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˖ ࣪ ⭑⟡Chapter 6 - Haunt You, Taunt You ⟡⭑ ࣪ ˖

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If your theater was your business, then your club, The Temple, was your pleasure.

You won the building in a gamble with the previous owner and had been lovingly pouring time, money, and elbow grease into it for decades. Unlike the speakeasy you ran while alive, you didn’t have to split your time between laundering money and smuggling liquor (Hell had no taxes or laws prohibiting… well anything). It allowed you to redesign the club a couple of years or so, reshaping the three-story building into a blend of the old and new. It was uniquely yours.

The many, many guests you had the honor of hosting were a mixture of demons young and old, sinners and hell-born, rich and broke. You prided yourself for having a club tamer than most establishments in Hell. Sure there was plenty of sex and drugs going on within the walls, you weren’t a wet blanket after all, but it was important your club felt like a safe place for all demons. Jet, your head of security, had his team spread throughout the club to keep an eye out for troublemakers.

The atmosphere was enhanced by the wide variety of music the club played; a blend of big band, ragtime, bebop, and the new trend they called electro-swing. Live or canned, so long as you could dance to it, it was welcomed.

You loved to dance. Once you stepped foot on American soil your feet never stopped moving. You loved the freedom in every wild, improvised move. You loved the adrenaline of a natural high. You loved the control. Control over one’s body to make it all look effortless was a skill you often practiced.

Most of all, you loved the fun it brought to every participant regardless of skill. Much like in the bedroom, the dance floor was a place where everyone was equal.

You showed the club off to your guests, pride swelling in your chest as they appreciated your baby. You took in Alastor’s face, careful not to let him catch you staring at him. His opinion mattered the most.

You set them up in a large, rounded corner booth and a responsible amount (as per Charlie’s request) of free drink vouchers.

Dragging Angel to the dance floor, you led the taller demon in a dance. He spun you around with a laugh before passing you off to an eager Charlie.

After a round of drinks they all went off in different directions: Angel and Husk to the bar. Charlie found some stray sinner to infodump about the hotel to. She chatted them up at a million words a minute with only Vaggie to keep her coherent. Niffty inquired where the cleaning supplies were and you told her to go nuts without a second thought.

Then you were all alone with dear old Alastor. The reds of his being hardly overshadowed by the club lights. He sat dead center of the curved booth with you not too close to him or the edge. You didn’t want to look like you’d flee at any moment.

You downed your second whiskey sour with a shudder. Elbow on the table and warm cheek in your hand, you beamed up at him. “Soooo Alastor, what do you think? And please be honest, I know you don’t care if you hurt my little feelings.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it dear,” he said through his pointed teeth. You struggled not to roll your eyes. “I’ll happily admit the atmosphere and music is not terrible.”

You snorted, very ladylike and refined. “I’ll have to put your glowing review on my door. ‘Not terrible’ says the Radio Demon! That’ll bring in the customers.”

“Please go right ahead and use my endorsement free of charge.”

“Gladly.” You traced the rim of your empty glass with a finger. “You ever hear how I got this place?”

“Ah yes, I remember you won it in a gamble, correct?”

“But you want to know what game we played?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow in interest and nodded. You simulated shooting yourself in the temple with your fingers. “Angelic steel bullets.”

His look of genuine surprise was not missed by you. You laughed the way you always did when you told the story.

“I’m always amazed by the desperate lengths others will go for any scrap of power,” Alastor said. “Though, not surprised.”

“Easy for you to say, Magic Man.” You sipped your drink, hiding your smile as his soured in slight annoyance. “The rest of us don’t have it so easy and have to take desperate risks.”

Alastor made a sound akin to rolling one’s eyes, sparks of radio static accompanying the noise. “Well, doll, I’m certainly glad you’re under the illusion my rise of power was effortless.”

Another laugh. “Gee, I wonder why.”

The tale of how Alastor the Radio Demon grew to power was well known even these days, but the finer details of his rise were shrouded in secrecy. He no doubt relished in how the uncertainty stoked fear in the hearts of sinners. However he did it, he accomplished it all single-handedly, smile never faltering. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t in awe of him.

You’d never come right out and tell him. You stroked his ego enough for tonight.

Alastor sipped his whiskey, preferring to swish it around than to drink it, as he only ordered it upon your assistance. “Tell me, Temerity. Why have you settled in the role of a mere manager?”

Frown forming, you looked at Alastor with displeasure. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean no disrespect, my dear. I’m simply expressing that with your capabilities— and I don’t say this lightly— you could easily make your way to become quite an Overlord. I can’t help but look at you and see… wasted potential.”

Should you feel insulted or flattered? The unnatural tilt of his head in confusion told you he meant it as a compliment. While beyond flattered in his casual belief in you, his dismissal of your job offended you.

“I didn’t settle for this. I chose this. I don’t want the responsibilities of a sovereign overlord with all the meetings and targets on my back.”

”Very well, but I must say it’s rather foolish to be in the position you are and not work to gain more power.”

“I find people who pursue power for power’s sake are never satisfied. The position I’m in lets me do whatever I want. I’m truly free. How many people down here can truly say the same thing?”

Alastor’s smile thin-lipped and his eyes shifted eyes from yours for a split second. You thought maybe you said something wrong or offensive to him somehow. He sipped his drink. “I suppose that line of thinking is where you and I differ.”

You shrugged and polished off your poison. You had no issue with his beliefs, but living by them didn’t align with your afterlife goals.

The two of you lapsed into silence, music filling in the space where your words once hung. You appreciated how Alastor never felt the need to fill every moment with noise. So many people stuffed every second with noise as if a moment of quiet would result in some kind of social disaster.

The song faded into the next, and this was one you loved; an upbeat, fast-paced number kicking off with a blast of saxophones. Either emboldened by the conversation or the alcohol clouding your judgment, you stood with a flourish and held your hand out to Alastor. An invitation.

“Dance with me.”

He met your question with an eyebrow raised in amusement. Crimson eyes flicked from your hand to your eyes, and you resisted the urge to look away or shrink under the heat of his eyes.

Finally, “And what of the cutlery strapped to your thigh?”

“I’ve been at this a looong time. Believe me, they’ll stay put.”

He decided to believe you. Relief swept over you like a steamroller. With a chuckle, he placed his hand in yours and it felt like victory.

Your grin spread as wide as one of Alastor’s as he dragged you to the dance floor. Alastor led you into a basic back-and-forth two-step. Eager to follow, you pranced along. He spun you in circles; dark dress fluttered around your legs.

Greed spiked in your gut. You wanted more. You pulled Alastor into a twist, effortlessly resetting the dance to your pace. Alastor adapted. Light on your feet, you two flicked your legs back and forth in tandem.

Your heart pounded in your chest. This was a dream. It had to be because there was no way in Hell Alastor was here dancing with you so well.

Alastor twirled you away before snapping you back to him, slammed flushed against his body. He locked eyes with you; smirk utterly patronizing, as if charmed by a child.

Your cheeks heated, jaw clenched in irritation. Before you could open your mouth, Alastor tugged at your waste. A warning. He swept you off your feet like you were weightless and flipped you in the air. A gasp retched from your lips. Feet back on the ground, you didn’t miss a step. The dance floor was ice under your feet.

No surprise, Alastor liked to play dirty. You hoped he didn’t mind a taste of his own medicine.

You distanced yourself from him, then tumbled forward into a practiced backflip. Your legs wrapped around his shoulders. He grabbed you by the thighs and tossed you over his head.

Instead of your feet finding solid ground, you slid. Alastor dipped you low, your back practically parallel to the floor. Instinctually, you grabbed onto his shoulders. Alastor grinned wickedly down at you, but this wasn’t like his previous look of condescension. Pupils blown wide, mouth splitting his face, he looked hungry.

There was a twist in your chest, your head, your core. Warmth washed your skin. Tension bubbled in your throat. You laughed, childish giggling wracked your body as Alastor righted you.

If people were looking at you, you didn’t notice. Alastor clouded all five of your senses. Your chest heaved as your laughter subsided and you wiped at your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand. Somehow Alastor looked like he never broke a sweat. Unfair.

“What a marvelous performance, my dear,” Alastor said.

“Surprised?”

“Not at all.”

You swallowed thickly, the intensity of his gaze too heavy to bear any longer. A glance at the bar. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You skipped away before he could accept or decline. Wading through the sea of people, you made it to the bar, squeezing into a semi-vacant spot at the counter.

Catching sight of Husk and Angel Dust chatting at the end of the bar, you waved. Angel returned the gesture with a ruder one, Husk rolled his eyes.

You chuckled as the bartender, Collie, set two cocktails down in front of the well-dressed sinner on your left. He grabbed his drinks and turned to leave, and you saw it. One drink was an unmistakable shade of pink, almost unrecognizable under the club lights.

Your teeth ground against each other as you glared at the demon’s retreating form wading past patrons to the second story.

At least he made this a little easier for you.

“Collie, dear,” you said, pushing yourself off the counter. “Have Jet ready to handle some trouble. I'm going upstairs.”

Alaster watched as you zeroed in on a sinner. You cut the tacky dresser off in the middle of the staircase, a saccharine smile foreign on you. Sweetness no doubt dripped from your voice as the demon leered at you, enticed by your words. He nodded and followed you upstairs, eyes glued to your swishing tail.

How peculiar.

He wouldn't put it past someone with your specific proclivities to get distracted by their libido, but something told him this wasn't your usual M.O. with a man.

Not with the way you eyed him with murderous intent.

Curiosity took over. Alastor dissipated his form, using the shadows to follow the two of you to the second floor past intoxicated patrons. You led the man to an empty room with a plush leather wrap-around couch with glass tables doused in blood-red lighting.

You welcomed him to inspect the room as you shut the door. “With this package you’d get drinks and food delivered to you and your guest, a TV with Voxflix, privacy. This room is perfect for more intimate gatherings.”

The sinner turned to you, appraising you like one of the decorations in the room. You slinked toward him, hand snaking up your thigh under your dress. For a moment Alastor wondered if he was wrong about his previous assessment.

Then, you were on him, knife drawn, slicing the sinner's hand clean through the wrist.

The demon howled in pain. Drinks dropped, glasses shattered on the floor, liquids mixing with the spilt blood.

The demon grabbed at his dismembered wrist. “You crazy fucking bitch!”

He lunged at you. Quick as a flash, you leapt out of the way. You sunk the blade into his shoulder and <i>twisted</i>. He dropped to his knees, grabbing at the knife with a hand no longer attached to his body.

You dug your heel into his back and wrenched the knife from his body. You wiped the bloodied blade off on his jacket before sliding back into the garter on your thigh.

“Hand it over,” you said, voice colder than Alastor ever heard it before. Chills ran up his spine, a sensation he rarely felt anymore.

“Fuck you fucking raccoon cunt!”

“Charming.” You rummaged through the inner pockets of his jacket while he sputtered profanities until you found what you were looking for. Alastor didn't recognize the heart-shaped vial of pink liquid, but it clearly filled you with disgust. “Fucking filth.”

With a sneer, you dropped the vial. Liquid spread like blood across the floor, pink miasma wafting harmlessly into the air.

A hand came to your nose and mouth as you turned away from the wounded man. From the shadows, Alastor had a front row seat to your full display of emotion.

You were distressed.

He took in your lovely expression of panic. Eyes wide and darting, as your thumb dug too hard into the fat of your cheek. You heaved a heavy, shaky sigh to calm yourself.

Much like your look of wrath, panic suited you quite nicely. Your shocked expression as he dipped you on the dance floor was swell, but nowhere near as impassioned and raw as this.

Unfortunately, there was no time to savor it. One of your brutish security guards entered the room and you slipped your mask back on. He regarded the bleeding man on the floor with disinterest. He lifted the wounded demon over one shoulder like a sack of garbage.

“Out back? Like usual?”

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Jet.”

He carted the trash away, and Alastor decided to make his presence known. He stepped out of the shadows with applause, savoring how you jumped. “Splendid show, Temerity dear! I didn't expect such a brutal display after your performance on the dance floor.”

“Alastor!” You brushed herself off, smearing blood across your dress; bright red streaks across the dark fabric. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You weren't apologizing for the violence, of course. With his rap sheet of carnage that would be silly.

“Don't apologize on my behalf, doll.” He stepped closer, and when you didn't step away, he wiped a speck of blood off your cheek with a finger and licked it clean. He didn't expect the simple act to have panic blossom across your pretty little face again. He had to admit he liked it better this time, having been the one to cause it.

Before he could delve more into your responses, Niffty scrambled into the room, a tiny tornado. Trash bag in tow she grabbed the broken glass and the severed hand and tossed them into the bag.

“Tem, your club is filthy, filthy! I'll be back with bleach, hahah~”

As soon as the little bug entered, she left, trash dragging behind her like a body bag.

You used the interruption to slither out of Alastor's grasp to the door. “Soooo! I believe I still owe you a water.” And you all but ran from him, tail between your legs.

Fine. You could run. He'd catch you eventually.

What did you do?

No, seriously, the FUCK did you do?

Why did you literally throw yourself at Alastor like some kind of horny, sexy tomato? Okay, so you were a horny sexy tomato, but you were a horny, sexy tomato who knew better than to throw itself at Alastor the goddamn Radio Demon!

You’d have been better off inviting a vampire into your home and offering up your neck for the taking. The simile did you no favors equating it to Alastor.

“I’m not drinking again.”

“Ha! If I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that. I’d have, what, eight bucks now?”

You and Rosie strolled through Cannibal Town after your morning tea. Since working with the hotel, your morning meet-ups weren’t as common, so you took the chance to vent to your friend about the night at the club. As suspected, she reacted to your ravings with one part gaiety and one part vexation.

“Rosie, I’m serious.”

“You’re too serious, hun. You just told me about this fabulous dance you shared with Alastor and somehow in your mind, it’s a bad thing.”

“Yes! Nearly a century I kept my distance and now all of a sudden he’s under my skin like some kind of…” you rolled your hand, trying to think of the right word. “Skin bug.”

“Poetic.”

You rolled your eyes. You haven’t even mentioned the stunt he pulled with the blood on your face... Were there even words to describe the sensuality of it? Maybe, but every time you revisited the moment, you were too preoccupied with the softness of his touch against your skin, how his tongue darted from his perfect lips to lap at the crimson liquid, how his eyes, still glazed with hunger, never left yours.

Rosie was talking, you realized. You stored the memory for later and zoned back in.

“I’ve always thought you two should get to know each other,” she said. “Alastor’s a great fella.”

Silence possessed you. You unlinked arms with Rosie and sat on an ivory bench made of bone. “You know the story of Tantalus? How he’s neck deep in a river with fruit above his head but no matter what, he can’t eat or drink? That’s my current situation, only in my case the fruit and water know they’re unattainable sustenance and derive joy from it.”

Rosie made a noise of dismissal, waving away your metaphor. “Oh, so melodramatic! I can see why you run a theater.”

“Ha ha.”

“Temerity.” She sat with you, taking your hands in hers. “This is a good development. Alastor has a tendency to be… standoffish, but it’s obvious he genuinely enjoys your company. You think he’d dance with anyone?”

She was right, and you knew she was right. Why couldn’t you be satisfied with that? “I know. I’m not saying I wish he’d give me a chance because I’ve met those men, killed those men, then sent those men your way—”

“—Thanks again for the late-night delivery the other day.”

“Of course, hun. I’m not in the business of pushing boundaries, but I can’t help but feel that way from time to time. I hate myself for it.”

“Sweetheart.” Your friend’s voice was gentle, full of sympathy. “You can’t help how you feel. And what you’re feeling isn’t wrong.”

You laughed, meaning for it to be light, but it caught in your throat and quickly died. “This isn’t going to end well for me, is it Rosie?”

She opened her mouth to say something comforting but paused and closed her mouth again. Rosie wouldn’t lie to you. You both knew this road would lead to heartbreak, the only variable was how humiliated you’d be in the end.

“Tem, if this is bothering you so badly, then you should go ahead and tell Alastor how you feel. Get it all out of the open so you can move on.”

”No!” You cleared your throat. “I mean… I can’t, I…”

You were fucking terrified.

Rosie would never shame you, you knew this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It felt foolish to admit it out loud. On earth and in Hell, you’ve been beaten, bloodied, and bruised. You’ve had a knife to your throat or the barrel of a gun to your head more times than you like to admit, yet the idea of confession and rejection terrified you more.

You liked to think, it made perfect sense. In your experience, pain was fleeting, much of it mercifully unremarkable or a distant memory. But the pain of rejection, well…

You’ve dealt with that since the day you were born.

Your one scar that never fully healed.

Despite never vocalizing your fears, Rosie understood you. “I know it seems daunting, but I think Alastor may surprise you.”

“Right, because Alastor extended such grace to Vox.”

No one knew the truth about Alastor and Vox. Most took their rivalry at face value, but older demons remember the rumors; the Radio Demon forming an alliance with the up-and-coming Overlord, the alleged relationship in stark contrast to their current mutual antagonism.

Conversely, you always suspected Rosie knew more than she ever let on. Your friend, usually so fond of gossiping, kept her lips buttoned on the subject over the years. She claimed it was improper to talk about such manners behind a friend's back, and while you weren’t convinced you never pressed.

Rosie sucked pointed teeth in exasperation. “Come now! Your relationship with Alastor is not comparable— don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. Hold out for a little while longer. I’m sure this’ll all blow over soon.”

You hoped she was right

You once again found yourself at the hotel bar, laughing at something Angel said as Husk poured you two a drink. Angel held his Fat Nuggets, the cutest little pig in his second set of arms.

“And you seriously don’t know what kind of pig he is?” you asked, flabbergasted.

Angel shrugged. “I dunno. He’s… a pig.”

“He’s a Hell Hog!”

“A little redundant, ain't it?”

“No, well yes, but… never mind.” You pet the porker on his pink little head. “How’d you get your hands on this lil cutie, anyway?”

“Nuggs was… a gift. From my boss.” Angel set the piglet on the bar counter. “Speaking of which, I need to tell you something.”

Husk grimaced, like “oh shit, here we go,” and scooted a shot over to the spider.

Angel tossed it back before fixing his eyes on a stain on the counter. “I… I’m not going to audition for the show. I wanted to tell you now so you ain’t surprised when I don’t show up later..”

Tem frowned, concerned, resting a hand on his. “Oh Angel, hun, why? You’d be dynamite!”

“Oh, honey. I know I'm dynamite,” he said with peak confidence. “I just don't think I'm the one you're looking for for all this inspirational razzmatazz.”

“Bullshit,” Husk spat. “It’s fucking Valentino.”

Angel deflated. “Shit! Yeah, Val, he… he thinks it’ll take up too much of my time away from the studio and it would ‘ruin my branding’ or somethin’.”

Husk muttered something about Valentino being full of shit, to which Angel happily concurred. You clenched your hands under the bar, nails biting into the flesh of your palm.

“Oh, what horseshit!” You scoffed. “People like Valentino will make up any excuse to have a <i>crumb</i> of control. It’s pathetic. Tell me Angel, truthfully, do you want to do the show? Forget what Valentino says.”

“I mean yeah, I do, but—”

“But nothing. If you want to then you will. Leave it to me, hun.”

Husk raised a half-interested brow while Angel looked ill. “Look, I appreciate the offer but you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re planning to do. My boss, Val, he's–”

“A shitstain sandwich?”

Husk nodded with a small smile as he poured a glass of water for Fat Nuggets. “Exactly.”

You hopped off the stool, all smiles and bravado. “Angel, dear, just bring your spunky little butt to auditions and do your best. I promise that’s all you have to worry about. And maybe one day, this sweet little guy will bite Valentino’s stupid bald head off for you.” You stroked Fat Nuggets back as he sipped his water. “You will, won’t you? Yes, you will, good boy!”

Angel hugged both sets of arms to him, apprehensive. You smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder (with effort, he’s tall!) reassuring your friend you’d handle it. You held your smile as you walked out the door of the hotel, unaware of the shadow behind you. By the time you made it to your car, your smile disappeared.

“Shit!” you leaned against your car and pulled out a cigarette. Another “shit” escaped your lips when you realized you had no lighter. You placed the unlit cig in your mouth, foot tapping anxiously.

How in Hell were you going to get Angel out of his scenario? You had no pull when it came to the Vees, and no hope in getting their attention, at least not anytime soon.

You weren’t one to get involved in others’ affairs. Sure you’d gladly help out your friends and lend a hand when they needed one, but going against the will of an Overlord was above your wheelhouse. Those situations tended to land one in ripe hot shit. Needless to say, you preferred to avoid ripe hot shit.

But you felt for Angel. You weren’t lying when you said he had talent, and vermin Valentino squandered it. The moth demon reminded you all too much of Roman. They were both bastards who took advantage of the scared, weak, and vulnerable, all but stole their souls, and got off to abuse. You couldn’t break Angel’s contract, but you couldn’t stand by and let Valentino take this from him.

“Something troubling you, my dear?”

You inhaled your cigarette, gagging on the cylinder until you uncouthly hacked it out.

“Alastor!” You wiped your mouth, not noticing the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “No, no. I'm fine, I’m… thinking.”

“About how you're going to get in touch with the Vees, hmm?”

You fixed him with a look. “Should I be surprised? Eavesdrop more, please.”

He snapped his fingers, and a new cigarette appeared in your mouth. Small green flames danced along his fingertips but he made no move to light your cig for you. You leaned forward, pulling back once your cigarette kindled.

Eyes closing, you took a slow drag of the cancer stick and exhaled, acrid smoke wafting through the air. “Thanks.”

“Of course, dear, but back to your accusation. Overhearing a loud conversation in a public space is hardly eavesdropping.”

“I hear they call it voyeurism nowadays.”

Smiling tight, he hummed in lieu of false laughter. “I’m afraid you’re running a fool's errand, doll. Someone like you who’s not much of an Overlord to begin with has no hope in Hell of waltzing into the Vees tower and getting a meeting. You wouldn’t even show up on their radar.”

He pinched your cheek, condescension dripping from his teeth, as if to say “wasn’t I right?”

You pushed him away. “Oh, piss off, Alastor. You think I’m stupid? Don’t answer.”

“My dear I don’t think you’re stupid, merely woefully unprepared. But I have an idea.~” He wrapped an arm around you, nails digging into the meat of your shoulder. “A surefire way to get you in touch with Vox himself.”

Any other time you’d be overjoyed at his touch, but he had to go and be aggravating. You crossed your arms. “Which is?”

“Come now, dear. You can’t expect me to offer my services with nothing in return. Especially since you were so rude.”

“I doubt I could ever hurt your feelings, or that you’d want anything from me.”

He laughed, and her stomach churned. “That’s where you’re wrong, doll. I want to make a deal with you.”

You flicked the cigarette and stubbed it out. “Forget it. I’m not giving you my soul.”

Alastor’s eyes twitched as if the suggestion annoyed him. “Who said anything about souls? I promise to get you an immediate audience with Vox and in turn, you answer three little questions for me where you have to be fully honest.”

You pulled away from him. “What quest—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” He placed a finger over your lips. “What makes this deal worth it is the uncertainty. I can’t have you prepping lies in a desperate attempt to save face.”

Fuck.

Did he know?

He couldn’t know—

Alastor stared down at you like a predator who’d finally caught its meal. It scared you, and excited you?

No, no, no! You can examine those feelings later!

You took another step back, inwardly groaning as soon as the heat of his touch left your skin. There was a subtle tremor of his shoulders, eyes crinkling. He was holding back laughter.

“What’ll it be, my dear?”

What choice did you have?

This burn is going slower than I originally planned, lol. Hope you aren’t getting bored.

Also, if you want to send Tem or the other HH/HB characters that show up in the story an ask, go ahead and I’ll answer with a sketch.

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dudefromwormhole · 3 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Headcanons:D

That I collected through the internet and now have and absolutely adore. Feel free to add yours:)

Warning for cannibalism and possible spoilers. Enjoy:)

Alastor

1) Alastor rather eats meat of his possible victims than organs. He finds them edible, but just doesn’t like it.

2) Alastor never shares his food. And even when/if he is cooking something for others, he will cook the same food in the separate bowl just for himself.

3) Even if Alastor fell in love he would never(or really unlikely) realise that. Possibly because his own ego and beliefs.

4) Alastor sometimes fantasises about him being executed rather than his own original death. His favourites so far: hanging and electric chair.

5) Alastor would have a love/hate relationship with Will Wood’s music(yes.) just because he despises and underastimates all modern music.

6) Alastor has literal piles of old(and sometimes broken)radios.

7) Alastor hates discussing love and relationships, if they’re not about breaks up, while Rosie adores talking about them.

8) Sometimes Alastor cannot control his shadow. In terms of where it goes and what it does. So yeah, sometimes he walks around without shadow.

Rosie

1) The stuff Rosie proposed to Charlie when they met was prepared by herself.

Also I think Rosie can cook anything(aside from bones perhaps). She knows a lot of recipes about how to cook organs, different types of seasonings, etc.

2) Rosie has Belgic roots. Or French. I feel like she speaks French and maybe Italian or something. I haven’t decided.

3) Rosie only likes to drink dry semi-sweet wine among the alcohol beverages.

4) If Rosie would ever open a fashion business, all her clothes would be with embroidery. She loves embroidery and is pretty good at making it.

The Vees

1) Vox has a love/hate relationship with an electro swing. He likes it, but also “hates” it just because Alastor also likes it. He also likes dubstep and techno genres.

2) Valentino’s afraid of tickling.

3) Val’s also absolutely cannot sleep with the lights turn on, because he’s a moth.

4) Vox was absolutely horrified when he got to Hell and realised that he’s a fucking TV. If there wasn’t a constant danger of getting killed, he would probably sit in the corner of some building in shock.

5) Velvete uses Vox as powerbank.

6) Valentino’s eyesight got worse especially after he realised that he can use Vox’s head when he’s asleep, so now he kinda watches whatever he wants on his head when he’s bored.

7) And also Val and Velvete play the console using Vox(ye, the comic:))

8) In earlier days Vox was absolutely disgusted by someone touching his screen(in first days(look up #4) himself included), but as the time went and also the upgrade, change in themes, he kinda suppressed this disgust.

9) Velvete likes strawberry in chocolate.

10) Vox can draw decently, he just usually doesn’t have time and much imagination to do so.

11) Also Vox has a bad habit of tearing paper to keep his hands busy. By that I mean any paper. So yeah. There were some accidents.

Residents of the Hotel

1) Residents of the Hotel bump into Nifty at least two time per day.

2) Sir Pentious hates stairs.

3) One of the reasons why Husk hates his form is because he cant stop throwing off hairballs.

4) Angel can keep important secrets.

5) Nifty and Charlie both likes those bright and colourful plasters.

6) Vaggie is allergic to citruses(lightly but still).

7) Cherri makes her coffee with energy drinks. Tastes awful, but at least she’s full of energy to kick someone’s ass.

8) Husk knows a lot of card games and also taught the Eggbois how to play couple of them so they’d stop bothering him so much.

9) When he was alive, Husk used to travel and move from one country to another quite often.

10) Sir Pentious when he has a shower, always takes his Eggbois with himself.

11) The reason why Sir Pentious’ ship was covered with plasters was because his Eggbois thought they would actually heal it.

12) Lucifer will never admit that process of making ducks stopped bringing him as much happiness as it used to. But after seven years of just making them, trying to keep his mind off his problems, it just became a routine.

13) One of the reasons why Lilith decided to “disappear” was because at night Lucifer constantly stepped on his ducks and then screamed and cried and apologised to them, making it harder to sleep.

14) Charlie used to make little theatre shows with her toys when she was younger.

15) When Vaggie and Charlie’s relationship got a little more established, they had a whole trip through rings of Hell.

16) Lucifer has a handmade duck copy of every person that he met. He made the most absurd one for Alastor, of course

17) Angel is scared of swallowing bubblegum, because he genuinely believes that his gut will glue together if he does so.

18) Vaggie can’t stand sleeping covered.

Other Overlords

1) Zestial is a tea nerd. I think he would actually do those Chinese ceremonies and stuff. It’s like… the more he appreciates you, the more effort he would put into tea x)

2) Carmilla was(and maybe is?) a big fan of ballet and took classes when she was alive.

Other

1) Adam would love Beetlejuice. In any form, cartoon one, film, musical… He would be a fan.

2) Adam hates waking up at the morning and tells to “fuck off I’m a Gods fucking son” to anyone who tries to wake him up.

3) Adam hates tomatoes and will absolutely roast anyone who eats them when he’s near. Except for Lute.

4) When Heavens court plans to set up a party they usually don’t plan to invite Sera and St Peter.

5) Mimzy is the one who talks about her previous life more than anyone else, each time adding almost unrealistic details.

6) Adam calls his Exterminators group "tits" for because they are woman and there's a bird like that.

6)(this one is to Hell in general) I like to think that you don't die in Hell in a way that when you recieve a deadly wound your body just kinda... gets more regeneration, so you still feel pain untill the wound is healed, but you don't die. So when Exterminators stab sinners with angelic weapons, process of regeneration stops, which gives them opportunity to die.

7) Though Vox created his own special kind of dying for himself. When his screen gets badly damaged, he changes it, so same goes with his body. I think he has a folder somewhere with his personality.

#hazbin hotel #ramblings #hazbin lute #hazbin adam #hazbin valentino #hazbin rosie #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin headcanons #hazbin carmilla #hazbin cherri bomb #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk

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irkimatsu · 1 month

Text

I like how Sinners in Hell have different approaches to advancements made after they died. Angel and Vox, for example, have taken to modern technology like smartphones and video streaming just fine, little to no stumbling as far as I know.

Sir Pentious... tries to keep up, bless him, but hey, not everyone can do it easily. I don't think it's necessarily tied to age at death or time of death, some people are just better at adjusting to newfangled fads and devices than others. I'm sure him dying in the 1800's certainly doesn't help, but also he's just a bit dim regardless. (He's still great with steam technology, though, so he'll be fine! ...oh god, Sir Pentious somehow making a functioning computer using technology that existed while he was alive and then proceeding to "How do you do fellow kids" all over the Internet)

And then there are Sinners like Alastor who thought things were just fine when all we had was radio, thank you very much, he's not going near any of this video bullshit. The idea that it could be his deep hatred of video technology that makes him impossible to film makes me laugh. It's not a superpower, really, he just hates cameras that goddamn much.

As for Husk, for now I see him as disinterested in modern technology, and with his claws, trying to teach him how to use a keyboard or a touch screen would be a nightmare. And don't even get him started on synthesized music. What is this garbage. Electro-swing leaves him feeling violated.

(Probably best that Husk doesn't discover the Internet, really. We don't need him getting hooked on one of those shady virtual poker sites that steals your banking information.)

#irk blubbers about nothing #irk huskposts

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ragingbookdragon · 9 months

Text

The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll & Mz. Hyde

Task Force 141 x Reader

Word Count: 740 Warnings: Explicit Language, Archaic Medical Tools (and explanation of lobotomy)

Author's Note: Everyone wanted a part two to this so here you go :) Enjoy! Thorne

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

She smiles when the Lieutenant walks into the clinic, no doubt a scowl on his face beneath the mask, but he says nothing as he stands before her desk. Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she says, “Thank you for coming in, Lieutenant Riley.” She looks to the nurse beyond, watching with interest. “Simone, be a dear and lock the door on your way out, yes?”

The woman nods her head and practically skitters out and she rises from her seat, grabbing a rather large black bag; the thing looks like it’s from the sixteen hundreds. “Sit on the exam table, please.”

He does as she asks and takes a seat, watching the wall as she lifts his shirt and examines the bullet wound beneath the gauze.

“Lieutenant, do you recall my one rule I left you with before your mission?” she pauses and looks him directly in the eye.

“Don’t get injured.”

“Correct!” she smiles. “And if you were, what was the next rule?”

“Apply first aid.”

She tuts and pokes the stitched wound, delighting in his hiss of displeasure. “You seemed to have forgotten my second rule. Never mind that, I shall remind you.”

Her hands drift to the bag and she unlatches and opens it, and the man nearly shits his pants at the archaic surgical tools.

“Did you know that my legally given maiden name is Jekyll? Dr. Jekyll asks. “Some think there’s an ancestor of mine that was actually the basis of the novel with the same name.”

She picks up a tool, a drill and turns it.

“I do so love old medical tools. This one was used to drill into skulls. Mostly to relieve headaches or remove stagnant blood from brains. Sometimes even to treat hemorrhages.” She smiles fondly. “It takes a rather tremendous amount of strength to crank this into someone’s skull. I can only imagine what it was like without anesthesia.”

Putting it down, she picks up a mallet and what looks like an icepick.

“Now these are my favorite.” She holds the mallet in one hand, the pick in the other. “These were used to lobotomize people. One would insert the pick behind the eye socket and break through the little barrier of bone by hitting it with the hammer until it was lodged into the frontal lobes.” She does the motion near the side of his head, his eyes on hers as the pick sinks past his ear. “Then you would jiggle it back and forth until the frontal lobes separated from the thalamus! Thus rendering the patient completely catatonic!”

She puts them down and sighs wistfully.

“Did you know I once worked at a mental asylum where lobotomy was still legalized? I was allowed to sit in on several during my stay in medical school. An archaic but rather interesting process.” her smile is anything but sweet, instead it sends shivers up his spine. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to administer one myself. Perhaps one day I’ll get such an opportunity? Maybe on someone who disobeys my rules?”

He swallows hard, a man whose entire family murdered, himself buried alive, seen death a million times, and even delivered it, scared shitless of the woman before him.

He understands now why they call her Misses Hyde when she’s angry, no, infuriated and seething.

“Lieutenant? Are you alright?” she repeats, and he shakes himself, abruptly standing before her.

“I, uh, have to go, Doctor,” he says, and runs for the door like his head is on fire and his ass is catching.

“But I didn’t even show you the electro-shock therapy tools I have!”

“No need!” he shouts, unlocking the door and swinging it open. “I won’t disobey rules again!”

He’s out of the door before she can say anything else and the nurse returns moments later with two cups of coffee.

“Did Lieutenant Riley leave, Doctor Jekyll?” she asks.

“He did,” she pouts and latches the bag back, setting it down behind her desk. “And I have a feeling he won’t be back for some time. I was simply telling him stories. They weren’t even true.”

“Such a shame,” the nurse replies. “He’s awfully handsome.”

“If you like masked men.”

“As if you don’t like the Phantom of the Opera,” the nurse grins, handing her a cup. “You know he’s handsome.”

“Perhaps, he is,” she says back, sipping her coffee with a maniacal grin.

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thehollowwriter · 2 months

Note

Hehehe for Finn

🎶❤️

And Silas

🚫😢

I hope 4 aren't too much, you can only do 2 if you want!

Dw it's perfectly alright!

🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — What type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?

Finn doesn't have one specific type of music he likes, really, since his taste has a large range. But if he had to choose, probably jazz, swing, or electro swing. He listens to music all the time, it calms him down, helps him focus, blocks out the noise, and he just loves music in general.

❤️ RED HEART — What are three of your oc's positive traits?

Finn has many traits, that's for sure, but I say his positive traits are: He cares very deeply for those he's close to, he can be very supportive and he's a good listener

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

Silas can't smoke bc he lives under the sea, and I doubt he would anyways. His health was in a terrible state for most of his life, and while/after he had Finn, he wouldn't do such a thing anyway. The same applies to alcohol, except it does exist in the sea. He really hates the taste and doesn't see the appeal. So, neither.

😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool?

Now, this is an interesting one. Silas usually maintains good control over his emotions, the occasional bouts of paranoia aside. It's something that's kept him alive since you need to be calm and calculated to make the right decisions.

However, when Finn was just born and the years after that, he was extremely stressed and overprotective as Finn was born while he was trying (and failing) to recover from the loss of both his husband and five of his babies. Finn was not allowed out of sight, and he spent a lot of time hovering around him, watching him a like a hawk. It was almost impossible for him to drag himself to work and even more so to try not to interrogate Timo when he got home. He got better after a number of years, though.

#quinn quips #quinn answers #quinn's friends #jovie #silas clearcove #finn clearcove #octavinelle #twisted wonderland #twst oc #tw death #tw infant death

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emeraldtart · 9 months

Text

What the AYuus would wear for during the spooky Halloween Event.

(Note: Not including the Yuus who are characters from another show being thrown into Twisted Wonderland)

Autobot!Yuu/Electro Swing - probably a demonic car. First Year Squad would definitely draw a pumpkin on their front hood. They can't walk around, so instead just drives around the road.

Lore: It is said that NRC once allowed vehicles within the school grounds, but after a particularly nasty incident it was banned. The spirit of the student dying in that car crash possessed their vehicle, and though the Headmaster had thrown the car away it's spirit lives on. Now, the demonic car roams the school grounds on Halloween night, chasing whoever stayed behind late. Those who got caught will become it's passengers and be brought to the Underworld.

Floyd: Hey, isebi-chan, why don't you just ram them? I mean, it's not like anyone can sue a demon car, right?

ES: Floyd, that's illegal.

Floyd: Not if no one says anything, hehe~

Cat!Yuu/Blacky - The same as Grim's, a witch. They mostly photo bombs the Halloween pictures, Cater and Vil's followers made a game of trying to spot the cat wearing a witch's hat.

Lore: Black cats are a symbol of both luck and misfortune. If you are a good person, the cat will reward you, if you're not, well... Let's just say you're not in for a good time. Rumours said that if you distress the students and faculty of the school, the black cat will come cross your path, putting you under misfortune's care and making your visit a living hell. If you're still alive in the end, that is.

Jack: How did the cat knows what to do? You sure that's a normal cat?

Ace: We all just accept everything Blacky does at this point. Now help me tear open these pillows, we're running out of feathers to throw at those monsters.

Cookie!Yuu/Dream Ink Cookie - Trey makes their costume using icing. They decided to be a grim reaper.

Lore: The school kitchen has its fair share of incidents, but a long time ago before the school was built it was once a burial ground for soldiers in war. Not having a proper burial, their souls screamed each Halloween, begging to be discharged of their eternal fate. They will do anything to be freed of their torment, and they are more than happy to make you join them. If you visit the kitchen during Halloween, there are high chances you will be attacked by sharp utensils and kitchen appliances.

Jamil: You guys really hate those Magicam Monsters, huh?

Dream Ink Cookie: They tried to eat us Jamil. We deserve attempted murder at this point.

Jamil: Okay, you may continue. Don't make a corpse, we don't want a lawsuit.

Dream Ink Cookie: Can we maim them?

Jamil: Some scrathes, yes. Permanent injuries, no.

Splashmon!Yuu/Splashmon - An exorcist (disguise form) and Jangsanbeom (true form).

They can just scare people in their true form, but decided to go full theater kid on those Magicam Monsters because they want to have fun.

Lore: Come one, come all. Listen to my story dear guests. There was once a mountain full of tigers, kings of the forest and keeper of balance. When humans came they hunted the tigers, at first for protection, then for glory, and finally for sports. When the tiger's in the mountains went extinct, their restless spirit sought revenge. They imitate voices of loved ones, making them follow them before devouring them whole. Some says they will take on the appearance of an exorcist or a storyteller. Hm? Who's that?

Sebek, from outside Ramshackle: GET OUT! YOU'RE IN DANGER!! THERE'S A TIGER MONSTER THAT EATS PEOPLE IN THERE!!!

Ah, it seems that I have been found out.

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo~

Which of you shall I eat first? ~

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epithet-beloved · 8 months

Note

could i request romantic electroswing (jericho x slim)? perhaps some post story fluff where slim is NOT dead canon is FAKE /lh

DON'T LEAVE.

synopsis… For being the fastest man alive, Jericho Felocity has been quite slow in realizing his feelings for a certain someone.

ft. california slim, jericho felocity, alcatraz

tags… fluff, pre relationship, pining, feelings realization

word count… 1568

a/n… THEIR SHIP NAME IS ELECTRO SWING I LOVE THAT SO MUCH WHAT?? Also you're so right canon is fake. Free real estate !! ✧ 🦇

Well, it was better than nothing.

After escaping prison, California Slim certainly couldn’t afford some luxurious apartment, or an apartment at all; so this abandoned one would have to do. Then, after a while, he would move to another one, and another one after that. Constantly on the run, like the criminal they thought he was.

He’d been alone since the escape; as alone as he could be, with the actual ghost of his past actually following him at all times, buzzing in his ear like an annoying mosquito he couldn’t get rid of. Alas, Alcatraz was no mosquito and there was no window he could shoo him out of, nor could he kill him with a rolled up newspaper.

He didn’t mind being alone, maybe. He thought he didn’t. He was never truly alone anyway. But…

He was still hoping for that phone call.

The one he had asked Jericho to give him after their successful escape from the Lockdown.

Despite being constantly on the run, he still had his own phone, as old and battered as it was.

He knew Jericho wasn’t one to waste time, either he was busy or just didn’t consider it worth it to call him. Which Slim found bitterly understandable.

He’d convinced himself of this notion: Jericho probably didn’t want anything more to do with him, being his cell mate had been enough for the fastest man alive. And yet Slim still couldn’t quiet the feelings that bubbled in his chest and burnt at his heart, like magma ready to explode.

It was ridiculous, honestly. He had convinced himself he couldn’t love anymore; that all that was left had been ejected from his body along with his epithet. Had he been wrong? He didn’t like being wrong.

And yet he kept finding himself reaching for his phone, keeping an ear out in case it would ring. Some part of him still hoped. Some part of him still ached.

It was another night of tending to Hollywood Boulevard and ignoring Alcatraz’s monologues when the familiar music caught his attention.

The tune of an old Frank Sinatra song that he used to listen to many years prior. Of course he had made it his ring tone.

The sudden echoing of the song had silenced everything else that had been happening, including Alcatraz’s speech as he stared curiously at the device buzzing on the coffee table that was missing a leg. Everything was silent except for the music echoing through the walls, and the occasional creaking of Alcatraz tilting his head like a confused dog.

The phone screen displayed an unknown number, and for a moment Slim hesitated to answer. It could have been anyone: a cop, someone tracking him down, some weirdo who had dialed a wrong number but that could have recognized his voice and reported him to the police.

Slim picked up anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hi Slim!”

He froze. Was that…?

“Jericho?”

“That’s me!”

Oh, he could definitely recognize that cheery voice even behind the static that was sizzling in the receiver. Something tightened in his chest.

“So, why the call?” Slim tried to seem nonchalant, but his heart felt as if he had been running a marathon. “Changed your mind on being a hitman?”

“Oh, not at all! Just wanted to hear from you, it’s been a while!”

It had been something like three weeks, maybe, since the last time they had seen each other. A lot had happened in those three weeks. For Slim, at least. But he barely remembered most of it. All he knew is that it had been a while since the last time he felt truly rested or energetic, and yet he couldn’t sleep, because everything ached.

“Uh. Yeah, it has been a while.”

“Think we can hang out? Really want to catch you up on all the progress I’ve made on the main story so far!”

The way Jericho talked would always be a mystery to California Slim.

“...Sure.”

He had to take a pause before he answered; his first instinct would have been to interrupt Jericho mid sentence with an enthusiastic “Yes!” but he didn’t want to weird the man out. Although Jericho was already pretty weird himself.

“Alright, I’ll be there in a minute!”

“What?-”

Before he could process what had happened, Slim found himself face to face with a man stuck in the wall of his apartment.

“Oh.” He hung up the phone as Jericho wriggled uncomfortable in the concrete wall.

“Hello!” The speedrunner waved as if nothing was out of the ordinary for him. Because it wasn’t.

“Hi.” Slim replied dryly, “You’re in my wall.”

“Seems like it!”

A moment of silence, before Alcatraz piped up with a “Hi Jericho!” Which sounded ever so slightly panicked.

“Hi Alcatraz!” Had been the reply as the man struggled to remove himself from the apartment wall. “Could I get some help?”

Alcatraz turned over to Slim, who had turned his head over in his direction at the same time. The man just nodded towards their friend with an exasperated face that screamed “Just get him out of there already!”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Minutes later, Jericho and Slim were sitting on the worn couch of what Slim called his living room.

“... And I thought that gear was a cookie! I tried to eat it, and I just got stuck in an animation loop!”

“For a whole day?”

“Yep!”

“Sounds tough.”

Slim lit himself another cigarette as Jericho kept talking about his speedrunning shenanigans. He couldn’t help but notice the little things about the man’s body language: he constantly moved his hands around as he talked, often mimicking whatever action he was talking about as if saying it aloud triggered some sort of muscle memory; he constantly jittered in place, making the couch cushions under him vibrate along with him, and Slim could feel the vibration from where he was sitting, as if the man was the epicenter of a constant low magnitude earthquake. There was something… Endearing about the whole thing. He tried his best to ignore the look Alcatraz was giving him from across the room.

“And after that I decided, you know, sometimes it’s good to take a break from things before trying again! Maybe I was just tired.”

Jericho kept talking and talking, and yet Slim found it hard to keep focusing on whatever he was saying. He didn’t notice he’d let out a yawn and let his cigarette fall to the floor until the sudden silence caught his attention, and he blinked a couple times when he noticed Jericho staring at him.

“What?”

“You can sleep if you’re tired, I don’t mind!”

Slim blinked again, dumbfounded.

“You keep yawning. It’s okay if you need to sleep. I can just hang out.”

“Oh, I… Uh…”

“I’m serious, I don’t mind!”

Jericho was quick to get up from the couch, just as he was always quick to do anything, so Slim could have the space to lay down. Without thinking, Slim did just that.

“... Don’t leave.”

Slim managed to catch Jericho’s attention with his request.

“Please don’t leave while I’m asleep.”

Jericho just stared at him for a moment, then offered the man a smile. “Okay, I can stay!” He chirped, and before Slim could notice it, Jericho was handing him a blanket to cover up with during his nap. “I can stay here and use it as a main lobby, or a nice pause screen!”

Slim couldn’t help but smile at that, and mumbled something among the lines of, “Sure, I’d like that… Just stay.”

To which the immediate answer was, “I will!”

Jericho didn’t mind stopping over at Slim’s place for a break. It was kinda like old times, three weeks ago, when they used to share a cell! But now it was a bigger place with lots more stuff!

Jericho liked being around Slim: the man could be somewhat pleasant to be around sometimes, when he wasn’t threatening the people around him. Jericho noticed a decrease in the times Slim threatened him, too. Maybe they really were friends! Maybe Slim liked him. Jericho liked Slim.

His gaze wandered over to the man on the couch again, and he was surprised by how quickly he had fallen asleep; he was even snoring! Jericho had missed the sound of Slim’s snoring filling the room.

He had missed Slim. Maybe more than he thought he would.

…

Did he… Like Slim more than anticipated? The man had been his first thought when Jericho considered visiting his friends from prison. And he didn’t mind staying in one place with him, and waiting as he took a nap he seemed like he needed.

… Jericho didn’t mind waiting for Slim. He didn’t mind staying.

Don’t leave.

It was the first time Slim had outright asked him to stay. And Jericho had no problem obliging.

…

Oh.

Oh, he understood now.

For being the fastest man alive, he had been a little slow in realizing his own feelings; but they made up for the tardiness by hitting him like a high speed train.

Jericho liked Slim. Maybe as something more than a friend. Maybe Slim felt the same, with that request.

Something other than his own speed started buzzing in his chest, and Jericho could have sworn it made him vibrate a little more.

Maybe he’ll talk about it with Slim when he wakes up. The sooner the better.

#🦇's writings #𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 request !#anime campaign #anime campaign imagines #epithet spoilers #ee spoilers #jericho felocity #california slim #jericho felocity x california slim

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