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tempest-toss · 1 year

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Tempest Little Mister blurbs #3 (21-30)

Mr. Hunt The first of the new generation, Mr. Hunt was made for an action-packed beginning. Love of cryptids exploded when he was made, and so he was designed to help track down and hunt these creatures of urban legend, from bigfoot to the chupacabra to Mothman. He has recently suffered an attack that has left him unable to use an eye and has filled him with a massive mistrust towards people, especially if they were patches with a red white and black circular pattern.

Ms. Lake Ms. Lake is one of the more tragic Little Misters. Originally, she was made for edutainment. She had nice blue clothes, and her long hair swooped around and formed a small pond to house smaller aquatic specimens. Unfortunately while in service she stumbled upon a murderous couple dumping a body. Even though she didn’t know this, the couple lured her to the water edge and proceeded to drown and attack her, leaving her body seemingly permanently disfigured. *

Mr. Shadow There exists a sign that is periodically found around the Factory floor. “Feeling a bit drained? Don’t forget to check for lurkers in your shadow!” This was made to remind workers of Mr. Shadow. Mr. Shadow is one of the few Little Misters to have an almost/complete lack of human features, and that is because he is 2D. Mr. Shadow is his namesake, and can travel from shadow to shadow. Can’t find him but still feel fine? Maybe keep an ear out for his low, sinister laughter.

Little Mr. Bone When Three left Little Mr. Halloween was feeling very lonely, for there was no one that could celebrate the spooky season with him. Enter Little Mr. Bone, A small skeleton that likes to play and receive lots of sweets! He is oddly well-versed in first aid, and will always be up for a fun game. Just don’t play hide and seek in a haunted house attraction, since he can dim his golden hues to blend in with the props.

Little Ms. Ghost Scared of spectres? Phobia of phantoms? Little Ms. Ghost is right for you if you wish to get over that fear of yours. Despite her small appearance and her translucent nature, she was created as a personal guardian, and she will do whatever it takes to make sure you are protected by everything that may go bump in the night. Just make sure you never extinguish her lantern.

Mx. Clockwork According to rumors, a human worked the clocktower of the old factory and got crushed. Since they were such a key worker, Dr. Wondertainment made them into Mx. Clockwork. Dr. Wondertainment has gone on record to deny this, and does not tolerate the spreading of this rumor. Mx. Clockwork bears a unique design, with a human “shell” that houses a wide assortment of gears inside that are constantly turning. It appears they are the inspiration of the Troupe of Shadow’s sideshow member “Gears”

Mx. Helium Lighter than air, the floaty Mx. Helium is always up for a good time. Usually not seen without their three large heart balloons or a weight strapped to their waist, you should normally find Mx. Helium hanging around the factory’s hangar space or Party Practice Room. They’re the most ditzy out of the Little Misters, and is often found stuck to the ceiling for misplacing their weights. Considering how much they bump into the ceiling, it’s amazing how their pristine white clothing is not dirtied up.

Mr. Silent Sometimes one needs some time to vent to others about all their troubles in the world, and Mr. Silent would love to help you. Plain dressed, friendly body language and the inability to speak in any regard. Rumors of the workers say that his permanent silence is to hide a sonic scream that can absolutely shatter walls. This has by no means been proven, but it does seem like an interesting thing to think about, no?

Ms. Mouse Did you know that fleas are actually what spread the plague, and they rode on the rats? Well, not a lot of people know this, and blame the scampering squeakers. Not only that, but mice are viewed as vermin anyway, so how must this problem be solved? How about a person that has mouse ears? Ms. Mouse will be here to save the day! With a quick song you’ll see the mice follow after her like the Pied Piper. There’s totally nothing else about her…right?

10. Mr. Nurse War is constantly happening. People suffer from the outside world, and people take their anger or selfishness out on the Little Misters. Mr. Nurse was made to help both. With tired eyes and an equally tired expression, Mr. Nurse is often bustling around, tending to wounds on battlefields, civil unrest, and various other tragedies. He has endured much more than the average person or Little Mister. Scratch his messy grey hair, he needs some relax time.

#Another Muse #Little Misters #Mr. Hunt #Ms. Lake #Mr. Shadow #Little Mr. Bone #Little Ms. Ghost #Mx. Clockwork #Mx. Helium #Mr. Silent #Ms. Mouse #Mr. Nurse #tw: mention of harm #((Fuller bios on Ms. Lake and Mx. Helium have already been done!))

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radio-writes · 2 months

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Love is Whatever You Can Still Betray

Synopsis: You recall a time when Alastor still saw you as friend, as an equal. You wonder: was any part of it even real?

Warnings: manipulation, mentions of drugs, violence and blood, physical harm to reader, power imbalance.

Tags: Relationship can be read in any way; Alastor x Reader; GN Reader

MDNI

At the back of your mind you vaguely remember a time when Husk had warned you.

"He's a sweet talker when he needs to be. You'd be better off not trusting a bastard like him."

You think that's what the drunk cat had said. You're sure it was somewhere along those lines, at least. It was a fair bit of time ago.

However, you do remember—painfully clearly—that you had laughed him off. You found the mere idea of Alastor betraying your trust ridiculous.

The Radio Demon would never dare cross you. You were a powerful overlord; one that practically held the whole ring in the palm of their hands. And, more importantly, you were friends; one of the very few that either of you even had.

Surely even someone like Alastor would think twice about stabbing a beloved friend in the back, right?

You almost wanted to shoot yourself realizing how naive you've been.

Now, having been a brilliant chemist during your life on earth, it wasn't really much of a shock that you turned to drug production when you got to Hell. You had to make a living somehow, right?

Besides, with the quality of the drugs you made, it only took you a few months to have Pride Ring's whole drug operations under your thumb.

But you were still so careful. You made sure to never deal with your clients or your distributers or your cartels directly. And on the rare times where you had to, you made sure to keep yourself as hidden as possible.

Very few people actually knew who this new Drug Demon was, and that's exactly how you wanted it be. You were smart, brilliant, a genius—if you do say so yourself; but what you weren't was strong.

Drug business in Hell was undoubtedly—and quite often literally—cutthroat. You wouldn't stand a chance if the enemies you made came after you, and you knew that. You'd probably have better chances of survival standing butt naked in the middle of the streets on extermination day.

So it made sense that the few friends you held dear were the only ones you trusted with your secret—with your life.

Alastor was...not really meant to be one of those friends.

Sure, he was the very first soul you met down here in Hell. You also both shared a love for soft jazz and easy nights and dancing your worries away. His dry comedic remarks and tendency to gossip made sure any time spent with him was entertaining enough to make you forget where you were, at least temporarily.

But still, you were cautious enough not to spill your darkest secrets to every charming young demon to slide to your side of the bar. Specially not to one that's been eager to steal your soul since the start.

Alastor was a friend, sure. But you weren't blind to all the blood he spilled, and much less so to just how much joy the Radio Demon got from it all. You hadn't failed to notice his grin stretching just a tad bit too wide, his eyes shining with glee with every limb he pulled from his victim's body.

Often times you found it hard to connect your silly little friend, wagging his finger to the tune of the live music, with the demonic horror you've witnessed happily feast on the corpses of his unfortunate prey.

Of course, that eventually started to change.

You think, it all started on your One Year Anniversary in Hell. It's been decades since you've chained yourself to your current predicament, but the bitterness of that night was still so hard to swallow.

"Hardly anything to talk home about. Simply bumping gums with an old butter and egg man. But Oh! The drama when his children came in. Ha!" Alastor had been recalling some story that night. You barely understood a word of it, if you were being honest. Alastor had the tendency to use old timey phrases when drunk—whether as a genuine habit or to mess with you, you were unsure.

"Didn't take you to be type to cozy up to the rich folk." You had jested, sliding a shot glass over to your companion.

Alastor had caught it, downed its contents in one go, and smiled at you. "And I didn't take you to be such a light weight, old friend." Alastor mocked you.

You laughed it off, accepting and drinking the shot he then slid to you.

Your eyes glanced across the bar in front of you, several empty bottles of alcohol scattered about already. How much time had the two of you spent there? You were unsure. Clearly it was at least a few hours past closing time; but it's not like the cowering demon behind the bar had the guts to kick the Radio Demon out.

"I'm not the one swaying in my seat with every breeze, old friend." You bit back.

"Ha! You must be absolutely stewed, dear. You're seeing things now!" He had slung a lanky arm over your shoulder, yanking you snugly to his side.

For a moment, the room spun; taking a whole second before steadying again.

Sure, there had been a slight slur in Alastor's words underneath all the radio static, but the demon wasn't far off with his observation still. You admittedly did feel a bit tipsy.

You had placed a hand on Alastor's chest, pushing yourself away from him, laughing all the while. "Watch the hair! You wouldn't want to piss me off now."

"Anger a sweet thing like you? Come now, you couldn't hurt a bee if it stung you in the eye," Alastor ruffled the hair on the top of your head as if to prove his point.

"Hey!— Fuck," You swore under your breath as you moved off your seat far too quickly.

Alastor materialized behind you, easily catching you by your elbows.

"Steady now, dear! Seems you're a lot further gone than I expected you to be," He laughed.

You twisted around in his grip and poked his chest rather sluggishly. "I'd have you know I'm not the same weak soul you met a year ago,"

You should have stopped. It was only ever meant to be a joke.

Your body should have just blacked out.

"I happen to run all of Pride Ring. I can get your Great Depression ass hunted down for messing my hair up," You boasted.

Alastor didn't seem to take your words for anything more than drunk ramblings as he helped you up to your own feet. "Is that what they call my time? I happen to have found the whole stock market crash hilarious, not at all depressing." He mused, he seemed to have been ignoring your ramblings.

"I'm serious, you know!" You puffed up your chest proudly, wanting to be taken seriously, looking him straight in the eye.

"I am the great scary Drug Demon after all."

You heard a record scratch.

Oh you were far beyond just tipsy.

You couldn't quite remember much else from that night. At least not after black tentacles swiftly protruded from Alastor's back, spearing right through the poor cowering bartender's chest.

He said something too. Something about how your secret would be absolutely safe with him.

It took you a long time to realize why he had sounded so odd to you in that very moment. But eventually, as the times flew by, you realized it was because he had spoken straight—not a trace of slurring tainted his tone. But that was a realization that came far too late of course.

You had been worried, absolutely scared shitless when you had sobered up. You spilled your biggest secret to someone so infamous. Someone so happy to hog the spotlight for all of eternity. You felt as if you might as well have broadcasted your identity on live TV for all the good it'll do you now.

But the Radio Demon had proved himself to be quite the trustworthy confidant.

Surprisingly true to his word, Alastor had never let a word of your secret slip from his lips. Never once even hinted at it to anyone, not even in jest.

Instead, what he did do was help you in secret. He had fed you information on the ins and outs on different turfs on the Pentagram; down to the smallest of details. Who was itching for a fix, who would have given up anything for their next high, what down on their luck sinner was desperate enough for any means of escape.

The promise of new information to help your business had made all your occasional catch-ups and night outs with Alastor all the more enticing for you.

Not only would you be out and about with a dear friend, having fun, dancing, and drinking, but you'd also get a chance to grow your influence even more.

And hell be damned if that hadn't gotten your greed to grow.

It wasn't long until you trusted Alastor enough for the flow of information to turn into a two-way street.

When he had given you intel, you had thrown what you knew back at him. Desperate sinners, gangs, cults, that you cater to that could really use a trusty deal to get out of rough spots.

You had also found that Alastor, being the schemer that he was, made quite a good soundboard to bounce ideas on. He'd hear your plans out, help you hammer out the kinks before putting them into action.

He had been there to help you out of tight spots.

He had been there to expanded your influence.

He had even been there to take care of any dumbass that dared to try to rival your business.

But there had always been one nagging question just simply gnawing at the back of your mind.

"Your soul? What in Hell would I want with that?" Alastor laughed when you asked if you needed to sell him your soul in exchange for all this help.

"No, my dear. I simply want you to keep me company! It's so hard to find such a like-minded soul in this dreadful cesspool." He explained, taking your arm to loop around his as he had lead you to take a walk with him.

You were his friend he had said. And after all he's helped you with—after all the years spent drinking, gossiping, dancing, and scheming—you believed him.

So you didn't question it.

You didn't question it when one night people broke into your home. They had yelled for the Drug Demon. They yelled for you.

You simply had to run. Break through your window, caution thrown into the wind, and run.

You had no choice but to flee with no plan in mind, nothing in hand. Run with nothing but the clothes on your back.

You didn't question it when heads had turned to watch you as your ran through the streets. Hell's nightlife well and alive, but did nothing to help your pathetic self.

The whispers felt like screams in your ears.

"The Drug Demon."

"That's them isn't it?"

The Drug Demon. The Drug Demon. The Drug Demon.

Everyone in the Pride Ring knew who you were.

You didn't question it when you had been cornered in an alley, a large hand squeezing your throat. Your body ached everywhere.

How many times had they bashed your head against the concrete? How many times had they punched you in the gut? How many times had they kicked your ribs in as you laid whimpering on the ground?

You were in far too much pain to have kept count.

You didn't question it—you should have questioned it—when Alastor showed up. Skewering the sinner just as they held a knife to your throat.

And stupidly, you still didn't question it when he made you that offer.

"You need to be much more careful than that, old pal." His gentle hand had patted dust off your shoulders. "You seem to be Hell's most wanted at the moment."

Your eyes had been wide as your body seemed to have moved by itself. Your arms wrapped around the Radio Demon in relief. "Alastor, thank fuck! I thought I was dead!"

You had felt his chest vibrate against your body as he laughed "My dear, you already are dead!" He joked, pulling your arms off him and stepping back. He had studied your shaking form, his grin stretched just the slightest bit more. "But I do say, you were lucky I was passing by just now. Can't say I can protect you all the time though."

Your throat had felt dry. You knew he was right. Had your good friend not been around, you were sure you'd have died right then.

Now that your secret was out, you needed Alastor. You needed his protection.

"Can't I just stay with you? At least for a little bit." You had said—pleaded, your voice still unsteady from the fear that ran through your body.

"Hmm?" Alastor's head tilted. He leaned his body on his cane in front of him. "Why of course you can! Although I don't quite see how that'll help much." He grinned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my dear, you've made quite a lot of enemies in the past few decades, haven't you? Torn apart many families and damned these poor souls further with all those recreational drugs of yours." In your distress, you had failed to catch the sheer glee in his tone.

Alastor melted into a pool of shadows, before he reappeared right behind you, his hands at your shoulders. You had jumped in his hold but it didn't seem to bother the demon.

"Sure you can stay with me for a while, but what after?" His tone still as cheery as ever. "And what about when I just have to leave you? You can't expect me to be at your beck and call for every second, after all. I'm your dear friend, not a pet."

"Please, Al." You begged, turning around to face him. You weren't sure what you were even asking for. You weren't sure what you wanted him to even do.

All you knew is that you were scared. You were scared because for how smart you were, you were sure there was no way you'd survive a night on your own now.

"Of course, there is something we could do to ensure you stay safe." Alastor had smiled at you, circling you like a vulture; elated that it was now the perfect time to swoop in on a long awaited meal.

"What?" You said, desperation clear in your voice.

"We could make a deal." He grinned.

You should have ran.

"A deal?" You asked, for all the fear you had, part of you was still wary.

"A deal." He confirmed. "If I owned your soul I could summon you whenever I want to. Should you fall into harm's way while I'm not around, I'd be able to pull you out and back to my side with a snap of my fingers."

You'd have been better off facing all the enemies you made. You should have ran.

"I can make sure you're safe and sound; untouched by all these ruffians after you. And it's not like you'll be selling your soul to a stranger now. Haven't I proven myself to be such a caring friend all these years?" His sickly sweet voice, and that overwhelming radio static filled your ears.

He had stopped in front of you, bent down to your height when he extended a hand your way. "So what do you say, darling? Do we have a deal?"

You should have known the worst creature stood in front of you. You'd have been better off facing all the enemies you made. You should have ran.

You bit your lip, eyes glanced away from Alastor in uncertainty. Surely, there must be other ways. If you could just have one night to think it through—

The sharp pain that had come from your back almost blinded you.

"I found them! They're over here, fellas!" You had heard someone shout from behind you, at the opening of the alley.

Your arm reached behind you, feeling something sharp lodged into the back of your shoulder. Your hand quickly dampened by your own blood.

"Fuck. Fine, yes, it's a deal." You had hissed through your teeth before you could think. Your hand reaching out to clasp your friend's outstretched palm.

A bright green light cut through the night's darkness, sealing your fate into Radio Demon's hands.

"Lovely." He drawled out, pulling you behind him as a flood of sinners made their way towards the pair of you.

"Pleasure doing business with you, boys, but I'm afraid I have no use for you anymore." Alastor had greeted the crowd.

"Who's this loser?"

"What the fuck is this bitch talking about?"

"Shut up and hand us that trash!"

You heard many replies to Alastor's words before the screaming started. Shadows ripped through the sinners as essily as if they were simply wet piles of tissue paper.

And then your blood ran cold. No, not because of the sound of flesh tearing from bone.

But because you were sure you had heard one of them say: "Weren't he the one that broadcasted Drug Bitch's name anyway?"

Surely—surely—you had heard wrong, right?

"Why, of course, I did!" Alastor had cheerily answered you. "Got a good deal from it too. Couple of Overlords happily forked their souls over just to know your name!"

It had been a couple of weeks after the deal when you finally worked up the courage to ask.

It hadn't been the answer you were hoping for. You had spent all this time convincing yourself that Alastor would have never done such a thing. That he was your beloved friend—your trusted friend. That he'd never have put you in harms way just to get a couple more souls under his belt.

The tray you had held bent with the grip you had on it. "You sold me out?" You wished you could bash the tray over his stupid shit-eating grin.

"Hello? Yes, that's what I just said. Did you not hear me, pet?" He finally glanced up from the paper he was reading to meet your glare.

"Oh don't look at me like that," He said folding the newspaper and setting it aside. "You're no patsy, surely you saw it coming."

"We were friends, Alastor!" Your voice had risen in volume.

A heavy, glowing collar materialized around your neck before you knew what was happening.

With a harsh tug you had stumbled, barely catching yourself on the armrests of Alastor's chair when he yanked you down to where he sat.

His free hand had reached up, anchoring itself heavily on your shoulder.

"Yes we were!" His voice was cheery, but there was an edge to his grin now. "That made the betraying part all the more entertaining, if you ask me."

"You piece of shi—" Your voice caught in your throat, the collar shrinking around your neck.

"I don't quite appreciate that kind of disrespectful language, darling. Specially, not from my pets." His pupils had turned to radio dials as you fought hard against his pulling just to remain upright.

The rush of anger in your veins froze as you met his eyes. You had felt your blood turn to ice in that very instant.

You've been with this man for so long.

You've seen him skewer crowds of sinners without batting an eye. You've seen him swallow limbs whole with a smile.

You've seen him happily throw friends to their deaths for...entertainment? Was that what he said?

His grip on your shoulder had tightened. Claws dug into your flesh and ripped your recent wound wide open.

Your poor little broken, indignant, heart could wait.

With the flash of pain stinging up your arm, you knew that every second that passed without a reply from your lips was a step closer to death's door again.

So you willed yourself to speak, despite the collar barely allowing enough air to reach your lungs. You managed to struggle out a weary "Understood."

And in an instant, the chains were gone, Alastor was back leaning against his chair. Newspaper back in hands as he idly read the print.

You had clutched at your neck, greedily sucked in air as you stumbled backwards.

"I like my breakfast on the raw side, by the way. And no sugar in the coffee next time; I do have a distaste for sweet things," He said dismissively.

Normally, you'd have cussed at him. Flipped him off and walked away. But there had been no fight left in you then. Your world was reeling from the revelation, from the fact that your friend throughout all these years, didn't even feel the slightest bit of remorse for betraying you.

That he'd happily dispose of you himself for something as simple as disrespectful language.

You had meekly nodded, and hurried to leave the room.

Now you stood, listening to the princess of Hell herself rambling on about how much of a big help Alastor was to the hotel she made. How he's been so supportive.

How he's been such a good friend.

You just couldn't stop yourself.

"You know, your highness, Alastor's a sweet talker when he needs to be. You'd be better off not trusting a bastard like him."

She laughed you off. To her, the idea of Alastor betraying her trust was just absolutely ridiculous.

Surely he'd never betray a beloved friend, right?

#tw: physical harm to reader #tw: manipulation #tw: mentions of drugs #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x gn!reader #alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #Vien Writes #Not me studying 1930s slang for a few lines of dialogue

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