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arahusk · 5 months ago

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Husk is tired once he reaches the home’s front steps, and maybe a little grumpy. His ears were still ringing from static.

He ignores the deer antlers perched over the door, like a morbid holiday wreath. But it’s both typical and so very predictable, and after weeks of this routine, Husk is barely put off by it anymore. Its winding antlers are almost like a beacon of sorts, pulsing and calling out to him as he traverses the city’s streets to Alastor’s home.

Part of the deal is to keep his boss company. Nightcaps and the sort. Husk knows it’s risky every time but the prospect of a drink is always hard to turn down. That, and his radio back at the casino is on the fritz lately, static and noise playing over the speakers in both long and short bursts that was giving Husk a headache. Which probably meant Alastor wanted him over there right now instead of two hours later. Jackass.

But maybe, in some ways, Husk also craves for a little company. He’s not ready to admit that just yet.

“Boss, you in?” he calls out, pushing open the creaky door into darkness. He has his own key and everything, even though Alastor would usually just summon him without any warning. Maybe to see Husk get pissed off, or maybe because he was really that impatient. “Got your fucking radio message. Ever heard of using a phone?”

The house is evocative of the abandoned homes that are the staple of any low-budget horror flick—with rotting floorboards, cobwebs in every corner, and skull paraphernalia decorating every available surface. It had been a shock to Husk at first, but now it was just a little blasé for his tastes. He now expects Alastor to put up creepy decorations like hanging plastic bats or wearing a witch’s hat to liven things up.

But he only sees the same thing, with the lights completely out. There’s a fireplace from across the room, the wood dry, the flames gone.

And it’s Husk’s first hint that something is wrong.

Every instinct is telling him to run, an instinct that he usually fucking listens to. After all, it’s the only damn reason he stayed alive for so long until an unfortunate slip up made him end up here in Hell. (He does not want to think about it, so he’s going to stop that right now). His foot is already half out the doorway, his wings opened up, in case something tries to grab at him from the darkness.

Instead, he stays. Instead, he walks inside the house. A sensation, a sound, pulls at him to move forward, hidden in the shadows, even as his mind is screaming at him to leave.

But he doesn’t think it’s Alastor that’s going to pounce on him in the darkness. If he did, he might have felt less afraid—mildly. But the feeling keeps moving his feet to further inside the home, to hallways that sometimes shifted for his own boss’s shits and giggles. Husk lost count of how many times he had found himself in a long hallway with no doors to leave through, just for Alastor’s own amusement.

But the shadows that move around him, some of them with eyes, are frantic. The hallways keep rearranging themselves until he feels he has been traveling for miles. But there’s always another door, always another deer skull hanging around, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to leave again once the home brings him to where he needs to be.

He also keeps hearing that same radio signal from before—those short and long bursts, high-pitched and keening inside his head. It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth, but he keeps going forward, even as the sound makes him want to rip off his ears. It’s distant, but it’s growing, and he knows he’s getting closer the further he goes deeper into this house.

At one point, he finds himself on the stairs. Old, creaking stairs that were covered in mildew, where a few steps in-between were entirely missing. He walks up them with no question, his wings fanning out to hover any missing places for his feet. The stairs seem to lead in a spiral, and then the wood slowly, almost subtly, begins to turn to metal grates. Instead of mold, there is now rust, much of it covering the railing Husk occasionally uses. It makes his claws screech against it, whenever he lets his hand place itself on it.

The radio tower is supposed to be on the other side of Pentagram City. But Alastor’s home was always a place to rend apart reality to suit where he wanted to be, whether that’s a murky swamp or a glaring red tower where the frequency is always at an awful signal—and it was that awful signal bringing him up, always playing that same deformed patterns, over and over again.

But then, Husk finds himself at the top, and the red decor that makes up this place is almost all gone. It’s just dark, and it’s cold, and there is Alastor—

—and he’s kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room before a woman that Husk knows, because everyone knows who she is.

There are nights when Husk tries to sleep, and makes sure his damn radio is off. But he still hears singing, floating on the air, and he can’t help but admit that the voice makes him feel some sort of hope that he should have stamped out years and years ago.

She’s so tall, regal and timeless, with sleek and black horns curving from her head to tangle along her golden hair. In her hands is a chain made of a light that there is no name for. She looks over at Husk, who has just appeared from the dark like nothing, first with a curious lift of an eyebrow—and then finally a light laugh. The melodic sound of it makes his heart race, fends off exhaustion from his limbs.

But then he sees Alastor again who is on his knees, whose head is bowed, and over his neck is a manacle that is so tight—and then the chain pulls upward.

And the movement makes Alastor lift his head and there is a flash of something that’s terrified and broken, and any music that lives in Husk’s head is suddenly gone in a flash.

He makes the mistake of talking.

“What’s…going on here?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. The tone is tight, stripped of everything. It’s as if some part of him knows that if he breathes wrong, it’s over.

“Oh, look, Alastor. Your friend is here.” The woman finally speaks, her eyes flicking over the chained Radio Demon. His head is still turned away, and only Husk notices then that his once neat red hair is frazzled, unkempt.

At her tone, Alastor starts visibly shaking. His ears lay flat against his head, and Husk can even hear him breathe faster. “No.”

“You don’t believe me? But you must have heard him.” The woman smiles, something that Husk can still see, even in the dark. “It seems he’s finally caught us.”

Husk isn’t sure he wants to understand what she fucking means by that.

She bends down from her great height so she can place her hand over Alastor’s head—so grand that it looks as if she could crush the demon’s head with just her palm. Her fingers tap along Alastor’s cheeks, a thumb playing with his hair. “You should greet him. It’s only polite.”

And in Alastor’s voice, he hears something akin to terror. Panic. Shame. The radio filter is off completely, leaving no room for error to what Alastor feels, to what he’s experiencing.

“Wait, wait, no—”

“Now, come on.” A hand that grips the back of Alastor’s hair, and a pull of the chain that yanks him upward, enough to lift him just slightly off his knees. “Say hello.”

“Wait, stop it, I don’t-!”

And then Alastor turns.

Husk sees a face that is finally bare of every glimmer, of every facade, of every blistering smile. Alastor stares back at him, under the pressure of both the hand and chain. In his eyes, steeped in red that is now so dark, there is an awful and silent cry.

But in that silence, Husk hears something. It’s coming from deep within Alastor’s chest, the radio waves that had been missing from his vocal chords. But Husk hears it, those same long and short bursts of awful sound, all as Alastor keeps looking at him with widened eyes. Calling him.

Husk then realizes what he had been hearing over the radio back home: a corrupted form of an S.O.S signal.

Inspired by this art.

Full fic on AO3.

#hazbin hotel #husk #alastor #lilith morningstar #radiohusk #radioqueen #my fics #fanfiction #I am on board the 'evil Lilith' train even though it's probably not true #this was just fun to write out #me hastily adding in an ao3 link as i see people reblog this HOLD UP CHECK THE FULL STORY THANK U

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darkhymns-fic · 3 months ago

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SOS

When a distorted radio signal calls Husk to Alastor's home, he doesn't expect to be facing the Queen of Hell, offering him the chance of a lifetime.

But monsters always have the brightest smiles.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Alastor/Husk/Lilith Morningstar Rating: M Word Count: 8588 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Originally was just a throwaway fic I wrote on my sideblog, but then it morphed afterwards to be this unholy OT3. It was fun! I want Lilith to be devious because that is also fun. Inspired by several fanarts that are shared on the mirror, but special shout out to this art by @datchidatchi.

Husk is tired once he reaches the rickety house’s front steps, and maybe a little grumpy. His ears were still ringing from static.

Part of the deal is to keep his boss company. Nightcaps and the sort. Husk knows it’s risky every time but the prospect of a drink is always hard to turn down. That, and his radio back at the casino is on the fritz lately, static and noise playing over the speakers in both long and short bursts that gave Husk a headache. Which probably meant Alastor wanted him over there right now instead of two hours later. Jackass.

But maybe, in some ways, Husk also craves for a little company. He’s not ready to admit that just yet.

The house is evocative of the abandoned homes that are the staple of any low-budget horror flick—with rotting floorboards, cobwebs in every corner, and skull paraphernalia decorating every available surface. It had been a shock to Husk at first, but now it was just a little blasé for his tastes. He half-expects Alastor to put up creepy decorations like hanging plastic bats or wearing a witch’s hat to liven things up.

But he only sees the same thing, with the lights completely out. There’s a fireplace from across the room, the wood dry, the flames gone.

And it’s Husk’s first hint that something is wrong.

Instead, he stays. Instead, he walks inside the house. A sensation, a sound, pulls at him to move forward, hidden in the shadows, even as his mind is screaming at him to leave.

But he doesn’t think it’s Alastor that’s going to pounce on him in the darkness. If he did, he might have felt less afraid—mildly. But the feeling keeps moving his feet further inside the home, to hallways that sometimes shifted for his own boss’s shits and giggles. Husk lost count of how many times he would find himself in a long hallway with no doors to leave through, just for Alastor’s own amusement.

But the shadows that move around him, some of them with eyes, are frantic. The hallways keep rearranging themselves until he feels he has been traveling for miles. There’s always another door, always another deer skull hanging around, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to leave again once the home brings him to where he needs to be.

At one point, he finds himself on the stairs. Old, creaking stairs that are covered in mildew, where a few steps in-between were entirely missing. He walks up them with no question, his wings fanning out to hover any missing places for his feet. The stairs seem to lead in a spiral, and then the wood slowly, almost subtly, begins to turn to metal grates. Instead of mold, there is now rust, much of it covering the railing Husk occasionally uses. It makes his claws screech against it, whenever he lets his hand place itself on it.

The radio tower is supposed to be on the other side of Pentagram City. But Alastor’s home has always been a place to rend apart reality to suit where he wanted to be, whether that’s a murky swamp or a glaring red tower where the frequency is always at an awful signal—and it was that awful signal bringing him up, always playing that same deformed patterns, over and over again.

But then, Husk finds himself at the top, and the red decor that makes up this place is almost all gone. It’s just dark, and it’s cold, and there is Alastor—

—and he’s kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room before a woman that Husk knows, because everyone knows who she is.

She’s so tall, regal and timeless, with sleek and black horns curving from her head to tangle along her golden hair. In her hands is a chain made of a color that there is no name for. She looks over at Husk, who has just appeared from the dark like nothing, first with a curious lift of an eyebrow—and then finally a light laugh. The melodic sound of it makes his heart race, fends off exhaustion from his limbs.

But then he sees Alastor again who is on his knees, whose head is bowed, and over his neck is a manacle that is so tight—and then the chain pulls upward.

And the movement makes Alastor lift his head and there is a flash of something that’s terrified and broken, and any music that lives in Husk’s head is suddenly gone in a flash.

He makes the mistake of talking.

“What’s…going on here?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. The tone is tight, stripped of everything. It’s as if some part of him knows that if he breathes wrong, it’s over.

At her tone, Alastor starts visibly shaking. His ears lay flat against his head, and Husk can even hear him breathe faster. “No.”

“You don’t believe me? But you must have heard him.” The woman smiles, something that Husk can still see, even in the dark. “It seems he’s finally caught us.”

Husk isn’t sure he wants to understand what she fucking means by that.

And in Alastor’s voice, he hears something akin to terror. Panic. Shame. The radio filter is off completely, leaving no room for error to what Alastor feels, to what he’s experiencing.

“Wait, wait, no—”

“Now, come on.” A hand that grips the back of Alastor’s hair, and a pull of the chain that yanks him upward, enough to lift him just slightly off his knees. “Say hello.”

“Wait, stop it, I don’t-!”

And then Alastor turns.

Husk then realizes what he had been hearing over the radio back home: a corrupted form of an S.O.S signal.

He shouldn’t have answered Alastor’s call.

The next moments that come by are fuzzy in his recollection. The strange trip through Alastor’s home had made him lose touch with reality, so he isn’t sure just when his boss is suddenly back on the floor, dropped like a sack of rotting meat. He isn’t sure when the woman seemingly glides across the floor to stand in front of him, the chains having left her hands. He isn’t sure just when she looks down at him, as if she is an ancient mountain, and he is just some pathetic outcropping of mud that had somehow ended up in her shadow.

This is his fault, Husk thinks, all as he stares up at someone who held a certain type of beauty he could only call terrifying. Stupid fucking bastard. Yet, he keeps flicking a glance towards his boss, who is still on the floor, and wonders suddenly at the damp sensation he felt over his palms.

The signal stops—for now. It’s faint, like a fading heartbeat. Husk doesn’t know if this means Alastor’s given up.

He can’t look long, because the woman demands his attention. She bends down, her golden hair unfurling past her shoulders, smelling of lavender. And then, she places her hands over his cheeks, and grips.

Not hard. Not painful. In fact, it is gentle, the way her fingers travel through his fur. But Husk is so, so deeply aware of the strength in her touch. And even then, he isn’t ready for the voice that leaves her painted lips, suddenly softer than when he first saw her.

“He hasn’t been treating you well, has he?” she says. This close, her voice makes his ears flick, makes something catch inside his chest until he feels it’s going to burst open with thorns, coated in poison. “You poor thing.”

And from the floor, Husk finally hears the static crackle in the air. It’s a sound he is long used to—Alastor always made clear his displeasure with him—but the context it exists under makes it screech with something desperate.

The woman sighs. He feels her breath sift the fur over his face, and how her hold slightly lifts up his chin. “I am so sorry for his rudeness. You would think he’d know better by now.”

Don’t say anything, Husk tells himself. He swallows, worrying how she must have seen that. How she must have felt it. He doesn’t want to be in the middle of this, but it’s far too late.

Then, a soft little screech that builds up next to them, the feedback bursting with so much feedback. “Lilith, you—”

A hand leaves Husk to gesture towards Alastor. The chain whips up like a frenzied snake, diving into her palm, and she pulls.

She pulls so hard that Husk hears Alastor gag. He hears just how very, very close it had come to breaking the Radio Demon’s neck. The static flickers and explodes, sounding like some horrendous mass of angry flies. It makes Husk’s fur stand on end, but he can’t look towards Alastor, because the woman still has her hand on his cheek.

The Queen of Hell, an ancient soul that so few have ever even seen. And somehow, Alastor is fucking entangled with her.

Husk does realize something though. The hand on him, which is still cradling his cheek gently, is normal-sized. Nothing like the grand, engulfing claw that had threatened to crush Alastor’s head just moments ago. He hasn’t even seen her transform or anything of the sort.

Or maybe she just makes them see what she wants them to.

“Such a naughty boy,” she says, her eyes flicking behind her, all while Alastor struggles to breathe. The chain goes lax again, and then comes the sharp intake of breath. “And here, I thought you wanted me to meet him.” The chains clink again, just slightly, and the air vibrates from the very intensity of some unspoken threat.

“Wait—” Husk says, breaking his own promise. He whispers desperately, his hands reaching out in instinct. Maybe he’s thinking that he’d reach for the woman’s shoulders, or even for her hands, where one was still resting against his face. Instead, his claws grasp onto black fabric, and his palms meet the solidness of her knees.

At that, the woman—Lilith, Queen of Hell—smiles down at him. “Getting handsy with me now?”

Husk sweats then. Shit shit shit shit.

He thinks he can feel Alastor grinding his sharp teeth together. The sound is in his skull, worming inside his very ears. He has no idea why it’s so invasive, why it seems to live inside him like some parasite.

But maybe bound souls were always close like this.

Husk quickly lets go, but he tries to calm his heart a bit. He tries to act fucking normal, but it is getting harder to even pretend when he once again stands before her. A part of him still remembers hearing her songs over the radio frequency, and that part of him wants to get lost in it completely…

“Look, I don’t know what…all of this even is…” He vaguely gestures at the space that was the radio tower, to where his boss still lies on the floor. “But, it just doesn’t seem…”

Right? Good? He isn’t sure of the word. What does goodness have to do with anything or anyone in Hell?

“Aw, I see. How sweet.” Lilith runs a gentle thumb against his fur. She hums, a soft melody. Slightly jazzy, even. It sets something stirring in his chest. “You were worried about him. Even after all he does to you.”

Husk doesn’t like the idea that she knows anything about what he has to deal with. And yet, the way she stares down at him, still humming, makes him suspect that she knows every little detail.

Did Alastor tell her? Or did she pull it out of him?

“Well, as you can see, he’s doing just fine.” She doesn’t even turn, still smiling down at Husk. Suddenly, Alastor appears next to her, still on his knees, a hand at his throat as he rubs at the manacle over it.

He sees Alastor stiffen, eyes darting all around as he realizes he’d been taken. His grin stays on his face, but it looks so close to breaking, the sharp points of his teeth trembling in their rictus shape. Reality shifts, and to Alastor, she is a giantess with horns of obsidian and a smile that is biting, eager to draw blood.

And when she sings, it’s so easy to fall under her spell.

“You should learn to cherish your friends more. All that fame, getting to your head.” An index finger, curved like a talon, presses against the very middle of Alastor’s forehead. Right where a certain symbol was engraved, inflamed and permanent and full of rage.

But Alastor only shakes instead. His eyes fixate on that finger, on her, on the glow of the chain that lays on the floor. He smiles so wide that his lips draw back from his gums, and soon there is blood, dripping from his mouth to slide down his chin.

Husk wonders how easily it would be for Lilith to slide her fingers inside the other’s skull, picking apart brain matter. He pictures it so easily, and so suddenly, with such a ferocity to it, of viscous fluids falling around him, and shards of bone that would pierce from Alastor’s head like broken porcelain. Husk stays frozen in place, visualizing bits of meat dropping to the floor all too clearly and all too detailed. What the fuck.

It’s not like he isn’t used to seeing such violence and gore, in his everyday life, or experiencing it himself. But it had played out before him like a feature film, and who the hell had put that in his head?

Lilith laughs, her tone so low and smooth. “It’s not healthy for you.”

The signal that had been sleeping inside Husk’s head, low and dull like a building headache, is suddenly deafening.

He winces, but Alastor remains still. A deer in headlights. Suddenly very fragile, and weak, and so very small.

“Now, what do we say?”

Husk closes his eyes, but it only makes him focus on the signal even more. It echoes inside his head in those same repeating patterns, until he’s surrounded in it. He doesn’t want to hear this anymore.

“....ry.”

“You’re mumbling.” The finger presses more against the forehead, and even though Husk isn’t even looking, he can somehow see it. He can even feel it. Like he’s the one there kneeling before her and staring, and watching as the light in her eyes brighten, as the smile on her face turns so sharp.

Like he’s in Alastor’s place. Somehow. What is even fucking happening anymore?

“Again.”

Teeth that grind against each other further, filing down canines. Weakening himself for her. Husk feels the familiar weight of the manacle over his neck, and it only makes things even more confusing. This is never something he wanted to share with Alastor. He didn’t want to be here.

“I am… trying …to be apologetic—”

The finger bores down through bone, with a sickening crunch. Alastor—or Husk—gasps in pain, but still remains on his knees. Lights flash in his vision. This was death, slow and methodical. Permanent.

“Mean it,” Lilith speaks. Or sings, her tone so sweet and airy. It sounds much too beautiful for what she’s doing to him.

The finger burrows further in, like a hungry maggot. Alastor and Husk and whoever they are now are shaking, with tears in their eyes. It won’t stop until she’s satisfied. And they just want it to stop.

“I-I-I…I’m s-sorry …”

And even then, it’s said through gritted teeth.

Lilith hums, her face so close, even as her claw still digs through meat and bone like it was just a bit of dust she was cleaning up. “Now, that wasn’t so hard. Very good.” Then, she leans down to kiss him.

And it’s the moment she kisses him, or Alastor, or maybe himself still, that Husk is wrenched away back to his own body. He doesn’t feel the pain, or the softness, or anything else. Only the hand on his cheek.

She hasn’t let go of him all this time.

Alastor then slumps to the floor, breathing hard again, his ears laid flat against his head, and his antlers pulsing and threatening to grow, but just stop short. Lilith ignores him, turning back to Husk, and now petting at his ears.

“I’d like to get to know you more,” she says.

At some point in the night, Husk found himself having a drink with the Queen of Hell.

It’s something that the Hell-papers would have chewed on for a week—’Our Beautiful Queen Gives Charity to Some Drunk Loser!’ the headlines might have spun—and then keep recycling that story for weeks. But Husk isn’t one to care about someone’s certain station in this messed up landscape that was his afterlife. He’d already been an Overlord once, and those hanging from the higher rungs of the ladder didn’t always do so with style, let alone any sort of decorum. The closest he could say was any such thing was Zestial, but he’d never known the Overlord on a personal level.

And Alastor could always put on a persona when one didn’t know of his petty nature.

But as Husk is forced to sit before her, in some weird imitation that reminded him of Rosie’s little get-togethers, he has to give something to all that reputation. He has to admit to himself that he’s scared shitless by what she represents, all while still having little to no idea of who she truly is.

Except for what she has done to Alastor. And except for the songs that Husk could still recall from memory.

“You seem a little stressed,” she says to him, holding up her drink, and smiling pleasantly. It seems genuine. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light. But so little light pierced through this space—they were back in Alastor’s home in one of his second-rate nightmare parlors, with all of its stupid hunter decorations, its shoddy wallpaper, and its animal skulls that were even on the very table they were sitting at.

To the side, far off in the corner, Husk could just barely catch the shape of Alastor. Hardly any noise except for a brief crackle or two, his face just faintly lit up by the manacle on him.

“Not exactly a relaxing place, if you get my meaning.” He doesn’t even remember how they got here, but he stares over at the cup in front of him and kinda wishes he at least had some whiskey to spice it up.

…And just like that, a whiskey bottle appears, elegantly-shaped, the liquid inside looking as if it was distilled from ambrosia. The label on it is vintage, or actually, even older than that. As if Lilith has just pulled out the alcohol from a time long past, a time that she lived through.

Only one other person has ever bribed him with drinks like this.

“It’s a smooth flavor, I guarantee it.” Lilith nods, looking over at Husk with golden eyes, then takes another sip of her drink. He wonders if there’s already anything in the liquid, if it’s something that will bind him down if he dares.

“I’m good,” he says, though not without his tone becoming a little snappy. “I’d rather not be drunk for this.”

“Ohh, are you a lightweight? I wouldn’t have guessed.” She places the glass back on the table, flicks a glance towards a deer skull that had bits of cobweb stuck to the antlers. She looks at it, and hums, then turns back to Husk. “Maybe you and Luci would get along.”

In the corner, he hears another crackle. A sharp pain jams into his skull. Yeah, alright. So whatever Alastor was feeling, he was going to feel now. That was fantastic.

Husk’s tail flicks, swatting away at invisible flies. “I think meeting one of Hell’s royalty is enough to spice up my night.”

His tone is brisk, but Lilith doesn’t seem to mind. She simply lays her elbows on the table, places her chin on the top of her hands, and leans forward. “Sounds like you know how to make someone’s night very exciting.”

There’s a part of him reeling at the fact just now. The Queen of Hell is flirting with me.

And yet, there’s another part of him that wants to act like a bastard. Maybe it’s Alastor’s influence, or the ache in his head. Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept fuck-all since coming here.

“Oh yeah? Sure, lady, I can show you a good time…”

With a sharp-toothed grin, Husk takes the whiskey bottle that the Queen had conjured, dangling it by its neck as he holds it between two fingers. He shakes it slightly, back and forth like a metronome, then flips it up into the air above them.

It doesn’t shatter into a thousand pieces or spill. Instead, it instantly transforms into a long-stemmed rose. Husk catches it without even a blink, handing it over to Lilith. The grin on his face is tight.

“Here’s a shitty little party trick for you, your Highness. ”

He still feels kinda pissed off at that weird torture session he had the pleasure of enduring.

If Lilith is angry at his comment, she doesn’t show it. She might even have the best poker face Husk has ever seen, all as she graciously takes the rose and brushes the petals against her chin. “If this is what you can do now, I can’t wait to see you when you’re in a good mood.”

Her voice is low, a soft timbre quality to it. Almost like a purr. Husk clears his throat. It’s been a while since he’s been in this type of game, and he’s way rusty at it now.

“Listen, can we cut through this shit and tell me why I’m still here?” He doesn’t feel like being polite, or even smart. He just wants to leave. He keeps his eyes diverted, trying to look at anything in this house that is vaguely normal. The closest is a piece of lint that’s caught on the edge of the carpets. “I didn’t mean to walk in on whatever fucked up game you and the boss do. I’ll just forget it. I’m good at that.”

And when Lilith speaks again, he expects disdain, or even some kind of anger. He’s just some low-life nobody that’s talking back at what is one of the oldest beings of mankind.

Except, and here is where she is suddenly at his chair, right where his wings are laid across them. And her hands place themselves over his shoulders, and her hair falls over his face, like the gossamer strands of a frail curtain.

Except, she suddenly sounds so very sad.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

There is no fucking way, he thinks, but as her voice is so close to his ear, it’s hard to focus on all the misgivings in him.

“And as I said before, I only want to get to know you.”

Reality shifts again.

Husk used to care, once long ago, how he presented himself. Clean-pressed suits, slick-backed fur, and his wings carefully preened so that feathers didn’t fall into the customer’s drinks. Even the occasional ‘kitty’ comment he’d endure as long as they were paying for a game at one of his tables, or were desperate for deals that he was open to negotiate on. The only messes were the occasional blood spatters on the carpets when he had to take out the trash himself, or bullet holes in his walls from those who excelled at winning the game of stupidity.

Alastor’s deal made him forget all that. What did dignity matter when one was forced to work behind the bar, or made to match his owner down to the shade of his bow tie? So he drank, and he would forget, and it was better that way.

Until Lilith is facing him, holding both of his hands, her dress covered in rhinestones, and her gloves made from black satin, the material soft against his claws. Husk looks down, and the suit he is wearing now is like a second skin he’d long forgotten he missed. Barely a thread out of place, with even his favorite designs—heart and spade next to each other—on his lapel, and his bowtie a classy shade of gold instead of stark red. His wings stretched, and they remained up instead of dragging to the ground like they mostly did these days.

A quick, furtive look around, and Husk sees them both on a stage. The audience before them is faceless, just a mass of black with bobbing heads. The lights above them are so bright, and they halo around Lilith specifically, brightening up that wonderful smile.

She lets go of his hands, and waves to the crowd. Still, she keeps her eyes on him. “You’ve always been a stage man.”

She says it like she knows him. And going by his outfit, and the fancy lights around them, she probably, actually does.

He spreads his hands wide before him, then notices the gleam of heart-shaped cufflinks just at his wrist. How did she know every detail? “Well, I’m not much of a performer anymore,” he tells her.

And suddenly, a saxophone appears in his arms, the sash already looped around his shoulder. The weight of the instrument is almost like nothing to him.

“Let me hear you play.”

Husk stares at her, then back to the instrument in his hands. His claws fell over the keys, molded for his own touch instead of just anyone else. “It’s been years.”

In Lilith’s right hand, a microphone forms out from the stage lights. She brings it close to her mouth, while her other hand reaches down to stroke Husk’s cheek. “But you haven’t forgotten.”

She’s right.

Husk isn’t immune to the allure of a beautiful woman, even if there is something behind her eyes that terrifies him, and how he still remembers the pain she had inflicted on Alastor. The ache of it still lingers inside Husk’s skull, but when she hums so sweetly into the microphone, so much of it simply washes away. The stage lights focus on her, making her dress sparkle.

He knows her songs, some of them uplifting and powerful, and others so sweet and melancholy that it drives souls to the brink of madness. It’s a coinflip to what she would sing next for that radio show, where her songs simply served as a backdrop to the array of screams.

The brief reminder makes Husk blink. Shit. Where’s Alastor? He looks around, but there is only the stage and the audience, which is only dark shapes and nothing else. They applause when Lilith begins to sing, her voice caught on the sweeping melancholy that already makes his limbs feel heavy, as if his bones were being slowly filled up by honey.

It’s a nice feeling. Almost addicting.

Husk knows he should be high-tailing it out of here, but when Lilith sings, it seems to move his limbs in other ways. His wings stretch wide, and he already presses down on the saxophone’s keys as he plays along with a song that he already knows. It doesn’t seem to matter if the lyrics she sang move through his head, losing shape and meaning, until it was just the melody itself. Maybe that’s what she wants, after all.

“You have such talent, Husk” she tells him between the verses. She says it casually, her voice showing no fatigue. She controls her notes as easily as changing into her dress. “It’s such a shame you don’t get to use it.”

A question that wrinkles the smoothness of the moment. Husk pauses on his playing, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “Lady, not that I don’t appreciate the compliment, but no one’s stopping me from just busking around.”

He really could, like the old days when he would put up small side hustles of card tricks to make a little extra cash, accompanied by playing out in the streets when he didn’t feel like grifting. Hell’s own streets weren’t always as receptive to a random show (and in some places like Cannibal Town, sometimes they were too eager) but he knew the good spots. And back in his casino heydays, he had to stop himself from going out to play old melodies on stage just for the heck of it.

Lilith only smiles at him, and then brings the mic close again, turning towards that faceless audience. Another note, one that builds higher and higher, and it pulls at his hands again to play along, to use his breath to match the beats of her own.

And it’s suddenly akin to the feeling of being pulled by the strings.

Husk can’t even will himself to stop, his thoughts becoming only filled with that music, one that writhes and lives inside him. It’s euphoric, and it’s terrifying. Isn’t it better to just play like this? A part of him says, something that doesn’t even sound like him. Husk can’t shake it away though, still not finished with the song that Lilith leads.

Don’t you want to be a freer soul?

And as the music slows, Lilith towers over him, humming the last note into the microphone. She smiles, and it’s only for him. She is a beautiful soul, decked out in lights, so bright that it blinds him. It’s almost like a dream, but he knows he’s not dreaming—only dead.

As she hums, she extends her hand, its touch silky as she grips his chin. She raises it as the spotlight rings around them both, leaving the rest of the world in darkness.

“Wouldn’t you rather make a deal with me?”

The voice in his head is her, her music repeating in his skull like a tune he can’t shake off. It’s to the point where he can’t listen to anything else. And, for a second, he almost answers her before he even knows what to say.

Then he hears it. The signals, thudding in his head, three short bursts, then three long ones.

What?

Husk blinks. The stage lights pierce right into his eyes with a terrible ache. The sound continues and it makes it all worse. Stop it. Stop it.

With a snarl, he wrenches his head out of Lilith’s reach, taking a step back.

And just like that, the stage disappears.

It’s almost like cold water is dumped on him immediately. The glitz and glamor that had been their surroundings is snuffed out, and he’s already shivering from the lack of clothes. No more of the clean-pressed suit and dazzling cufflinks, or even the shining instrument that was in his arms. Husk is back to his loose trousers and suspenders, the hat on his head nearly close to falling off him. He can’t even summon the energy to lift his wings.

Lilith, by contrast, still looks radiant as always, but there is a sharp glint in her eyes that isn’t there before. Then it moves to the right, back to a corner that is in the dark—

He hears Alastor’s static before he sees him again, a barely seen shape in the shadows. Turning to him, and his boss is glaring with eyes so brightly lit that it seems to engulf his face.

Wait, Husk thinks. Did we even leave? Has he been watching the whole time?

And then the chain that connects from Alastor’s neck is given a sharp tug that sends his boss sprawling face-first into the floor.

“That’s enough.” Lilith brings the chains to wrap around her palm, the light of it reminding Husk of the stage. “Trying to disrupt my business, after all I did for you? Now you’ve just confused the poor thing.”

The chain’s links ringing together makes Husk grit his teeth. Alastor doesn’t even say words, still on the floor and glaring poisonous daggers in their direction. Was he mad at Husk too? Fuck me, I didn’t even want to be here!

Lilith has that strange look on her face, all as she slowly twirls the chains around her fingers. Husk snaps, full of exasperation and fatigue.

“The hell was all that about before? What did you just do to me?” Husk shakes his head, trying to rid himself of whatever strange effects Lilith put on him. “Just…what are you even…?”

Stupid thing to say. He knows exactly what she is.

With those words, she shifts her attention from Alastor back to Husk, and suddenly her smile is much sweeter than before.

“I was only giving you a peek into your possible future.” Her eyelids lower, along with her voice. “If you’d like to switch deals, that is.”

Her voice sends another shiver through him, one he tries to ignore. “I’m fucking through with making any more deals.”

Like he’d risk getting another bad hand.

“Oh? But you haven’t even heard my terms,” she says.

Maybe Husk is a little more on edge than he realizes, because he stares up at her with slightly bared teeth. Or maybe, he already misses that stage more than he thought, and is angry at the thought that he left it so soon.

“No offense, lady, but if you made a deal with that whack job there, I can’t imagine one with me is much better.”

A risky glance to said whack job, but Alastor is barely looking now. His boss is still face-down on the floor, even if the static and signals are still thudding inside Husk’s skull.

“Then, let me show you at least.”

Her hands reach up to his neck, and he stiffens. He can only imagine bad things, because nothing in Hell was gentle. But her fingers only hover over him, just barely catching onto the fur, even though she has already held him and certainly knows how he feels against her touch. He doesn’t like that a part of him is almost aching for her to touch him, that a part of him wants her to sing again.

Then he feels that familiar weight of the manacle that signals his status, his fuck-ups, and his desperation—all rolled into one embarrassing accessory that he could never take off. It’s only loosely-hanging on, like an oversized collar, and it only slightly burns whenever Alastor would will it so. He expects it to burn right now, but it doesn’t, even as Alastor is right there in the corner, consumed with so much angry static that’s like flies buzzing around incessantly.

The green of the chains light up Lilith’s eyes, just for a moment, before golden irises swallow it up. She presses one finger over the manacle, sliding over it, like it was the rim of a wine glass.

“I can get rid of this for you.” She raises her eyes to meet his own. “And I would never clip your wings the way he has.”

The words are so sweet that it makes his teeth ache, and it stings right at his heart.

“It’s also such a troublesome thing for you, isn’t it? Alastor has never been so good at keeping to himself. I’ve always told him it’s bad manners.”

That, however, is not what Husk expects to hear. He stares. “What are you getting at?”

Lilith’s eyes seem to express some sort of pity, and he’s not very sure if he’s pissed at the idea or not. “The way he just drags you to him, like a child.” She then brings her hand to his forehead, a thumb rubbing a circle over it, oddly soothing. “You’re not his whipping boy. His punishment wasn’t meant for you too.”

The memory of her finger digging through bone and meat, and then leaving no trace of it at all.

Fuck, so she did know of what happened.

She holds onto Husk’s chain, but takes care to not pull at it, or even tug. He doesn’t feel any pressure at all. “I’ve always been a solo artist, but lately, my songs have felt like… they’re missing something. So I’ve been looking around lately for someone who could help with that. Alastor’s radio show can only do so much. The people want so much more.”

Husk can’t believe what he’s hearing, once he’s finally caught on. “Are you saying you just want me to be part of your band? ”

It sounds so simple and so easy—and he can’t trust it all. But then Lilith smiles down at him, and suddenly it feels like he’d be crazy to not accept the offer.

She curls her fingers around his chains, and he hears something crack. Metal snapping, slowly, one link at a time.

“I love finding those who have talent, Husk. And baby, you have it.”

The promise of freedom, and the sweet words from someone who looked like a goddess—who practically was—is enough to make Husk consider falling down to his knees and accept anything she was offering. If he was younger, he would have. If he was still an Overlord, with all the money and power at his fingertips, he still would have.

But…isn’t this just changing one leash for another?

The signal bursts again, loud and grating, breaking the spell. It’s hard to focus, and it pulls at him like nothing else, and so he has to turn to that corner, and see Alastor get up to his knees. He has to see him glare and grit his teeth, and there’s something so incredibly feral there. Inhuman. Desperate.

“You can’t have him!”

It’s just a split-second but Husk sees Lilith drop her smile before she also faces Alastor. She stands tall instead of crouching down to meet Husk’s level. For Alastor, she will only view him from up on high.

The signal keeps bleating, in time with Alastor’s boiling words.

“He’s mine.”

Husk doesn’t want to admit that the word does something to him. He’s still half-sharing a space with Alastor, feeling his rage that sends his teeth shattering from the strain of it. He can also feel how the Radio Demon is engraving that word deep in his chest, past the bones of his rib cage and squeezing painfully at his heart.

Lilith only stares, her silence so deafening that it overpowers the static until it’s fizzling out, like the hisses of a dying fire. Alastor keeps glaring and his teeth look ready to tear, but he doesn’t move.

In Lilith’s hands are two separate chains, entwined together. She wraps both different-colored links around her fingers, and seems to consider.

“You never seem to understand that what’s yours is mine. Your power. Your radio show. Your souls.” She tilts her head, golden hair cascading, the strands nearly reaching Alastor’s face by just half an inch. Distance seems to mean nothing to her, already with Alastor, with Husk. Everywhere. “You have plenty of others, don’t you?”

The signals inside Husk’s head transform into a monotone, blaring and digging further inside. It’s panicking. It’s reeling over from fear. Husk feels the urge to run over to Alastor and shake him so that he could fucking calm down and not make this all so much worse.

“Ah, but maybe…” Lilith has her smile again. She wraps the chains tighter around each other. “It’s only him, isn’t it? Oh, Al… you should take better care of those you love.”

At that, the signal is so loud, so awful, like claws slowly tearing through metal, that Husk collapses to the ground.

He just barely hears the chains clatter at his motion, but he’s already clutching his head, ears pinned down, and fur standing on end. He can’t even open his eyes. The sound is unreal. It’s torture. His head is literally going to explode into tiny bits and pieces from the sheer pain of it.

You should take better care of those you love, he hears again, and then it gets even worse. Like he was caught in a spiral and kept descending and descending, knowing there was no end to it.

Why was Alastor doing this to him?!

By then, it’s only her voice that finally saves him.

It’s faint and distant, like a far-off light through the fog. Husk feels his soul stumbling towards it, but as she sings, the pain seems to recede. It takes him a while to know that she’s holding his face again, like before, lifting him up, and humming what sounds like some sort of lullaby.

The static and the awful signal seems to disappear. He tries not to think about what that means.

Lilith bends down, and he wonders if she’s about to kiss him, the same way she did with Alastor.

“Husk…” she whispers, her lips just brushing against his pointed ear. He feels her breath across his fur. “My deal still stands. My voice, your music.”

He clasps her wrists, tightly. He shakes, and he considers.

A curious note in Lilith. “Did you change your mind then?”

He doesn’t hear anything in his head now. Only her beautiful voice, and the lingering memory of a song they played together. It should have been easy to decide. After all, how many times in the middle of the night has he wished to finally escape the means of his deal? How many times has he wished he would never see that infuriating smile of Alastor’s ever again?

Instead, Husk just holds that position, looking down. He waits, almost sure of what he would say.

“No,” he says instead.

“Hmm. I see.”

It’s not disappointment in Lilith’s tone, just acceptance. Somehow, that’s worse.

With the pain gone, Husk lets go of her, and slowly gets to his feet. He tries not to think about how he somehow keeps touching her. But then again, back in the day, he’d have done everything he could to lay his hands on someone as beautiful as she is. Even if right now, he can barely look her in the eye.

But she’s also touching him too, hands still over his cheeks. And she hasn’t let go just yet.

She’s expecting him to say something. So he does so, struggling.

“I only came here because the boss called me.” He won’t say his name right now. “I didn’t come here for deals, or to be part of some new music crew. And right now, all three of us in this room is doing none of us any fucking favors. So maybe just….” He trails off.

But there’s no polite way to tell someone to leave, especially when he’s not sure he wants her to.

He doesn’t think Lilith would hurt him, but he flinches when she leans forward again. But it’s simply to plant a kiss just over his forehead. He feels the pressure, the warmth of her mouth, the feel of her lipstick. There’s a part of him that wants to know the taste of it.

It’s blackberry, from when she kissed Alastor before. He resists the urge to lick his lips at the memory.

At both the thought and her face, Husk looks up as she smiles down at him.

“I can see why Al likes you. Such a rare kind of soul. But I really hope he takes better care of you.” Then, her voice, only for him right now. “And if he doesn’t… call me.”

Husk isn’t sure, but it almost sounds like she means it.

It’s sudden when she leaves—like a dream from an intense hangover, leaving him reeling and wanting to fall back down to his knees. Everything about her is gone; from her hands that were once on his face, to her song that’s barely an echo around him. There’s just the creepy house of Alastor, still with its grisly decor and torn-up wallpaper, its decaying stairs and its array of skulls placed on the bookshelves. No evidence at all that there had once been fancy lights once upon a time.

“God damn—” Husk stumbles, trying to keep himself from banging his head on the floor a second time. That’s it then. He’d told her to hoof it and she did. He feels a sense of relief. A sense of anxiety. A sense of unimaginable loss. Almost like she’s already taken his soul without him realizing.

And without her to even provide even a modicum of distraction, Husk hears that same stupid, godawful signal that had ruined his entire fucking night. The bursts of static are low and jarring, but faint, like the wings of an annoying, dying beetle.

Alastor is still in that corner, probably having his own pity party right about now.

Husk feels sick. He’s not in the mood to feel sympathy. Still, it comes regardless. He rubs at his face, missing the softness from before.

“ Boss, ” he calls out, pulling on the word like it’s a bad taste on his tongue.

He doesn’t get a response, Alastor still lying on the ground like some dead fawn.

“Fucking asshole, you keep calling out to me this entire time and now you won’t say a damn word!?” The dazed feeling from before is now fully gone, his anger evaporating it all. Husk goes to Alastor, kicking aside stupid cobwebs and stray bits of bone from the decorations to kneel on the floor and grab Alastor’s shoulder. Not like the fucker was going to hurt him for touching him. Not now. “You wanna explain to me why the literal Queen of Hell was even here? Christ, what did she even mean when she said you…”

Hell, he can’t even repeat it.

But Alastor just groans, lifting his head. Weak eyes flicker in their depths. But no answer.

Husk feels himself start to shake. So he shakes Alastor more for good measure. “Well?! Ya really got nothing?”

“Husker…” Alastor says, then raises an eyebrow. “So… you didn’t leave….” He then lets out a soft exhale. “That’s good.”

Maybe there’s a hint of triumph in his voice, if it hadn’t been so, so weak. Husk wants to punch him more than anything.

Still, his boss is alive and barely functioning. Alastor’s eyes slowly close again, the static fizzling out, as if a storm has finally cleared. The man passes out.

Husk shouldn’t feel glad about any of this.

“Dammit, Al. Why should I even give two fucking shits to what happens to you?” he growls out, voice trembling. “Someone finally offers me a way out after everything. I should have left. Why didn’t I leave?”

He pauses, speaking to nothing, to no one. Just the darkness of this home and an unconscious demon who has the faintest smile on his face.

“Why did you call me of all people? Niffty, Rosie…. Hell, even fucking Vox. Why me?”

But he’s not going to get an answer, no matter if his boss is awake or not.

Even so, after everything, he grabs Alastor’s shoulder, pulling him along from his pathetic position. It’s instinct almost, barely feeling anything for it. It’s not the first time Alastor would be exhausted like this, whether from going hog-wild on an Overlord killing spree, or stressing his magic to give someone a real good scare. And Husk was usually the fall back, the one to watch out for things. Reliable, Alastor had once told him. For a washed-up drunk, he’d also add.

Yet as Husk brings Alastor up, close enough to see those small antler stubs, to hear the subtle breathing, he can’t help but remember that soft hand on his cheek.

That soft hand that had also made Alastor writhe in pain.

With a held-in sigh, Husk digs a hand into his pocket. Another instinct as he determines how to carry Alastor without having him get tangled up in his wings. His claws feel out the familiar edges of his playing cards, sort of a calming habit of his—except, this one felt different.

Husk pulls out the card, its surface a gleaming white instead of the red and black of his own. On the front, there was a phone number, all written in an elegant flourish. And then, there was her name, followed by a little command. The presence of it sends a thrill through his spine. He can’t tell if it’s from excitement or fear.

Maybe the difference doesn’t really matter.

Call me.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #husk #lilith morningstar #radiohusk #radioqueen #husk/lilith ship name??#i am too tired to remember if there is one #fanfiction #one shot #also whoops just fixed the mirror link this is why i shouldnt post when im tired..

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