Yet beneath her confident exterior, Cherry carried a heavy weight of anger and pain. Estranged from her family, she found solace in the punk scene but often felt like an outsider even there. Her destructive tendencies were her way of coping, a desperate grasp for control in a world that had always tried to silence her.

At 27, Cherry’s luck ran out. During an arson spree targeting a government building, an unexpected explosion caught her off guard, killing her instantly in the blaze she had ignited. Her death was as fiery and chaotic as her life—a fitting end for someone who thrived on anarchy.

In Hell, Cherry initially found the chaos exhilarating, a natural extension of her rebellious spirit. But as she learned more about the rigid hierarchies of overlords and Hell’s elite, her hatred for authority reignited. To Cherry, these figures were no different from the systems of power and oppression she had spent her life fighting against.

It was during one of her fiery rampages through Hell’s streets that she crossed paths with Pixie Dust, who shared her disdain for Hell’s ruling class. The two became fast friends, bonded by their mutual love of rebellion and chaos. Cherry admired Pixie’s sharp wit and flamboyant style, while Pixie was drawn to Cherry’s wild, untamed energy. Together, they became a force of destruction, pushing the limits of what Hell’s rulers could tolerate.

Now, Cherry spends her days indulging her fiery tendencies, setting blazes and stirring up trouble wherever she goes. Fiercely protective of her chosen family—especially Pixie—Cherry refuses to bow to anyone. While her humor and bravado often mask her deeper wounds, her relentless defiance remains both her greatest strength and her most dangerous vulnerability.

[heavenboundhotel]

✨THE RADIO DEMON✨

Name: Alistair Clémenceau

Species/Origin: Sinner, Deer Demon

Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/Him

Sexuality: Aromantic Asexual

Year of Birth: 1891

Year of Death: 1933

Appearance:

Personality:

Alistair is a charmer, he's extremely charismatic and extremely manipulative. He knows exactly how to get under people's skin - and how to get what he wants. He's grown quite cocky with all of the power he's obtained in Hell, but has no issues concealing it when necessary and adopting a more humble front. He often acts cheerfully while still never letting those around him forget what he's capable of, as one of the most powerful overlords in Hell. He doesn't make his intentions known, ever, he's a showman who uses theatricality to get his way. Literally unable to stop smiling, he hides his true emotions behind a mask of uncomfortable cheeriness and personability. He's very traditional, refusing to modernize throughout his 91 years in Hell and holding himself to standards of decency from the time and place in which he lived.

Backstory:

Alistair Clémenceau was born in 1891 into the world of New Orleans, Louisiana, with the oppressive structures of the Jim Crow South looming over it. His heritage was complicated: his mother was dark-skinned, descended from a free black family of pre-abolition times, and through happenstance found herself forced to raise her son alone. His white-passing Creole father washed his hands of the generations-internalized bias and did not want to risk his reputation in a relationship scorned by society. Alistair's mother was left to her own devices: fighting stigma as a single woman of color, she turned to sex work to support herself and her son. The quiet sacrifices of his mother hit Alistair deep, and he grew up with a lingering respect for her strength and kindness. Her struggles outlined his fierce independence, teaching him how to survive in a world that was almost consistently looking down on him and how to mask his anger and longing. 

Alistair's mother did everything in her power to make his life the best possible. His mama was a fierce protector, working very hard to shield her son from the harsh judgments of the world. She instilled an early appreciation for performance in Alistair; she snuck him into theater houses, music halls, and later, jazz clubs. 

Early on, he had discovered the magic of the radio—a medium that to him seemed to speak secrets into the air. He was transfixed by voices that traveled, invisible, across distance, binding people in one common experience. He loved the voice, dislocated from identity—some kind of anonymity, some sort of power he later would crave for himself. He had started playing with crude radios as a child, even putting on little "on-air" shows for the scant audience of his mother and neighborhood friends. His mother encouraged his talents, taking pride in his ambition, and while Alistair's dreams grew bigger than New Orleans, he treasured those early performances for the bond it created between them. 

But as Alistair grew older, darker aspects of his personality would emerge. Life in the harsh South had taught him early that mercy could be a fatal weakness, and he had learned that lesson well as means of survival. He felt invisible, oppressed, and alienated, and soon nurtured an intense sense of disdain for this society that had condemned him and his mother. Somewhere in this churning inner landscape, a deadly predilection began to stir. 


Alistair found his subcultural niche as a faceless radio voice under a pseudonym when he was a young adult. His voice then was his instrument to voice anything he would want to say, sans the constraint of his persona. Behind the melodious voice was a macabre secret: he began killing, channeling years of rage and pain into his twisted "hobby." Skilled in passing under the radar, those he killed were symbolic to him—representations of hypocrisy and cruelty, people he thought were more vile than himself—and never women. The longer this went on, the more he reveled in his crimes—both of flesh and of control. Thus, he became a cannibal, grotesque appetite not to be publicly displayed.


As Alistair descended into darkness, he found his companion in Madeline "Maisie" Auclair, a jazz singer and flapper. Maisie was one of the few individuals who actually saw both the charmer and the dangerous man beneath the mask; nights with her in smoky jazz clubs were an escape for Alistair. They bonded over their shared cynicism and humor, Maisie offering him an unusual kind of acceptance, even if she didn't fully understand the extent of his violent life. 

But finally, the bloody double life of Alistair unraveled. In 1933, he was caught hiding a body; his elusive anonymity shattered in that second. He fled, but the police tracked him down, shooting him in the leg before unleashing dogs on him.


In Hell, a speaker implanted in his chest carries his voice, and he can revel in the theatrics that he so enjoyed in life. Hellproved to be fertile ground for his ambitions, and he rose through the ranks until his charisma and manipulations brought him to the status of an overlord feared by many. Clinging to an outdated sense of honor, he refused to change and cloaked his words in an unsettlingly charismatic air. And yet, still buried beneath the cynicism and the cruelties was respect for his mother's ferocity.


Lately, Alistair has been fascinated by the Prince of Hell and her plans for some kind of redemption project. That fascination may well be pure entertainment value or may mask something rather darker, but his eyes are upon her, and Alistair does little without a purpose in mind.

[heavenboundhotel]

✨LITHOP MORNINGSTAR✨


Species/Origin: Hellborn Demon


Gender/Pronouns: Nonbinary/Demigirl, She/They

Sexuality: Bisexual


Appearance:

Personality:

Lithop is very naive, and very stubborn. She's an optimist to a point of toxic positivity, but holds very black and white views on sin at the beginning, not quite grasping the complexity of the outside world. She doesn't always think things through, she's very friendly but has a poor sense of boundaries sometimes since she hasn't had a lot of interpersonal interaction, especially not with human souls. She's lovable but misguided, and believes too much in a flawed system.

Backstory:

Lithop Morningstar’s life began with privilege but was marked by intense sheltering. As the only child of Lucifer and Lilith, she was groomed from a young age to be Hell’s princess, yet she was kept at a distance from Hell’s true nature. Following her parents’ divorce, Lithop was raised primarily by servants in a secluded wing of the Morningstar estate, seeing her parents only during scheduled visits. She was never given a clear explanation for their split, leaving her with mixed emotions—admiring their power and authority, yet feeling an emptiness due to their absence.

Each parent shaped her view of Hell differently. Lucifer shielded her from its darker realities, particularly the yearly exterminations, insisting it was “for her safety.” Meanwhile, Lilith took a different approach, believing that sheltering Lithop was a mistake. Eventually, Lilith allowed Lithop out on an extermination day, where she saw Heaven’s purges firsthand: the fear, the chaos, and the desperate attempts of Hell’s residents to survive. The brutality of the event was shocking, shattering her innocent perception of Hell’s order.

Lithop’s worldview shifted even further when she witnessed Variel, an angel exorcist, defy her orders to protect a young sinner. Variel’s compassion—and the fact that children could exist in Hell at all—struck Lithop deeply, challenging her black-and-white ideas of sin. Seeing Variel’s punishment, as her wings and eye were torn away for her defiance, left Lithop with a profound sense of the cruelty within both Heaven and Hell’s systems.

As she nursed Variel, who took the name Vera to mask her identity, Lithop began forming a vision for a hotel that could offer sinners redemption—a peaceful alternative to Hell’s purges. Vera, while skeptical, supported Lithop’s hopefulness as a rare and refreshing ideal, and the two bonded over their shared belief in second chances.

When Lithop finally opens her hotel, she quickly discovers that her sheltered life has left her unprepared for the complexities of human behavior. Her first resident, Pixie Dust, embodies these challenges: she doesn’t understand his struggles with addiction, judgment, or trauma, and her rigid, simplistic views on redemption lead to conflicts. But as Lithop faces these difficulties, she remains determined, driven by her belief that, with effort, change is possible.

[heavenboundhotel]

Hello, and welcome to the Heavenbound Hotel!

This is a Hazbin Hotel rewrite project I've been considering for a while, and I'm finally deciding to give it its own home to find like-minded people to possibly discuss my brainworms with!

I don't like Vivziepop or many things about the original but I consider myself almost a tentative fan, for all the issues I have I still hold a sort of nostalgia towards the fandom and enjoy a lot of the concepts and potential it has.

This is as much an exploration of Hazbin’s concepts as it is a sandbox for me to play with new ideas, characters, and storylines. While the project does keep some aspects of the original, a lot of my changes are intended to make the world and characters distinct from Hazbin—not everything here is necessarily an "improvement"; some ideas are just for fun or experimentation.

Keep in mind that Heavenbound Hotel is a work in progress! This rewrite is constantly evolving as I develop its lore, characters, and storyline. I’m open to suggestions, and I love engaging with others who are interested in reimagining Hazbin Hotel.

My main inspirations will be the original Hellaverse, as well as other biblical lore/demonology, fandom ideas and other rewrites, and my own ideas - and I'm open to suggestions and guidance!

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

HBH follows Lithop Morningstar, the stubborn and naive princess of Hell, daughter of the now-divorced Lucifer and Lilith and her attempts to redeem Hell's sinners. The hotel itself was opened shortly after Lithop, who had previously been shielded from them, discovered the yearly exterminations of sinners by Heaven. Her goal is to find a more peaceful alternative to control Hell's population, but its not as easy as she may have anticipated, almost seeming to cause more problems than it solves at first.

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

CHARACTERS GUIDE:

Lithop Morningstar

Vera/Variel

Pixie Dust

Alistair, The Radio Demon

"Husker"/Hustler

"Nancy"/Nami

Cherry

Sir Pentine

[heavenboundhotel]

I'm going to continue to post mostly character bios for now, but now that I have what I consider to be the "main six" down - what other kinds of things would you all like me to post about HBH/its universe?

[heavenboundhotel]

Hi! Sorry I haven't updated in a little bit - I wanted to do a bunch of character bios all at the start and then immediately burned myself out so!! I will be coming back hopefully soon (especially cuz im on break rn) with some info on worldbuilding and the different rings of Hell!